IN those days, the Indians had no way of writing down what they thought, and could only tell each other their messages and their dreams and wisdom, by spoken words. The deeds of hunters and the thoughts of wise men were remembered for a little while, but soon were talked about less often, and when the old men died there were none left who could tell about what had happened in the past. The grave-posts had no marks on them, nor were the Indians able to tell who were buried in the graves. All they knew was that some one of their own tribe, some former wise man or hunter, or some beautiful maiden of other days lay buried there. And Hiawatha was much troubled that the Indians did not know the graves of theirown fathers, and could not tell the men who should come after them about the wonderful things that had taken place long before they were born.
Hiawatha spent many days alone in the deep forest, trying to invent some way by which the Indians could always know what had happened in the past, and thereby tell secrets to each other and send messages without the risk of having them forgotten by the messenger. And after a great deal of thought, Hiawatha discovered one of the finest things in all the wide world—a secret that has changed the lives of all Indians since his time.
He took his different colored paints, and began to draw strange figures on the bark of the birch-tree, and every figure had some meaning that the red men would always remember. For the great Manito, God of all the Indians, Hiawatha painted the picture of an egg with different colored points toward the north and the south, the east and the west, to show that the Great Spirit was watching over all the world, and could be found everywhere at once.
For the Evil Spirit, Hiawatha painted the picture of a great serpent to show that the Evil Spirit was as deadly and wicked and treacherous as any snake that crawled in the green marsh grass. For Life and Death, Hiawatha drew two round spots, and painted one of them white and the other black. The white one was meant for Life, because white is clear and fair to look upon; the black wasmeant for Death, because black is hideous and dark. And Hiawatha painted the sun and the moon and all the stars of heaven, and he painted forests and mountains, lakes and rivers, animals and birds. For the earth he drew a straight line, like the line of the horizon, and for the sky he drew a curved line like a bow. He filled in the space between with white paint that was to mean the white light of day; he painted a point at each side, one for sunrise and the other for sunset, and he drew a number of little stars to represent the night. And Hiawatha drew all sorts of pictures of men and wigwams and bows and arrows and canoes, each with its own meaning, until he had drawn different figures for the different thoughts of men.
He called the Indians to come and see what he had painted, and he said to them: "Look and learn the meaning of these different figures; go and paint upon the graves of those whom you remember, some mark that will always show who it is that lies there buried;" and the Indians painted on the grave-posts of the graves they had not yet forgotten, figures of bear and reindeer, and turtles, and cranes, and beavers. Each one of them invented some sign by which he might always know his dead, and from these signs many of the Indians have been remembered to this day. On their birch canoes the Indians drew many different shapes, and the brightest of them all was the figure of Love. It was painted in deep scarlet, because scarlet isthe strongest of all colors, and the color meant: "I am greater than all others;" for the Indians believed that love was mightier than life or death, and more dangerous than either war or hunting.
Other figures were also painted there, and by looking at the pictures drawn by an Indian you could tell who he was, and what family he came from, and whether he was stern and cruel or loving and kind-hearted. For the Indians were apt to paint the things they thought about the most.
Many were the gifts that Hiawatha gave his people; but when he taught them how to paint their thoughts, he gave them a better gift than any other.
WHEN Hiawatha lived, there were many evil spirits on the earth; and these evil spirits were very jealous of the friendship between Hiawatha and Chibiabos. "If we can only get this Chibiabos in our power," they plotted, "we will kill him, and when he is dead, Hiawatha cannot do so much good to all the tribes of men; for Chibiabos helps him like a brother, and together they are much too strong for us." The evil spirits joined to destroy both Chibiabos and Hiawatha, and they laidmany traps and thought of many schemes to catch the two friends off their guard.
Hiawatha was so wise that he knew of all this plotting, and he often said to Chibiabos: "O my brother, stay with me always, for together the evil spirits cannot do us any harm." But Chibiabos was young and heedless and he did not fear the evil spirits. He laughed at Hiawatha, and said to him: "Harm and evil never come near me, my Hiawatha; have no fear on my account." But Hiawatha only shook his head, and feared all the more because Chibiabos feared so little.
Once in the winter time, when the Big-Sea-Water was covered with ice and snow, Chibiabos was hunting a buck with antlers, and the buck ran right across the frozen lake. Wild with excitement of hunting, Chibiabos followed him and ran far out from shore upon the treacherous ice, where the evil spirits were waiting for him. When they saw that he was far enough from land, they broke the ice and Chibiabos fell with a crash and a splash into the freezing water of the lake. Even then he might have saved himself and climbed out upon the ice but the strong, cruel water-god, the god of the Dacotahs, wrapped his cold wet arms around the body of Chibiabos and dragged him down, down through the dark black water to the bottom. There the water-god buried him beneath the mud and sand, so thathis dead body might not rise to the surface; and the evil spirits danced for joy at the death of Chibiabos. "We have killed him," they shouted gleefully to one another; "we have killed the sweetest singer in the world and the dearest friend of Hiawatha!"
