Wiske·djak Cycle.
(1) Wiske·djak Pursues the Beaver.
Wiske·djak was travelling about looking for adventures. He never succeeded in anything he tried to do. He never did well and was always hungry. In his travels he came to Ki·we·′goma “Turn-back lake” (Dumoine lake). Now he even had no canoe, but he was a great swimmer. When he came to Ki·we·′goma, he found it even too big to swim, so he started to [[3]]walk around it. He wanted to hunt beaver. On one side of the lake, he came to a round, high mountain that looked like a beaver-lodge. In front of it he found deep water, just as there is in front of a beaver lodge. And a little way off shore was a little island with many grasses; just as the beaver provides a winter supply of greens for himself near his lodge, so this island he supposed to be the beaver’s winter supply and the mountain his lodge. Wiske·djak wanted to get this great beaver, but did not know how to get at him. Then he thought of draining the lake, so he went way around to the lower end and broke away the dam so that the water would run off. Soon the water began to go, and Wiske·djak lingered about, waiting for it to get low enough to get at the beaver. Pretty soon he took a nap. When he woke up, it was rather late and he hurried back to the mountain only to find that the beaver had gone. Now he thought the beaver might have escaped over the dam with the water, so he started back, and sure enough he saw the beaver going over the dam. “Now,” said he, “I lost my beaver.” He followed hard after him and had lots of trouble to keep up.
He followed him past Coulonge river and Pembroke lakes. But when the beaver reached Calumet chutes, he was afraid to go through and took to the portage. Then Wiske·djak saw him and chased him harder over the portage. When he got to the lower end, he lost sight of the beaver and started back up river (Ottawa river). When he got to the upper end of the portage, he saw fresh tracks. “Well,” said he, “there has been somebody here. I wonder if I could trace him. We might have something to eat.” Then he followed the track to the lower end of the portage where he had already been, but nobody was there. So he went back to the upper end of the portage and there saw more fresh tracks leading to the lower end. These he followed to where he had been twice before, but saw no beaver. He then discovered that they were his own tracks he had been following and gave it up. The tracks back and forth can be seen plainly to-day imprinted in the stone of Calumet portage, which the Indians call Wiske·djak tracks. After this he started off on another trip. [[4]]
(2) Wiske·djak Kills the Bear and Gets his Head Fastened in the Skull.
Wiske·djak was always in trouble. One time he was going along the shore of a big lake carrying a big pail. He felt very hungry and was looking for something to eat. Pretty soon he saw a lot of clumps of high-bush cranberries and commenced to eat from one little clump to another. Then he remembered his pail. Said he, “If I could pick my pail full, I would have a good supply to last me a long while.” So he began filling his pail, and as he went on he got into some big clumps. Suddenly he saw a big Bear sitting down among some bushes, every little while rubbing his eyes and picking out his paws as though something was hurting his eyes. Wiske·djak watched him a while and thought how nice it would be to kill him. What a big supply of food he would have then to fill his pail with! So he went up to the bear and said, “Hello, Bear! What’s the matter with you?” The Bear answered, “Oh! my eyes are so sore, and I can’t see where to go. I just wish somebody would help me.” “Well, come along with me. I will help you. I know where to get some fine medicine that will fix you up all right.” “Very well,” said the bear.
Wiske·djak led him off to a big bunch of cranberries. There he gathered a lot of berries and crushed them in his hands. Then he told the Bear to open his eyes so that he could put the medicine on. “It may hurt you when I put this medicine in, but it will cure you, so don’t mind it.” Then Wiske·djak began to rub the cranberry juice into the Bear’s eyes. The Bear began to roar and tear around with the pain, making a great time. “But never mind,” said Wiske·djak. “It may hurt, but it will cure you.” In the meantime he hunted around and got two big stones, and while the Bear was blinded with the pain, began pounding him on the head with the stones. He had a hard fight all over the berry-patch, but finally succeeded and killed the Bear. Then Wiske·djak went back to where he had left his pail and got his knife. He skinned the bear and cut him up. He put some of the pieces into his pail to make a bouillon. Then he got sticks and made a fire for the cooking. Next he got some birch bark peeled off and cleaned a big space [[5]]near the fire, spreading the birch bark to put the meat on. He stuck the pieces of meat on sharp sticks. When they were well roasted, he spread them on the bark to cool off before eating them. He left the bear’s head for the last, then he began to eat lots of the bear’s fat and the meat. He had a great big pile of it. He sat down to enjoy his meal.
