4. THE GREAT BEAR CONSTELLATION.
In the days of the first people, before the creation of our kind of man-beings, there were seven brothers. All were hunters, but one was not as skillful as the others, and he was called the Lazy One.
The brothers on a certain occasion had failed to find any game though they had hunted many moons. They became very hungry and their minds were charged with magic because of their long fast. When their hunger seemed unendurable they resolved to go out and make one last effort to find game. One brother was reluctant to go and clung to his bed, but the others wrestled with him and forced him to go with them, but he assumed to be so weak that they had to make a burden litter upon which they carried him. Four brothers carried this burden, one went before with a torch and one behind with a kettle, hoping for food.
When they had gone a long way in this manner the leading brother said: “By aid of my torch I see the tracks of a large bear. I believe that we shall soon overtake him.” When he had said this the lazy brother in the litter said, “I am very weak and you must bathe me with your salivary fluid.”[[14]] They paused to do this though the brothers did not like to delay their hunt.
After a time the bear tracks appeared to be fresh before them and all five brothers made ready for the hunt. The rear brother commenced to gather firewood for the feast. Thus they traveled for three days more until the bear appeared just ahead. “We must now abandon you, brother,” said the litter-bearers, “for we are weak and all of us shall have to assist in killing him before he overpowers us. Now, we shall leave you here alone and we hope you may recover.”
When the lazy brother found himself abandoned he leaped up and ran ahead. Being full of power from the bath he had received and from his rest, he quickly engaged the bear and killed it with an axe.
When his brothers came up he had skinned the bear and had cut off some meat. Soon the brother who bore the torch made a fire and the brother with the kettle had placed the meat therein.
When all were satisfied they looked about them and discovered that they were far up in the air and that the earth was a good ways below them. They looked down and saw that the blood and oil from the bear had stained the leaves of the trees and made them red, orange and yellow. This is how the autumn leaves became colored.
After a time they went on their journey and soon found that the bear had revived, though they had killed and eaten him. So they again pursued him, being hungry, and when they killed him it was autumn again.
This bear chase keeps up all the time,—year after year, and has been so since the first people came. If you will look into the sky where the bear-chase cluster is seen to the north, you will find the man with the torch at the end of the group (big dipper or great bear constellation), and will see the man with the pot in the middle of the handle.
It seems also that there is a cave in which the bear hides and out of which he comes at the time the brothers are very hungry. Then he is pursued until killed by the brother who has saved his strength. This keeps on forever. So we call those stars Nia´gwai’ hadēs´he’ (Bear they pursuing are).
THE SEVEN DANCING BROTHERS.
From a painting by Richard J. Tucker.
5. THE SEVEN BROTHERS OF THE STAR CLUSTER.[[15]]
Seven brothers[[16]] had been trained as young warriors. Each day they practised in front of their mother’s lodge, but this did not please the mother. With the boys was an uncle whose custom it was to sit outside the lodge door and drum upon a water drum, that the boys might learn to dance correctly.
In time the boys became perfect in their dancing, and then announced that they were about to depart on an expedition to test their skill. The seven assembled about the war post and began their dance. They then went into their mother’s lodge and asked her to supply them with dried meat and parched corn for their journey but she sent them away, scoffing at their presumptions.
Again they danced and again returned for food. “I will not give you so much as a small cake of corn bread,” said the mother hoping to restrain them. But they went back to their dance. A third time they returned but again were repulsed.
The fourth dance started and the oldest youth changed his tune to the song of Djihaya. With great enthusiasm he sang compelling his brothers to dance a dance of magic.
Hearing the wierd music the mother rushed out of the lodge and saw her sons dancing in the air over the trees. This greatly startled her and she cried, “Return, my sons! What manner of departure is this?” But the song continued and the boys danced higher and higher.
Again the mother cried, “Oh, my eldest son, will you not return?” But the eldest son would not listen, though his heart was touched. Then the mother screamed, “Oh my eldest son, will you not hear your mother’s voice? Only look down to me!” Then was the oldest son’s heart touched very deeply, but he did not respond, for fear of making his brothers weak.
“Oh my brothers,” he called. “Heed no sounds from the earth but continue dancing. If you look down you shall fall and never more be able to dance.”
The mother now gave a heart-broken cry and called, “Oh my first born son, give your mother one look,—one last look or I die!” This weakened the heart of the oldest son and he looked down toward the figure of his mother with outstretched arms, weeping for him.
As he looked he lost his power to master the air, and began to fall. With great rapidity he fell until he struck the earth and penetrated it, leaving only a scar where the soil came together again.
The mother rushed to the spot and swept aside the rubbish, but no trace of her son could she find. Finally looking up she saw her other boys dancing far up in the sky. They had become the “dancing stars.”