From the headlands on the shore, Hiawatha had seen Chibiabos plunge into the lake, and he heard the wicked shouting of the evil spirits. He gave such a cry of sorrow that the forest trembled, and the wolves on the prairie raised their heads to listen and then howled in answer, while the hoarse thunder stirred itself among the mountains and awakened all the echoes to his cry.
Then Hiawatha smeared his face with black paint, the color of sorrow and of death; he covered his head with his robe and sat for seven long weeks in his wigwam, grieving for the murdered Chibiabos. And the fir-trees sadly waved their dark green branches to and fro above his head and sighed as mournfully as Hiawatha.
Spring came, and all the birds and animals, and even the rivulets, and flowers and grasses, looked in vain for the dead Chibiabos. The bluebird sang a song of sorrow from the tree-tops; the robin echoed it from the silence of the thicket, and the whippoorwill took up the sad refrain at night and wailed it far and wide through all the woodland. "Chibiabos! Chibiabos!" murmured every living thing, and all theechoes sighed in answer until the whole world seemed to mourn for the lost singer.
Then the wise men of the tribes—the medicine-men, the men of magic—came to Hiawatha as he sat in sorrow in his hut, and they walked before him in a grave procession to drive the sadness from his heart. Each of them carried a pouch of healing, made of beaver-skin or lynx or otter, and filled with roots and herbs of wonderful power to cure all diseases and to drive the evil spirits of grief from the heart and from the mind. To and fro they walked, until Hiawatha uncovered his head, washed the black paint from his face, and followed the wise men to the Sacred Lodge that they had built beside his own wigwam.
There they gave to Hiawatha a marvelous drink made of spearmint and yarrow and all sorts of strange and different roots, and when he had drunk of this they began a wild and mystic dance, beating on the small drums that they carried, and shaking their pouches of healing in the face of Hiawatha. "Hi-au-ha!" they shouted in strange voices, "way-ha-way!We can cure you, Hiawatha; we can make you strong." And they shook their medicine pouches over Hiawatha's head, and continued beating on their hollow drums, as they circled wildly around him again and again.
All at once the sorrow left Hiawatha's heart, as the iceis swept from a river in the springtime, and like a man awakening from evil dreams he felt that he was healed, and he gazed about him where the medicine-men were still dancing. They were trying to summon Chibiabos from his grave deep down in the sandy bottom of the Big-Sea-Water, for the water-god had buried him so deep that his spirit could not go into the land of dead men, but was still in his drowned body, struggling to free itself. And the magic of the wise men was so strong that Chibiabos rose body and all, and stood on the bottom of the lake, listening to them.
Then the dead man floated to the shore, climbed out upon the bank and made his way swiftly and silently through the forest to the doorway of the wigwam where the medicine-men were singing. When he shook the curtain of the doorway and peered in upon them they would not let him enter, but gave him through an opening in the door a burning torch and told him to light a fire in the land of spirits, so that all who died might see it and find their way thither; and they made Chibiabos ruler in the Kingdom of the Dead. He left the doorway of the wigwam and vanished in the forest, and the wise men watched the twinkling of his torch until it disappeared. They saw that the branches did not move as he passed, and that the dead leaves and the grass did not even bend or rustle beneath his footsteps, and they looked at one another muchafraid, because such sights are not good for living men to see.
Four days Chibiabos traveled down the pathway of the dead, and for his food he ate the dead man's strawberry. He saw many other dead men struggling under heavy burdens of food and skins and wampum that their friends had given them to use in the Land of Spirits, and they groaned beneath their burdens. He passed them all, crossed the sad, dark River of Death upon the swinging log that floats there; and at last he came to the Lake of Silver, and was carried in the Stone Canoe over the water to the Islands of the Blessed, where he rules all ghosts and shadows.
When he had disappeared in the dark forest, Hiawatha left the Sacred Lodge and wandered eastward and westward teaching men the use of roots and herbs and the cure of all disorders; and thus was first made known to the Indians the sacred knowledge of caring for the sick.
YOU remember how Pau-Puk-Keewis danced the Beggar's Dance at Hiawatha's wedding, and how, in his wild leaping and whirling at the edges of the Big-Sea-Water, he tossed up the mighty sand dunes of the Nagow Wudjoo. And you remember also, how the warriorsall disliked Pau-Puk-Keewis, and called him an idler and coward, for they knew his heart was bad within him. Only the women cared for Pau-Puk-Keewis, and the women were deceived by his handsome face and his costly dresses.