Now, just as he was ready to begin, the wind began to blow a little, and at the same time from above came a little cry, “Whun!” He looked around, because it bothered him, but could not see anything, so he started to eat again. Then the same little cry sounded again, “Whun!” and he stopped to look around, but couldn’t see anything. The third time he started to eat, the same cry sounded, and then he got up and hunted for the cause, for it bothered him and was spoiling his good time. When he looked up, he saw a tree that had been blown down, resting in the crotch of another tree over him that rubbed when the wind blew and made this noise. Said Wiske·djak, “You had better stop that noise until I get through eating. I don’t like it at all.” “Oh!” said the tree, “I have to do it. I can’t stop it.” Whenever Wiske·djak started to eat again, the wind blew a little. Then Wiske·djak climbed the tree and put his hands in between the tree and the crotch to stop the rubbing, and when the wind blew a little the space spread and closed again. It pinned his hands in the crotch and held him fast. “Let me go! Let me go!” he begged of the tree. “I must get down to my meat.” But the only answer he got was, “No,” and there he stayed.
Pretty soon when he looked down, he saw a Squirrel come and take some of his meat. He shouted for him to go away without any success. Next came the Marten, then the Fisher, then some Wildcats, then Ravens, and in fact all kinds of animals came and began to eat up his supply of meat. He tried to drive them away, but couldn’t. The more he shouted at them, the more they danced and sang and ran off mocking him. They carried away all his pieces of meat to their dens, but didn’t touch the pail of grease. By the time all the meat was gone, a little breeze arose and the tree let him go. When he got down, all was cleared away. There were not even bones enough for [[6]]bouillon. There was only the grease in the pail. “Well,” said he, “I’ll have grease anyway.”
The Bear’s bladder was hanging in some willow trees where he had thrown it when he had cut him up. And he went over and filled the bladder with the grease, so that he could cool it. He tied the neck of the bladder so that it would hold the grease. “Now,” said he to himself, “even if they have taken all my meat and bones, I’ll have the grease. I’ll just tie it by a string to a stick and let it float in the river until it is cool, and then I’ll make a good meal of that anyway.” So he tied the bladder of grease to a stick and let it swing in the current of the river to cool it. A Muskrat came along. “Kwe, Muskrat! Where are you going?” said Wiske·djak. “Oh! anywhere,” answered the Muskrat. “Well, then, come work for me,” said Wiske·djak. “Come, tie this bladder on your tail and swim further out in the deep water where it is cold and cool it for me. Don’t swim too fast and go easy or you might break the bladder and spill my grease.” “All right,” said the Muskrat, “I will do it for you and you will tell me how fast to go.” Then Wiske·djak tied it to his tail and the Muskrat started off with it. He made a plan meanwhile. The Muskrat swam way out. “Hold on,” said Wiske·djak, “you’re going too fast.” But the Muskrat swam farther and when he got far enough, he snapped the string with his tail, broke the bladder, and dove out of sight. The grease spread all over the water. Wiske·djak cried and ran out into the water and tried to scoop up the grease in his hands to save some of it, but it all escaped him.
When he had lost his grease, he thought of his bouillon, and went back to his pail, but when he got there, he found that the Wolverine had come and eaten it all up. Then he searched about to see if he could even find a small bone. There was not a thing left. After a while he saw a string of little ants going back and forth from under a log. “I wonder what they are doing,” thought he. “Maybe they have something hidden under there.” He followed them and looked under the log, and there were the ants eating away on the Bear’s skull, devouring the brains. “If I could get in there myself, I could get some of those brains,” said he. He tried different ways to reach in, but could not get at it. “If I could only put my head in [[7]]that hole, I could eat some. I wish my head was as small as a snake’s head, then I could get it in.” Then his head began to get small like a snake’s head and he poked it inside the skull and began eating a great snack. He licked the skull clean and said, “Well, I had a meal. Now, if I could only get up and out, I would be all right.” But when he tried to get his head clear of the skull, he could not, because his head had turned back to its original size and was fast inside the skull. He couldn’t see where he was going.