In deep sorrow the mother with covered head sat beside the spot where her first born had fallen. For a whole year she wept as she watched.
Winter came and her dancing boys appeared over the council house and each night were observed overhead, but no sign of her eldest could be seen.
Came springtime and the time of budding plants. From the spot where the eldest had disappeared a tiny green shoot appeared. This the mother watched with great solicitude. It grew into a tall tree and became the first pine. This tree was guarded by the melancholy old woman and she would allow no man to touch it; she knew that it was her son and would sometime speak to her.
The winds blew and the tree swayed, it began to speak, and the mother heard. Only she could interpret the sounds that came from the waving branches, only she could see the face of the young warrior with his plumes.
A careless hunter slashed at the tree and blood flowed, but the mother bound up the wound and drove other intruders away. In time the tree bore small short feathers (cones), and more trees grew. These the hunters slashed in order to get pitch for canoes and ropes.
Every winter the pine tree talked to its dancing brothers in the sky and the mother knew that her eldest son should be her comfort while she rested on this earth.
GENERAL NOTES. This legend I had from Edward Cornplanter but being so familiar with it I made only a few rough notes which I have transcribed. This myth is similar to the Huron and Wyandot forms recounting the origin of “the cluster.”
6. THE SEVEN STAR DANCERS.[[17]]
Now this even happened a long time ago in the days when the whole world was new. Our Creator it was (S‘hoñgwadiĕnnu’k´dăon), had finished his work.
One of the first men beings lived with his nephew in a lodge near a river. The river was broad and had a wide sandy shore. The nephew received the name Djinaĕñ’´dă’ and his uncle sent him away to dream on the shore of the river, there to stay and dream until his dream helpers appeared. For a long time he did not eat, but drank water and sweat himself in a sweat lodge.
One night he thought that he saw a light upon the water and he looked and saw lights moving toward him. Hiding in the reeds on the shore he watched. Soon he saw seven shining young women dancing[[18]] in the water against the shore and they made no splashing but went up and down. He heard them speak but could not understand what they said. He observed them all intently, for all were without clothing and were very beautiful of body. The youngest appeared the most beautiful of all. The young man watched her and thought that she would do for a wife.
Hoping to catch her he rushed out from his hiding place but the maidens were alarmed and leaped into a great corn basket and were drawn rapidly up into the sky and he looked and said, “They are dancing,” (De‘hoñnont´gwĕn‘).
Djinaĕñ’´dă’ (Elk) continued his vigil and the next night he saw the dancers swing back over the water in their basket. Soon they came to the shore and alighted. Again he heard their voices and again they began their bewitching dance. Djinaenda’s eyes were upon the youngest dancer and she appeared more beautiful than ever. He waited until she danced very near to him and away from the basket, then he rushed out from his hiding place and pursued the maidens, at length grasping the youngest before she touched the basket, but she gave a leap, and the youth holding to her was drawn upward as she fell into the basket. She looked to see who held her so tightly and immediately both fell to the earth.
The maiden gazed upon Djinaenda and asked him what he wanted. “I want to marry you,” he said. “You have caused me to love you.”
“Then we shall be married,” said the maiden, “but we must return to the sky and prepare for living upon the earth.” So the basket came down and drew them into the sky.
Djinaenda was taken to the lodge of the dancing sisters and then led to the lodge of a great chief who caused him to recline upon the ground. The chief then took him apart, joint by joint and removed all his organs. After cleansing them he replaced them and Djinaenda was regenerated. He now felt very strong and able to do mighty things.
His bride now came to him and said that she would now return to the earth with him and live as his wife. The sisters then placed the couple in the basket and lowered them to the earth. They came down on the beach of the river but it was changed and there was a great village of men beings there.
Djinaenda inquired where his uncle lived but no one knew. Finally an old man said, “An old man such as you describe lived in the woods with his nephew near this place more than a hundred years ago.”
The couple now tried to live contentedly but could not understand the ways of the people, and so, in time the two returned to the sky. The wife rejoined her sisters but she had lost her brightness, and Djinaenda roamed the sky world hunting game which he captured by running it down.
My grandmother told me that they are up there yet.
7. THE COMING OF SPRING.[[19]]
In the ancient times when this world was new an old man wandered over the land in search of a suitable camping spot. He was a fierce old man and had long white flowing hair. The ground grew hard like flint where his footsteps fell, and when he breathed the leaves and grasses dropped and dried up red, and fell. When he splashed through the rivers the water stopped running and stood solid.