One morning Pau-Puk-Keewis came in search of adventures to the village, and found all the young men gathered in the wigwam of Iagoo, listening to the wonderful stories that old Iagoo always told when any one would hear him. He was telling how Ojeeg, the Summer-Maker, climbed up to the sky and made a hole in Heaven that let out all the warm and pleasant weather of the summer months. He was describing how the Otter tried it first, and how the Beaver and the Lynx and Badger also tried it, all of them climbing to the top of the highest mountain and hitting their heads against the sky.
"They cracked it but they could not break it," said Iagoo, "and then Ojeeg the Weasel came and the Wolverine helped him to make ready for the trial. Ojeeg climbed to the top of the mountain, and the Wolverine went with him. The Wolverine crouched down like a grasshopper on the mountain top, with his legs all drawn up beneath him like a squirrel or a cricket, and he leaped as hard as he was able at the sky.
"The first time he leaped," said Iagoo, "the sky bent above him as the ice in rivers when the water rises beneath it in the springtime. The second time he leaped, thesky cracked open, and he could see the light of Heaven shining through. And the third time he leaped—crash! The sky broke into bits above him and he disappeared in Heaven, followed closely by the valiant Weasel, who tumbled into Heaven after him and has been called 'The Summer-Maker' ever since."
"Hark you," cried Pau-Puk-Keewis, bursting through the open doorway of the wigwam. "I am tired of all this talk, and I am tired of Hiawatha's endless wisdom. Listen to me, and you shall learn something more interesting than old Iagoo's stories. Watch, and I will teach you all a splendid game."
From his pouch he drew forth all the pieces used in the game of Bowl and Counters. There were thirteen in all, and nine were painted white on one side and red on the other; while four were made of brass, one side polished and the other painted black. On nine of the thirteen pieces were painted pictures of men, or ducks, or serpents, and Pau-Puk-Keewis shook them all together in a wooden bowl and tossed them out, explaining that the score was counted great or little according to the way the pictures and the colors fell upon the ground. Curious eyes stared at him as he shook and tossed and counted up the pieces, until the Indians were drawn into the game one after one, and they sat there playing for prizes of weapons and fur robes and wampum through the rest of the day and throughthe night until the sun rose once again. By that time the clever, lucky Pau-Puk-Keewis had won everything they owned—deerskin shirts, wampum, pipes, ermine robes and all sorts of weapons, and he chuckled to himself.
Then the crafty Pau-Puk-Keewis said to them: "My wigwam is lonely, and I want a companion in my wanderings. I want a slave. I will risk all the wampum and the fur robes, everything that I have won, against the nephew of Iagoo—that young man who is standing yonder. But if I win again, he shall be my slave for life."
"Done!" cried Iagoo, his eyes glowing like coals beneath his shaggy brows, and he seized the bowl and shook it fiercely, throwing out the pieces on the ground. Pau-Puk-Keewis counted, took the bowl and threw in his turn, and his throw was far more lucky than that of old Iagoo. "The game is mine!" cried Pau-Puk-Keewis, smiling as he rose and looked about him, and heaped all the robes and feathers and wampum and weapons in the arms of Iagoo's nephew, now a slave.
"Carry them to my wigwam yonder," said Pau-Puk-Keewis, "and wait there until I have need of you;" and he left the tent, followed by the angry glances of all the other players, who had lost all their fine furs and wampum belts and even the pipes they had been smoking.
Pau-Puk-Keewis strolled through the sunny morning singing to himself, for his new wealth made him veryhappy, and he soon reached the farthest wigwam of the village, which was the home of Hiawatha.
Nobody was there. Only Kahgahgee, the raven, tied to the ridge-pole, screamed and flapped his wings, watching Pau-Puk-Keewis with glaring eyes.
"All are gone," said Pau-Puk-Keewis, thinking of new mischief as he spoke; "all are gone, and they have left the lodge for me to do with as I choose."
He seized the raven by the neck and whirled him around in the air like a rattle, until the bird was strangled, and he left Kahgahgee's dead body dangling from the ridge-pole as an insult to Hiawatha. Then he went inside and threw everything into the wildest disorder, piling together all the kettles and bowls, and all the skins and buffalo-robes that he could find as an insult to Minnehaha and to Nokomis; and he ran off through the forest, whistling and singing, much pleased with what he had done.
He climbed the rocks that overlooked the Big-Sea-Water, and rested lazily upon his back, gazing up into the sky and listening to the splash of the waves on the beaches far beneath. The sea-gulls fluttered about him in great flocks, very curious to know what he was doing, and before they could get out of his way he had killed them by tens and twenties and had thrown the dead bodies over the cliff down to the beaches. One of the sea-gulls, who was perched on a crag above, shouted out: "It is Pau-Puk-Keewis,and he is killing us by the hundred. Fly quickly and send a message to our brother! Hasten and bring the news to Hiawatha!"
WHEN Hiawatha heard of the mischief that Pau-Puk-Keewis had worked among the gulls he was very angry indeed; but when he discovered the wrecked wigwam and the dead body of the raven, and heard how Pau-Puk-Keewis had despoiled Iagoo and his friends of their robes and pipes and wampum, he swore that he would kill Pau-Puk-Keewis with his own hand.