Then he sat down on a log, thinking what to do next. “If I knock my head against a rock, I might break my own head.” Then he thought of the Indians and started off in search of a camp to get help. He was blinded by the skull and could not see where he was going. Soon he banged against a tree. “What’s your name?” he asked of the tree. “Maple,” was the answer. “Well, I’m in high ground. I won’t find any people camping way up here.” Soon he banged against another tree. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Beech,” was the answer. “I’m still in high ground,” said he; “I must strike lower ground.” Soon he banged against another tree and asked its name. It answered, “White-pine.” “Still in high ground,” said he, “but getting lower.” The next tree he bumped against proved to be a red pine. “Still in high ground. No Indian camp here.” At last he banged against a balsam and then a spruce. “I am getting on low ground now,” said he. Pretty soon he got into ragged bush and struck a rough-bark tree. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Cedar,” said the tree. “Aha! Now I’m in low ground and may strike a camp at last.” He went on and soon got into very tight bush and struck an alder. “Aha! Now, I am close to a lake. I will soon find a camp.” Next he got tangled up in knee-high twigs. He asked them what their name was and they told him willows. He said, “Am I near a lake?” “Yes,” they answered. “Can you see people?” “Yes, up at yonder point there is a camp,” they answered. “Is it far?” he asked. “No, not far,” said they. So he went on and got into something still lower. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Grass,” was the answer. Now he walked on and got into water, deeper and deeper. “If the people would only see me, I would be all right,” said he. Next he started to swim. [[8]]He splashed about and made a noise to attract the people if any were about. Suddenly he remembered about the skull on his head and said, “If the people see me, they might think that I’m a bear and try to kill me.” So he swam on.
Sure enough the Indians saw him. They recognized Wiske·djak by his antics and thought he was trying to play some trick on them, so they laughed about it and quietly paddled up close to him. They pretended they thought he was a bear and made out as though they were going to kill him. Wiske·djak swam as hard as he could for his life. “Hand me my axe,” said one of the Indians, “till I kill him.” “Stand aside till I shoot him with my arrow,” said another. “Hurry up, paddle hard or we’ll lose him,” said a third. They all kept shouting and making a great pretence to get after him, all the time laughing at Wiske·djak and splashing with their paddles as though trying to keep up with him. Wiske·djak all the time struggled ahead in great fear, expecting any moment to be killed. At last he got across the lake on the other shore and his feet struck bottom. He landed on a flat rock with the Indians behind him. Suddenly he slipped and fell on his head. The bear skull cracked and fell off and left his head free. Then he saw the Indians. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” cried he. “I’m Wiske·djak.” Then he took to the bush and escaped.
(3) Wiske·djak Invites the Ducks to a Dance.
Wiske·djak was always hungry. One time, in the autumn of the year, he noticed the flocks of ducks flying south and how fat they were. Then he made up his mind to try and get some for a good supply against the winter. He decided to make a big dance among the birds in the autumn and to invite all the ducks and geese to come, so that he could kill them. Then he set to work and built a big wigwam and cleaned a nice place around the outside. He built a little fire in the middle of the wigwam and fixed a nice space all around it for the dance to take place. Then he made his door of birch bark, so that the centre stick, which keeps the bark spread, extended over the ends of the bark and kept it from opening inwards. Now, everything was about ready, so he went to see a Duck and said to him, “Soon, [[9]]now, you will be going away south to be gone all winter and not to come back until next spring. It will be a long time before I will see you again, so I want to get up a dance for you all. You go and invite all your friends—the Ducks, the Geese and the others who go south.” “All right,” said the Duck.
So he got ready and went back to his wigwam to wait for the company. To help invite the birds, he sat down in front of it and got his drum and rattle and began singing a song of invitation.
As the ducks came flying by overhead, they heard his song and came down to join the party. He sang his song and told them, “You are going away to be gone until next spring, and I won’t see you for a long time, so I want to get up a dance for you all, before you go.” A lot of them came down and he gathered a crowd outside. Then he said, “Now, let us go inside and have our good time,” and he opened the door and they all went in. Then he fixed the small fire in the middle so that it would just give enough light to see a little. “Now,” said he, “you must obey the rule of this dance and do whatever you are told when you hear the order.” He sat down on one side of the fire near the door and they all began dancing around. They got well mixed up before long—the geese, ducks, loons, and all kinds of birds, and Ciŋgəbis[3] was there too. When he got them warmed up to the dance, they all got mixed up and soon Wiske·djak said, “Now, you must all close your eyes and not open them until I give the word.” Then they obeyed and kept on dancing with their eyes closed. Then, while their eyes were closed, Wiske·djak got up and began wringing the neck of one after another. The noise of the dancing prevented them from hearing what he was doing.