On and on the old man journeyed until at last on the shores of a great lake by a high mountain he halted. He gathered the trees that had been uprooted by hurricanes and made a framework for a dwelling. He built the walls of ice and plastered the crevices with branches and snow. Then, to guard his lodge against the intruder, he placed uprooted stumps about on every side. Not even bad animals cared to enter this house. Everything living passed by it at a distance. It was like a magician’s house.
The old man had but one friend. It was North Wind, and it was he alone who might enter the door of the stronghold and sit by the fire. Very wonderful was this fire and it gave flames and light but no heat! But even North Wind found little time to enter and smoke with the old man, for he took greater pleasure in piling high the snow and driving hail, like flints, against the shivering deer or hungry storm bound hunter. He liked to kill them. There came times, however, when North Wind needed new tricks and so he sought the advice of the old man,—how he might pile up the snow banks higher, how he might cause famine or make great snow-slides to bury Indian villages.
One very dismal night both North Wind and the old man sat smoking, half awake and half dreaming. North Wind could think of nothing new and the old man could give no more advice. So, sitting before the fire, both fell asleep. Towards morning each sprang to his feet with a cry. Not their usual cries, either, were their startled yells, for instead of a shrill “agēē! agēē! agēē!” the North Wind only gasped hoarsely and the old man’s jaw opened with a smack and his tongue, thick and swollen rolled out on his chin. Then spoke the North Wind:
“What warm thing has bewitched me? The drifts are sinking, the rivers breaking, the ice is steaming, the snow is smoking!”
The old man was silent, too sleepy to speak. He only thought, “My house is strong, very strong.” Still the North Wind called loudly:
“See, the rivers are swelling full, the drifts are getting smaller.”
Then he rushed from the lodge, and he flew to the mountain top where snow made him brave again. So he was happy and sang a war song as he danced on snow crust.
At the lodge of the old man a stranger struck the doorpost. The old man did not move, but dozing, thought, “oh some prank of North Wind.” The knocking continued and the old man grew more sleepy. The door rattled on its fastenings but the old man’s head did not raise to listen but dropped on his chest and his pipe fell down to his feet.
The logs of the lodge frame shook,—one fell from the roof. The old man jumped to his feet with a war yell.
“Who is it that dares come to my house in this way? Only my friend North Wind enters here. Go away, no loafers here!”
In answer the door fell down and a stranger stood in the opening. He entered and hung the door upright again. His face was smiling and as he stirred the fire, it grew warmer inside. The old man looked at the stranger but did not answer his pleasant words, but his heart was very angry. Finally when he could no longer keep silent he burst forth:
“You are a stranger to me and have entered my lodge, breaking down my door. Why have you broken down my door? Why have your eyes a fire? Why does light shine from your skin? Why do you go about without skins when the wind is sharp? Why do you stir up my fire when you are young and need no warmth? Why do you not fall on my wolf skins and sleep? Did not North Wind blow the sun far away? Go away now before he returns, and blows you against the mountains. I do not know you. You do not belong in my lodge!”
The young stranger laughed and said, “Oh why not let me stay a little longer and smoke my pipe?”
“Then listen to me,” yelled the old man in anger. “I am mighty! All snows and ice and frosts are my making. I tell the North Wind to cut the skins of men to let the blood through to make war paint on the drifts. I tell him to freeze things that are food. Birds and animals run away from the North Wind. I pile the drifts on the rocks on the mountains and when it gets very high the North Wind knocks it off to crush the villages beneath.”
Listlessly the stranger viewed the raving old man, and only smiled and said, “I like to be sociable, let me stay a little longer and we will smoke together.”
So, shaking with fear, the old man took the pipe and drew a breath of smoke and then the warrior sang.
“Continue to smoke for me, I am young and warm, I am not afraid of boasting, I am young and strong. Better wrap up, you are old. I am here. I am here, keep on smoking. I am Dedio‘s‘nwineq´don, the Spring. Look at your hair, it is falling out, look at the drifts, they are melting. My hair is long and glossy, see—the grasses are sprouting! I want to smoke with you. I like smoking. See—the ground is smoking! My friend Dăgā´ĕn‘´dă, the South Wind, is coming. I guess your friend is dead. You had better wrap up and go away. There is a place. You cannot own all things always. See—the sun is shining. Look out now!”
As the young warrior sang the old man shrank very small and shriveled up smaller until his voice only whispered, “I don’t know you!”
And so the young warrior sang, “I am the Spring, I am the chief now. The South Wind is coming. Don’t be late. You can go yet while I sing.”
A rushing wind made the lodge tremble, the door fell in and an eagle swooped down and carried Hă’´t‘howā´ne‘ away toward the north.
The lodge fire was out and where it had burned a plant was growing and where the provisions were buried in a hole a tree was starting to have buds.
The sun was shining and it was warm. The swollen rivers carried away the ice. So the winter went away and in the morning it was spring time.