"The world is not so wide but I will find him!" cried out Hiawatha; "the way is not so rough but I will reach him with my anger!" and with several hunters Hiawatha set out upon the trail of Pau-Puk-Keewis.
They followed it to the crags where he had killed the gulls, but by that time Pau-Puk-Keewis was far away among the lowlands, and turning back he saw his pursuers on the mountain and waved his arms to mock them.
Hiawatha shouted at him from the mountain top: "The world is not so rough and wide but I shall catch you, Pau-Puk-Keewis. Hide where you will, but I shall find you out," and Pau-Puk-Keewis sped forward like an antelopefor Hiawatha's words had made him suddenly afraid.
He rushed through the forest until he came to a little stream that had overflowed its banks, and there he saw a dam made by the beavers. Pau-Puk-Keewis stood on the dam and called, and the King of Beavers, Ahmeek, rose to the surface of the water to find out who the stranger might be.
"Ahmeek, my friend," said Pau-Puk-Keewis, "the water is very cool and pleasant. Let me dive in and stay with you awhile! Change me into a beaver like yourself, so that I may rest with you in your lodge beneath the water."
"Wait awhile," said Ahmeek, looking at him cautiously. "I must ask the other beavers," and he sank beneath the water like a stone.
Pau-Puk-Keewis thought he could hear Hiawatha and the hunters crashing through the forest, and he waded out upon the dam, calling to the beavers until one head after another popped up out of the water, and all the beavers in the pond were looking at him.
"Your dwelling is very pleasant, my friends," said Pau-Puk-Keewis in an entreating voice; "cannot you change me also into a beaver?"
"Yes," said Ahmeek, "let yourself slide down into the water and you shall become as we are."
Pau-Puk-Keewis slid down into the water and his deer-skin shirt and moccasins and leggings became black andshiny. His fringes drew together into a clump, and became a broad black tail; his teeth became sharp, and long whiskers sprouted out from his cheeks. He was changed into a beaver.
"Make me large," he said, as he swam about the pond; "make me ten times larger than the other beavers," and Ahmeek said: "Yes, when you enter our lodge beneath the water you shall be ten times as large as any one of us."
They sank down through the water, and Pau-Puk-Keewis saw great stores of food upon the bottom. They entered the lodge and came up inside of it above the surface of the water, and the lodge was divided into large rooms, with ledges on which the beavers slept. There they made Pau-Puk-Keewis ten times larger than any other beaver, and they said to him: "Thenceforth you shall rule over all the rest of us and be our king."
But Pau-Puk-Keewis had not been sitting long upon the throne of the beavers, when he heard the voice of the beaver watchman call out from among the water-lilies: "Hiawatha, Hiawatha!" There was a shout and a noise of rending branches, and the water sucked out of the beavers' lodge and left it high and dry; their dam was broken. The hunters jumped on the roof of the lodge and broke a great hole in it, through which the sunlight streamed as the beavers scuttled away through their doorway to seek safety in deeper water. But Pau-Puk-Keewis was so big, and sopuffed up with heavy feeding and the pride of being a king, that he could not crawl through the doorway with the others, but was helpless before the hunters.
Hiawatha looked through the roof and cried: "Ah, Pau-Puk-Keewis, I know you in spite of your disguise. I said that you could not escape me," and Hiawatha and his hunters beat Pau-Puk-Keewis with their heavy clubs until the beaver's skull was broken into pieces.
Six tall hunters bore the body of the beaver homeward, and it was so heavy that they had to carry it slung from poles and branches that rested on their shoulders. But within the dead body Pau-Puk-Keewis still lived, and thought and felt exactly as a man; and at last, with great effort he gathered himself together, left the beaver's body and, assuming once more his own form, he vanished in the forest.
Hiawatha saw the figure as it stole away amid the shadows of the pine-trees, and with a shout he leaped to his feet and gave chase with all his hunters, who followed the flying Pau-Puk-Keewis as the rain follows the wind. The hunted man, all breathless and worn out, came to a large lake in the middle of the forest, and there he saw the wild geese that we call the brant, swimming and diving among the water-lilies and enjoying themselves upon the water.
"O my brothers," called Pau-Puk-Keewis, "change me to a brant with shining feathers and two strong wings tocarry me wherever I will go, and make me ten times larger than any of you!"
At once they changed him into a huge brant, ten times larger than the others, and with loud cries and a clamor of wings they rose in the air and flew high up into the sunlight. As they flew they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis: "Take care that you do not look downward as you fly, or something strange and terrible will happen to you."