Pretty soon, Ciŋgəbis began to suspect that Wiske·djak was moving around, so he danced over into a dark corner where Wiske·djak could not see him and opened one of his eyes a little to peep out. There he saw Wiske·djak going among the dancers, wringing their necks, and he called out, “Wiske·djak is killing you! Fly!” Then they opened their eyes and saw what was happening and took wing and flew away. But little [[10]]Ciŋgəbis was way up in the corner. When the birds rushed for the door, Ciŋgəbis got there last. Wiske·djak jumped at him and gave him a kick behind that knocked him out of shape. Then he kicked him out of the door and cried, “Now go, you little rascal.” Ciŋgəbis flew off. Ever since then he has been out of shape. His feet are so far back that he cannot walk on land. Wiske·djak did not eat the ducks he had killed after all. He was a curious lad, that Wiske·djak. (I wasn’t with him any longer. I left him there.)[4]
(4) Wiske·djak Anum Suum Urit and Originates Rock-weed and Red Willow from the Scabs.
Now Wiske·djak went on after he had kicked Ciŋgəbis. He saw the flocks of birds rising in the sky and flying overhead for the south to where it is warmer. When he lost sight of them, he went back into his wigwam and looked over what birds he had killed. He wondered how he could cook them best, so they would taste good. Then he made up his mind to build a big fire outside his wigwam. When he got the fire well started, he got a stick and sharpened its point; then with this he loosened up the ground all around and under the fire. When the fire burned down, it left the sand red hot round about, and the holes too. Then, where the holes were, he stuck the fowl head-first with their feathers all on just as he had killed them, leaving their feet sticking out above the ground. Then he put on more fire to roast them well in the hot sand. He stayed up part of the night tending his fire, until he grew drowsy. “Now,” said he, “I’ll take a little sleep while my birds are cooking in the sand.” But he grew uneasy lest somebody might come while he was sleeping and steal his birds. Now Wiske·djak had the power to make anything answer him when he spoke to it, no matter what it might be. So he decided to lie down in a clear space facing the lake where people would come in a canoe if any were around. He lay down ano suo lacui adverso, resting on his knees and elbows. “Now,” declared he, “I’m going to have a little sleep. You watch and tell me when you see any [[11]]Indians, if they should come in a canoe. Wake me up if you see anybody.” So he went to sleep. After a while anus ejus clamavit, saying that an Indian was coming. Wiske·djak jumped up and looked around everywhere, but could not see anybody. So he lay down again and ano suo idem dixit ut antea. But just as he was going to sleep, anus iterum clamavit, saying that a canoe was approaching from around the point. Wiske·djak jumped up again and looked all around, but he could not see any canoe. He then grew angry and anum suum vehementes objurgavit and warned it not to tell any more lies, as he wanted to go to sleep. Then he lay down and fell asleep again.
Now this time there were some Indians coming around the point in a canoe and they saw the smoke from Wiske·djak’s fire on the shore of the lake. Seeing something strange-looking near the fire—they could not well make out what—they paddled near. As they drifted quietly in shore, looking sharp to see what curious creature it might be, they came quite close. One of the Indians said, “Look out, it might be Wiske·djak up to some more of his mischief.” So one of the men went ashore and said, “I’ll go see who it is and what he is doing.” Then he went up the shore to where Wiske·djak was crouching asleep and looked at him. He then found out who it was, Wiske·djak, and saw the fire burning, but couldn’t see anything cooking. But at last he examined the fire-place and saw the fowls’ legs sticking out of the sand around the fire. He stepped closer to the fire and saw that they were the legs of all kinds of ducks and geese. Then he went down to the water and told the rest of the men what he had found. Said they, “We will all go up and take Wiske·djak’s ducks and geese out of the sand and play a trick on him.” So they got out of the canoe and took their paddles. They dug up all the fowl with the paddles and twisted the legs off them. The legs they stuck back in the sand just as Wiske·djak had placed them. They then took the ducks and geese and started off as fast as possible before Wiske·djak should wake up and see them.
Pretty soon Wiske·djak did wake up, as he had slept enough. He got up and looked about. Nobody was around and things [[12]]looked quiet. “I guess my food is pretty well cooked by this time,” said he. Then he pulled up one of the duck legs from the sand, and ate the meat on the shank. He went all around pulling the fowls’ legs out of the sand and eating them. “They are very well done to pull off so easily. Oh, they must be nice and tender!” thought he. The only thing he noticed was that the legs came very freely from the sand. “They must be very well cooked to come out of the sand so freely.” He took a digging stick and commenced to dig them out. He commenced shovelling away the sand where one of his ducks was, but found the hole empty, and he dug all around in the sand but found they were all taken away. He could not find one bird. At last he got tired of searching and then ano suo dixit, “So I thought I left you to watch for me while I was asleep!” Et anus [5]respondit, “When I was watching for you and woke you up, you were not satisfied. You gave me a scolding. So when the Indians did come, I thought I would leave you to do your own watching.”