But suddenly they heard a sound of shouting far beneath them, and Pau-Puk-Keewis, who recognized the voice of Iagoo and the tones of Hiawatha, forgot the warning about looking downward, and drew in his long black neck to gaze upon the distant village. The swift wind that was blowing behind him caught his mighty tail-feathers, tipped him over, and Pau-Puk-Keewis, struggling in vain to get his balance, fell through the clear air like a heavy stone. He heard the shouting of the people grow louder and louder; he saw the brant become little specks in the air above him, and plunging downward the great goose struck the ground with a heavy, sullen thud and lay there dead.
But Pau-Puk-Keewis still lived in the crushed body of the giant bird, and he swiftly took his own form again and rushed along the shore of the Big-Sea-Water, with Hiawatha close upon his heels. And Hiawatha shouted at him as they ran: "The world is not so rough and wide but I shall catch you, Pau-Puk-Keewis. Hide where you will,but I shall reach you with my anger!" and he was so close to Pau-Puk-Keewis that he shot out his right hand to seize him by the shoulder. Pau-Puk-Keewis spun around in a circle, whirled the dust into the air and leaped into a hollow oak tree, where he changed himself into a serpent and came gliding out among the roots.
Hiawatha broke the tree to pieces with a blow of his magic mittens; but there was no Pau-Puk-Keewis inside of it, and Hiawatha saw him once again in his own form, running like the wind along the beach.
They ran until they came to the painted sand-stone rocks where the Old Man of the Mountain has his home, and the Old Man opened the doorway of the rocks and gave Pau-Puk-Keewis a hiding-place in the gloomy caverns underneath the mountains, shutting the rock doorway with a heavy crash as Hiawatha threw himself upon it. With his magic mittens Hiawatha knocked great holes in the rocks, crying out in tones of thunder: "Open! Open! I am Hiawatha!" But the Old Man of the Mountain did not answer.
Then Hiawatha raised his hands to the heavens and implored the lightning and the thunder to come to his aid and break the rocks of sand-stone into fragments, and the lightning and the thunder came snarling and rumbling over the Big-Sea-Water at the call of Hiawatha. Together Hiawatha and the lightning split the rock doorway into fragments,and the thunder boomed among the caverns, shouting: "Where is Pau-Puk-Keewis!"
Pau-Puk-Keewis lay dead among the caves of sandstone, killed by Hiawatha and the lightning and thunder. This time he was dead indeed, crushed by the rocks that had fallen upon him, and killed in his own form so he might never rise again.
Hiawatha took the ghost of Pau-Puk-Keewis and changed it into a great eagle that wheels and circles in the air to this day, screaming from the mountain peaks and gliding in great slants over deep and empty valleys. In winter, when the wind whirled the snow in drifts and eddies around the wigwams, the Indians would say to one another: "There is Pau-Puk-Keewis, come from the mountains to dance once more among the villages," and when we see great hills of sifted snow, heaped high and white by winter wind, we may think of Pau-Puk-Keewis and his dance among the sand dunes.
THE name and fame of Kwasind, the strong man, had spread among all tribes of Indians, and in all the world there was nobody who dared to wrestle or to strive with this mighty friend of Hiawatha. But the littlepigmy people, the mischievous Puk-Wudjies, plotted against Kwasind, for they were very much afraid of him, and thought he would destroy them.
"If this great fellow goes on breaking whatever he touches, tearing things to pieces and filling the whole world with wonder at his deeds, what will happen to us?" cried the Little People; "what will become of the Puk-Wudjies? He will step on us as if we were mushrooms; he will drive us into the water, and give our bodies to the wickedNee-ba-naw-baigsto be eaten." And all the Little People plotted to murder the cruel and wicked, dangerous, heartless Kwasind.
There was one secret about Kwasind that nobody on earth knew, except himself and the clever Little People. All his strength and all his weakness came from the crown of his head. Nowhere but on the crown of his head could any weapon do him harm, and even there nothing would hurt him except the blue seed-cone that grows upon the fir-tree. The Little People had discovered this by their great skill in magic, and they gathered together the blue cones of the fir-tree and piled them in great heaps upon the red rock ledges that overhung the river Taquamenaw. There they sat and waited until Kwasind should pass by in his canoe.
It was a hot summer afternoon when Kwasind, the strong man, in his birch canoe came floating slowly down the Taquamenaw.The air was very still and very warm; the insects buzzed and hummed above the silent water, and the locust sang from the dry, sweet-smelling bushes on the shore.
In Kwasind's ears there was a drowsy murmur, and he felt the spirits of sleep beat upon his forehead with their soft little war-clubs. At the first blow his head nodded with slumber; at the second blow his paddle trailed motionless in the water, and at the third his eyes closed and he went fast asleep, sitting bolt upright in his canoe. The warm air quivered on the water, the midges and the gnats sang in tiny voices, and the locust once more struck up his shrill tune from the river bank, when the sentinels of the Little People went scampering down the beach, calling out shrilly that Kwasind was sound asleep in his canoe and drifting nearer and nearer to the fatal red rocks that overhung the river. And all the Little People climbed the rocks and peered down upon the water, waiting until Kwasind should pass beneath.