Then Wiske·djak grew angry and planned anum suum castigare. He got wood and made another big fire. He got it burning well until there were a lot of red coals. “Now,” ano suo dixit, “I’ll give you a little punishment for letting my ducks and geese go to the Indians.” He went over to the fire and straddled his legs over the fire-place, sitting over the red coals. Anum suum paulum urere incepit ut eum castigaret, but he stood the pain the fire gave him. Soon his flesh commenced sizzling, making a sputtering noise “Tsii!” as it roasted nicely. He heard it squealing. “You can squeal all you like till you get enough of a scorching,” ano suo dixit Wiske·djak. When he thought it was burnt enough, he got up and started walking off. He started off to look for something else to do, ano suo maxime dolente.
He wandered across swamps and mountains and around lakes, suffering with his burns. All at once he came upon a little flock of partridges newly hatched, and their mother was away. “Kwe!” said Wiske·djak, “What are you doing here?” “Nothing,” said the little Partridges, “just staying here.” “Where is your mother?” asked Wiske·djak. “Away hunting,” replied they. “What’s your name?” he asked of one. Each [[13]]little Partridge told him its name until he came to the last, the youngest one. “What’s your name?” he demanded. “Kuckuŋge·′sįs, suddenly frightened!” answered the little Partridge. “Oh you!” said Wiske·djak, “what can you frighten?” Then he took a lump of soft mud and threw it over all the young Partridges, so that he almost covered them with the dirty mud. “What can you frighten now?” said he. Then he left and walked along until he came to a high mountain. He was getting very sore from his burns and anus [6]maxime doluit. When he climbed to the top of the mountain he found a nice breeze blowing across it. He found a high rock swept by the cooling breeze. “Now,” thought he to himself, “if I can find a nice place on the highest of these rocks I can rest myself and let the cool breeze cool my burns.” So he searched around the mountain until he came to a place clear of trees where there was a great chasm below, hundreds of feet deep, with a nice cool breeze coming over. Here he lay down right on the edge where most of the breeze was. He found the wind very good. He got relief from his suffering burns. His pains had been so bad and he had walked so far that he was very tired and sleepy. Soon he was fast asleep on the brink of the cliff.
By this time the old Partridge had got home to his young and found them all covered with black mud. The old Partridge said to his young, “What has happened to you? Where did you go? Anywhere?” “No,” they answered, “nowhere.” “Well, what did this?” he asked. “Well, Wiske·djak came along to-day after you went away. He commenced asking us questions and we answered him as well as we could. He asked us our names and we all told him. But one, our youngest brother, was the last to be asked, and when he told his name Wiske·djak got angry and said, ‘What could you frighten?’ Then he got mud and threw it over us and left us in this mess.” So the old Partridge was angry. He cleaned the young ones up, washed and dried them, and gave them their food which he had brought back for them. Then he asked them which way Wiske·djak went and they showed him the direction. Then the old Partridge took the trail the little ones showed him and followed Wiske·djak across the swamps, over the mountains, and around the lakes. He tracked him to the big high mountains. He [[14]]kept on until he reached the high rock of the cliff, and there he saw Wiske·djak lying on the edge of the rock sleeping soundly. The old Partridge went alongside of him on the upper side of the rock, above him. He spread his wings and went right up close to Wiske·djak’s ears, and shouted, screeched, and clapped his wings. Wiske·djak woke up with a start and jumped up. He saw something above him making a terrible noise and took such a fright that he fell over the edge of the rock. “Now,” said the old Partridge, “you will know better what Kuckuŋge·′sįs is now.”
So poor Wiske·djak tumbled down the cliff, banging and sliding on his hind-quarters, and scraped all the scabs off his burns. When he fell to the bottom of the rocky cliff, he lay stunned for some time, but after a while he arose. He started to crawl away on his hands and knees. Soon he saw a lake at the bottom of the cliff. His sores pained him very badly. Thought he to himself, “There’s a nice lake; now I’ll go down there and cool myself in the water.” He started crawling toward the shore. Before he came to the edge of the water there were a lot of low willows he had to crawl through. As he went over them, he looked back where he had come and saw all his blood from the sores stuck on to the willow twigs. Then said he, “Now you young willows will be called ‘red willows’ from this time on. And when the Indians get short of tobacco they will cut you and scrape the bark off you and dry you and use you to smoke for their tobacco.” He looked up higher toward the rocks where he fell down. There he saw his scabs sticking to the rocks where he had stuck, some large, some small. Said he to the rocks, “You will hold on to these scabs. Don’t ever let go. And when the Indians are hard put to it for something to eat, you will give them some of my scabs and tell them to wash them in cold water and boil them with rabbit meat or any kind of meat or fish. It will furnish them with fine soup, those small ones. And now the biggest scabs—you can tell them that if they have any kind of oil they can oil them a little and roast them before the fire and that it will give them good nourishment when they are hard put to it for something to eat.” So from that time the Indians have used red willow bark to smoke and the “rock weed” to eat when they have needed [[15]]them.[7] By this time anus Wiske·djaki magnopere doluit and he thought he would go into the water for a while and cool his burns.
So I had some travelling to do and I left him there, and I don’t know where he went.
(5) Wiske·djak Disguises himself as a Lynx.
One time in winter Wiske·djak was going along and fell upon an Indian’s trail. He followed the tracks of the snowshoes and soon came to a place where the Indian had set his rabbit snares. Wiske·djak saw the rabbits in the snares. He followed on and finally came to where a Lynx was caught in a snare. He thought it was a very curious looking creature. The Lynx’s eyes were bulging out from being choked in the snare, and his teeth showed. Now Wiske·djak admired the Lynx’s bulging eyes. “Don’t you think your eyes are very pretty?” he asked the Lynx. “No, not very,” answered the Lynx, because every thing living or dead had to reply when Wiske·djak asked it a question. Wiske·djak was very eager to get pretty eyes like the Lynx’s, so he made a fire and roasted the poor Lynx to get its skin off. Then Wiske·djak took out his own eyes and pulled the Lynx’s skin on over his own head, so that the bulging eyes of the Lynx fitted into his own eye sockets.
Then Wiske·djak went on his travels, very well pleased with his looks. But he found out that with the Lynx’s eyes he could only see well at night. So after a while he became dissatisfied with the new eyes, but he had thrown his own away, so he had to make the best of it. He could only travel at night on account of his new eyes. So he had to make his living on rabbits, stealing them from the Indians’ snares. They were all he could get. One day, as he was going along, he stopped and looked at his tracks. Then he discovered that his paws were big and broad and so spread out when he walked that they resembled snowshoes. They were so broad that he could walk over the snow without snowshoes. So he went on. [[16]]
One day he decided to watch the Indians, so he sat down on a log near a hunter’s path and waited for someone to come along. He waited all night and part of the day. Finally some Indians came along the path to visit their rabbit snares. As they passed they found the rabbits stolen from all their snares, but they did not mind it very much. Some time after, one of the Indians’ little children came along the trail and saw Wiske·djak with his big face and bulging eyes sitting on the stump. The child ran back to camp and told his parents that he saw a big wildcat with bulging eyes staring at him from a stump. Then the father of the child took his “arrow-head club,”[8] and went to where the child said he saw the wildcat. Then he started clubbing Wiske·djak to kill him. The fight was getting pretty bad, when Wiske·djak cried out, “Hold on, hold on! it isn’t a lynx, it is Wiske·djak that you are pounding to death!” And Wiske·djak tore off the lynx skin, and pitched it away. Then he took to the bush. That’s the last I saw of him.
(6) Wiske·djak’s Love Affair.
Wiske·djak never got married to a woman. But he pretended to get married. One time he dressed himself like a woman, with skirts, and tried to deceive a young man, so that he thought Wiske·djak was his wife. Wiske·djak pretended to be jealous of the man when he went away. The other people knew that it was Wiske·djak all the time and laughed to themselves and made fun of the pair. The young man lived with Wiske·djak for some time, thinking it was his wife. But the other people made fun of the young man so much that at last he left Wiske·djak. Several times he got young men to live with him as their wife, but at last they all left him and he went away by himself. He was a queer fellow, that Wiske·djak. He never got married because he would not be bothered with a woman, as he had to be travelling all the time. [[17]]
(7) Ciŋgəbis.