At last the canoe swung sideways around a bend in the river and came drifting down the slow-moving current as lightly as an alder-leaf, and the Little People moved the fir-cones nearer to the edge and crouched there waiting.
"Death to Kwasind!" they shouted in little voices as the canoe glided underneath the rocks, "Death to Kwasind!"and they rained down showers of blue fir-cones right on the defenseless head of the sleeping giant.
As a great boulder is tipped into a stream, Kwasind tottered sideways from his canoe, struck the water with a sullen plunge that tossed the spray high in the air, and the waters closed above him with a mighty sob. Bottom upward his canoe drifted down the river, and nothing was seen or heard of Kwasind from that day to this. But his memory lived long among the Indians, who would tell their children of his great feats of strength, and show to them the boulder that Kwasind had pitched into the swift Pauwating River when he was little more than a boy.
When the gales of winter tossed the pine-trees and roared among the branches until they groaned and split with a terrible noise of rending wood, the Indians would say to one another, as they sat in their warm wigwams and listened to the wind shake the forest to its roots: "There goes Kwasind, gathering his firewood!" and in the country where he lived near the Big-Sea-Water there are still many marks of his great strength that will show, to any who care to see, what a mighty man this Kwasind was.
THE vulture never drops from the heavens to seize his prey upon the desert but some other vulture views his plunge and follows swiftly. Other vultures see the second, and in a few minutes their victim finds a row of them before him and the air dark with their wings.
Just so do troubles come upon human beings, not one at a time but together, until the unhappy man or woman finds the air as black as midnight with their shadows, and in this way did troubles pursue the unfortunate Hiawatha. First Chibiabos died—murdered by the evil spirits. Then Kwasind was killed as he drifted down the stream asleep in his canoe; and then in the dark winter, when the ice had bound the rivers and the trees were naked in the bitter air, another sorrow came upon Hiawatha. But before it came he had a strange adventure, and from this he knew that he would be forced to undergo some mighty trial.
One black, wintry evening after the sun had set, Nokomis and Minnehaha were sitting together in their wigwam waiting for Hiawatha to return from the hunt, when they heard light and measured footsteps on the snow, and the curtain that hung in the doorway of their lodge was slowlylifted. Two shadowy figures entered—two women, who seemed strangers in the village; and, without a word, they took their seats in the darkest corner of the wigwam and crouched there silently and sadly, shivering with cold. Their faces were very white, their clothes were thin and torn, and they would not answer anything that Nokomis or Minnehaha said to them.
Was it the wind blowing down the smoke-flue, or was it the hooting of the owl that made both Minnehaha and Nokomis think that they heard a voice come out of the darkness and say to them: "These are dead people that sit before you and share your fire! They are ghosts from the Land of the Hereafter, who have come to haunt you!" At all events they thought that such a voice cried out to them, and they were very much afraid when Hiawatha entered, fresh from hunting, and laid the red deer he had been carrying at the feet of Minnehaha.
Never before did Hiawatha appear so handsome, and Minnehaha thought him even nobler than when he came to woo her by the waterfall in the land of the Dacotahs.
Turning Hiawatha saw the two strange guests who had not said a word when he had entered, but crouched silently in the darkest corner of the wigwam, with their hoods drawn over their white faces. Only their eyes gleamed like dull coals as they gazed upon the firelight. But Hiawathadid not ask a single question, although he wondered greatly, and he set about preparing the deer for their evening meal.
When the meat was ready, the two guests, still without saying a word, sprang like wolves from their corners, seized upon the choicest parts, the white fat that Hiawatha had saved for Minnehaha, and retreated with their portions back to the shadow of their corner. And although Hiawatha and Minnehaha and Nokomis were amazed by the strange actions of their guests, they did not show it by word or look, but acted as if nothing had happened. Only Minnehaha found time to whisper to Hiawatha: "They are famished; let them eat of what they will."
Many days passed, and the two strange women still sat cowering in their corner of the wigwam; but at night, when everybody slept, they went out into the gloomy forest and brought back wood and pine-cones for the fire. Whenever Hiawatha returned from hunting or fishing, and the evening meal had been prepared, they would leap from their dark corner, seize the very choicest portions that had been set aside for Minnehaha, and without any question being asked them, or any blame for their strange conduct, they would flit back into the darkest shadow and devour their food like hungry wolves.
Never once did Nokomis or Minnehaha or Hiawatha reprove them by a single word or look, preferring to endurethe insult rather than to break in any way the law of hospitality and the sacred custom of free-giving; and through it all the pale, sad women never said a word.
One night, however, Hiawatha lay awake, watching the embers of the fire, when he heard loud groans and sobbing, and saw the two strange guests sitting bolt upright on their couches, weeping bitterly. And Hiawatha asked them: "O my guests, why is it that you are so unhappy and weep together in the middle of the night? Has old Nokomis or Minnehaha wronged you in any way or failed to treat you with proper courtesy?"