Ciŋgəbis was a remarkable fellow, a wonderful diver who could stay underneath the water all day if he wanted to. He was married and lived with his wife’s people. One time he had some kind of a dispute with them and they would not give in to him. So he said he would go away. As it was winter time, there was a water hole in the ice on the lake, and he went down and slid into the water and disappeared. His relatives spent all day hunting for him along the shores, thinking he might come up along the edge, but he did not. Then they went home and gave him up. In a few months, when his wife’s brothers were out on the lake in their canoe, they spied a little duck swimming a long way off, and paddled up to him. This was Ciŋgəbis. When they got near, they recognized him and asked him, “Are you not Ciŋgəbis?” “Yes,” said he. “We thought you were drowned. Are you coming back again?” “No,” said he, and fluttered his wings and sank out of sight, leaving only his bill above the water, which they could not see. This time he stayed under all day, and when night came, he left the country. His wife’s people thought he was either dead or gone.
Then Ciŋgəbis travelled to another village, where he heard there was a beautiful girl. When he saw her all dressed up in fine clothes, new and beaded, he wanted to marry her, and asked her parents for her. “Who are you?” they asked him. “I am Ciŋgəbis,” said he. “Why, we heard you were drowned,” said they. “It is not true. Here I am. I am Ciŋgəbis and alive.” “You cannot be Ciŋgəbis, because there is only one Ciŋgəbis, and we heard he was drowned. But if you are, you cannot marry the girl, because you have another wife.” Now Ciŋgəbis wanted the girl and stayed in the camp. He would not leave. So that night they put one of the girl’s brothers to sleep alongside of him, so that he could not secretly get to the wigwam where the girls slept. During the night he talked with the brother and told him that he would show them how he could stay under water if they would give him the girl. The next morning the young man told his parents about it and they talked it over. They thought it might be good for their boys to know how to stay under water, and at last gave their consent. So they gave [[18]]Ciŋgəbis the girl, and the next day went out on the lake to see him dive. The whole family got in the canoe and they paddled out to the middle of the lake. “Now,” said he, “let me out here.” Then he slid into the water and with his body stiff sank slowly until he was out of sight. Then he struck out under water and reached the shore where he hid under some rushes, just leaving his bill above the water. His nostrils were at the end of his bill, so he could breathe with only a bit above water. They waited for him half the day and, though the water was calm, could not see him, so they gave him up and went home. That night he came back, to their surprise.
They planned to go out again the next day and see him dive again. The next day they went out and Ciŋgəbis dove again and swam among some reeds. He got under one lying flat, and pushed it just a little above the water so that his nostrils were out of water, yet covered by the stem of the rush. There he stayed a couple of hours out of sight. When they were about to leave again, Ciŋgəbis shouted, “He! Here I am. Can you see me?” They looked all around but could not see him. Then he came up in sight and went back to the canoe. He explained how his nostrils were out at the end of his bill and how he got under the reeds and hid there. Then he explained how in the winter time he could dive through an air hole in the ice and swim to where the rushes grew up through the ice, pull down one of the stalks, and put his bill in the opening and get all the air he wanted. Said he, “I can stay there a week or a month, if I want, only I get hungry. Then I dive to the bottom and eat some little mussels and things on the bottom and come up to the hole again. In that way I can get along under the ice all winter if I like.” That is how he did.
Now, before long, his first wife’s family heard that Ciŋgəbis was alive and living with another woman. They got angry and began to conjure to bring sickness upon his new wife and her family. When his new wife and her people heard of this, they were angry at Ciŋgəbis and wanted him to go away. But he would not consent. At last he made an offer, because his mother-in-law wanted her daughter to leave him. He told them that he would give up his new wife and her family if they would succeed in getting her away from him unknown to him. [[19]]When they heard this, they began planning. For a whole year they thought of different plans. At last the old mother-in-law said she had a plan, and told everyone in the family to help her get up a big dance and invite all the people to come. Ciŋgəbis was very jealous of his wife and had his camp apart from the others, lest some man might take a fancy to his wife and take her away. His jealousy was known everywhere and he never let her out of sight. Knowing this, the old mother-in-law made her plan. She sent a special invitation to Ciŋgəbis and his wife and told her sons to try to get him to come. Now Ciŋgəbis suspected some trick and told his wife not to go to the dance. “If I have to go, you must stay here at home and not move away from the wigwam.”