The two women left off weeping, and answered in low and gentle voices: "Hiawatha, we are spirits. We are the souls of those who once lived here on earth, and we have come from the kingdom of Chibiabos to warn you.
"Every cry of sorrow for the dead is heard in the Land of Spirits, and calls back those of us for whom you mourn. We are much saddened by this useless sorrow, and we have come from the Blessed Islands to ask you to tell all your people what we say. Do not vex our ears with weeping, and do not lay upon our graves so many robes, and kettles, and wampum-belts, for the spirits find these a heavy burden. Only give us food to carry with us on our journey, and see that a fire is lighted for us on the four nights following our death. For the journey to the Land of Spirits takes four days and four nights, and the cheerful firelightsaves us from groping in the darkness. Now farewell, Hiawatha. We have put you to a great trial and have found you brave and noble. Do not fail in the greater trial and the harder struggle that you will shortly have to suffer."
Their voices died away, and sudden darkness filled the wigwam. Hiawatha heard the rustle of their garments as they passed him, saw a gleam of starlight as they lifted the curtain from the doorway; and when he rekindled the fire he found that the pale, sad women, his strange guests, had disappeared.
OH, the cruel and bitter winter that followed! The ice on the rivers and lakes became thicker and harder than ever before; the snow on the fields and in the forests was so deep that the Indians could hardly force their way out of their buried wigwams. No game ran through the frozen thickets, no birds flew among the trees. In the level snow the starving hunters could not find a single track of deer or rabbit, and the corn in the village became less and less until it was all gone. Then the children began to cry with hunger, the women went about with faces pinched and drawn, and the mendrew their belts tighter day by day. At night the stars in the heavens seemed to glare like the eyes of famished wolves, and the cold wind moaned among the trees as if the very air were suffering from want. It was an evil time.
When the famine was at its worst, two more strange guests came to the wigwam of Hiawatha; nor did they linger at the doorway and wait to be invited in. They entered without a word, and with sunken eyes they gazed at Minnehaha, and one of them said in a hollow voice: "Look on me! My name is Famine," and the other one cried out: "I am Fever!"
The lovely Minnehaha shivered when she saw them, and a great chill came over her. She lay down on her bed and hid her face, and as the wicked guests continued to gaze she felt first burning heat, then icy coldness dart like arrows through her body. Hiawatha rushed into the forest to find some food for Minnehaha and to drive away the awful visitors; but the forest was bleak and empty, and there was no food to be had. "Ah Great Manito!" cried out Hiawatha, "give me food for my dying Minnehaha, before the Fever and Famine tear her from me forever!" But the Great Manito did not answer, and the silent forest only murmured dully, echoing the words of Hiawatha. With his bow and arrows he strode for miles through the deserted woods where he had once led his young bridehomeward from the land of the Dacotahs. But now no animals peeped at him from amid the tree trunks, and there was no cheerful fluttering and singing from the branches; everything was deathly silent, muffled in a mighty cloak of snow.
"SEVEN LONG DAYS AND NIGHTS HE SAT THERE"—Page 293"SEVEN LONG DAYS AND NIGHTS HE SAT THERE"—Page 293
While he was searching in vain for food, the two dark figures in the wigwam drew closer and closer to Minnehaha, until they crouched at either side of her bed of branches, and one of them said in hollow tones: "My name is Famine," and the other cried out: "I am Fever!" and they leaned over the bed and fixed their sunken eyes on Minnehaha, and Nokomis could not frighten them away.
"Hark!" said Minnehaha as the Fever gazed upon her, "I hear a rushing and a roaring. I hear the falls of Minnehaha calling to me from the land of the Dacotahs!"
"No, my child," said Nokomis, "it is nothing but the wind of night that blows amid the pine trees."
"Look!" said Minnehaha, as the Fever drew still closer to her bed. "I see my father standing in his doorway. I see him beckoning to me from his wigwam!"
"Ah no, my child," said Nokomis sadly; "it is nothing but the smoke of our fire curling upward to the smoke-flue."
"Oh," said Minnehaha, "I see the eyes of Death glaring at me in the darkness! I feel his icy fingers clasping mine! Hiawatha! Hiawatha!"
The wretched Hiawatha, miles away in the dark forest,heard Minnehaha cry to him and he hurried homeward with a sinking heart, but before he reached his wigwam he heard the voice of Nokomis wailing through the night. What a sight met his eyes as he burst into his dreary lodge! Nokomis was rocking sadly to and fro, moaning and weeping; and Minnehaha lay, cold and dead, upon her bed of branches!
Hiawatha gave such a cry of sorrow that the forest shuddered and groaned, and even the stars in heaven trembled. Then he sat down at the feet of Minnehaha, and covered his face with both his hands. Seven days and nights he sat there without moving or speaking, and he did not know whether it was night or day.
At last he rose and wrapped Minnehaha in her softest robes of ermine, and they made a grave for her in the snow beneath the hemlock trees. Four nights they kindled a fire on her grave, so that her soul might have cheerful light upon its journey to the Blessed Islands, and Hiawatha watched from the doorway of his wigwam to see that the fire was burning brightly so she might never be left in darkness, and he said: "Farewell, my Minnehaha! My heart is buried with you, and before long my task here will be finished and I will join you in the Blessed Islands. Soon I shall follow in your footsteps to the Land of Hereafter!"
IN a lodge built close beside a frozen river sat an old man, whose hair was whiter than the whitest snow, and he shook and trembled as he sat there, hearing nothing but the gale that raged outside and seeing nothing but the flakes of snow that leaped and whirled about his chilly wigwam. All the coals of his fire were covered with white ashes and the fire itself was dying away unheeded, when a bright youth with red blood in his cheeks walked lightly through the open doorway. On his head was a crown of fresh and sweet-smelling grasses; his lips were curved in a beautiful smile, and he carried in his hand a bunch of flowers that filled the lodge with the fragrance of the wildwood.
"Ah, my son," said the old man, "it does my old eyes good to gaze upon you! Take a seat beside my fire, and we will pass the night together! Tell me of your travels and your strange adventures, and let me tell you of all the wonderful deeds that I have done."
The old man drew a peace-pipe from his pouch, filled it with willow-bark and handed it to the beautiful young stranger, who smoked in silence while he listened to the old man's words.
"When I blow my breath about me," said the old man,"the water becomes as hard as stone and the rivers cannot move."
"When I breathe upon the meadows and the woodlands," answered the young stranger with a sunny smile, "the flowers rise like magic, and the rivers, with a song, go rushing on again."
"When I shake my long white hair," said the old man scowling, "the land is buried with snow and the leaves all fade away and fall to earth. When I raise my voice the ground becomes like flint, the wild fowl fly away and the wild beasts of the forest hide for fear."
"When I shake my flowing ringlets," said the young man with a light laugh, "the warm rain falls on the hills and fields, and the wild geese and the heron come back to the marshes. Homeward flies the swallow, and the robin and the bluebird sing for joy. Wherever I go the woodlands ring with music, and the meadows become blue with violets."
While they were speaking, the great sun leaped up above the horizon and shot his beams of orange gold through the doorway of the wigwam. The air became warm and pleasant, and in the light of morning the young stranger saw the icy face of the old man and knew that he had spent the night with Peboan, the winter. From the old man's eyes the tears were running in two streams, the water was dripping from his hair, and his body shrank until it vanishedinto the ground. And on the hearth-stone where the old man's fire had been smoking, blossomed the earliest flower of springtime.
Thus did the young stranger, Spring, come back again and drive away the icy chill of that dreadful winter of famine and death. To the northward passed the wild swans, calling to one another, and the bluebirds and the pigeons and the robins sang in the thicket, until the grieving Hiawatha heard their voices and went forth from his gloomy wigwam to gaze up into the warm, blue sky.
From his wanderings in the east returned Iagoo, the great boaster, full of stories more wonderful than any that he had ever told, and the people laughed as they listened to him, saying: "Cold and famine have not harmed Iagoo; he is just the same as ever, and has seen more wonders in his travels than the Great Manito himself."
"I have seen a water greater than the Big-Sea-Water," cried Iagoo, "much greater! And over it came a huge canoe, with large white wings that carried it along!"
"It can't be true!" cried all the Indians, laughing at Iagoo; "we don't believe one word of what you say."
"From the canoe," went on Iagoo, "came thunder and lightning, and a hundred warriors landed on the beach. Their faces were painted white, and there was hair upon their chins."
"What lies you tell us!" shouted all the people. "Do notthink that we believe you!" Hiawatha only did not join in the roar of laughter that Iagoo's words called forth from all the men and women and children who were listening.
"What he tells is true," said Hiawatha, "I have seen it all in a dream. I have seen the great canoe of the white-faced people come sailing from the Land of Sunrise. I have seen these people moving swiftly westward under the guidance of the Great Manito, until the fires of their wigwams smoked in all the valleys, while their canoes rushed over all the lakes and rivers. Let us welcome them," said Hiawatha; "let us give them of our best and call them brothers, for the Great Manito has sent them and they come to do his bidding.
"Then I had another vision," Hiawatha went on sadly. "I saw our people fighting with one another, forgetful of the warning of the Great Manito. And the forests where we hunted, and the rivers where we fished and trapped the beaver, knew our faces and our voices no more; for our people were scattered like the autumn leaves, until no Indians were left upon the earth." And when his voice died away, the Indians all sat in silence and looked at one another with a sudden fear.