When the night of the dance came, they got everything ready—the drum and rattles, and everybody was coming from every camp. They prepared a kind of drink out of boiled bark and herbs with tobacco juice in it, that would make people dizzy when they drank it. Ciŋgəbis did not want to go to the dance at first, but everybody coaxed him until he started. But he told his wife to stay at home and not leave for anything. Now this was just what the old woman depended on, because she knew how jealous Ciŋgəbis was. When the dance began, everybody began drinking some of the strong herb liquor and it went to their heads and made them feel good, and dizzy. The old woman told her sons to keep Ciŋgəbis well supplied with the drink and not to let him leave until late. She then waited until the dancing was well started and everybody was warmed up to it. Then she quietly slipped away when she saw that Ciŋgəbis was dancing hard and feeling good with the drink. He had almost forgotten about his wife and what might happen. The old woman went off into the woods to where there was a dead spruce stump that was full of ants. She cut off the stump and got a piece about the length of a person. The ants are asleep in the cold of night and will not rouse when disturbed. The stump she took with her to Ciŋgəbis’ wigwam and quietly called to her daughter inside. “Come, daughter, I have come to take you home away from Ciŋgəbis,” she whispered. “You get up out of bed and leave everything as it is.” “All right,” said the girl, and she packed up a few of her things and came out. [[20]]Then the old woman took the stump full of ants in and put it beneath the rabbitskin blanket, covered it up just like the girl’s figure sleeping there, and the two then fled to the mother’s camp.
Ciŋgəbis stayed late at the dance. He drank a great deal of the liquor and got pretty dizzy before he thought about going home. At last he left the dance and started for his wigwam. He entered quietly. “Are you asleep?” he asked of his wife. There was no answer. “Aha! that’s good,” said he. “I’ll let her sleep and then there will be no danger of her being carried away tonight, as I am very sleepy with my weariness and cannot keep awake to watch her tonight. That’s good; she is sound asleep.” And he felt her blanket and found what he thought was her figure beneath the rabbitskin. Then he lay down quietly beside her, so as not to awaken her, and pretty soon was fast asleep.
Before long some of the ants got warmed up by his body and began crawling over him. “Oh! what’s that crawling over me! Do you know what it is that is creeping over us?” he asked his wife, and gave the stump another poke with his elbow. No answer. “Well, you are asleep yet. But that’s good. There won’t be any danger of your walking about the camp attracting the other men while I am asleep. But oh! how those things bite. I wonder what they are!” Then he dozed off again and was awakened again by the ants stinging him. He managed to bear it all night, and in the morning woke up suddenly, all bitten up. He jumped up, threw off the rabbitskin blanket, and instead of his wife there lay the old rotten spruce stump swarming with ants.
(8) Remarks About Wiske·djak.
Timiskaming Algonquin Text.
wiske·djak Wiske·djak wi·′egiskenda‵go was always doing mischief, zi′gobαn it is said, igi·′bi· in his lifetime wi·′gipəmaʻtαzi·matc living among anicəna′bi the Indians, mɔ·′jak always ano′tcke·‵gon everything ogi·′jini‵gwuna‵dji·an doing what he could teasing wi·′djini‵cəna′binʻ his countrymen Indians. i′yanotc Everywhere mɔ·′jαk always [[21]] ki·′bəba‵ma·‵dəzitc going about during his life e′ji· wherever ani′cənabe·ka‵nik there were Indians. ki·bəba′ndə Going about mi·′gucka‵djiatc teasing wi·′djənicəna‵bi his countrymen. owi·′etenda‵go He was funny, zi′gobαn it is said, sa′wi·na‵nawe at the same time to have him about i·yeja′nawe for all that. ega He had u·jo′dji·ma‵nəs·ik no canoe; mɔ·′jαk always ki·gmita′zəga·‵mɛ·tc he walked about the land kenowekwa·′s·e a great distance, ki·′bəba aye′ja going here and about there. ke′gatʻ enigu′kʻkami·gaʻgⁱ Almost travelled over the whole world ak·i′ŋg on earth. ki·no′ndaga‵newe We heard tell of him ki·ʻbəba going about mi·gu′cka‵dzitc doing mischief. kaye′gaʻk·i‵nəge‵gon He had everything so that ogi·′gəcki‵t·on it would answer him tci·a′nəmit·aʻgʷət·o‵tc when he spoke to it; miʻti′g·onʻ trees, nibi·′ water, awe′ʻsi·zα‵nʻ animals, ano′tc and all awi·′αnʻ other awe′gwe‵nəc·əʻnʻ small creatures ogi·′nəkwe‵ʻtaʻgonʻ would reply to him i·gαno′nac when he spoke. mi·′sαmini‵k That is as much as teba′dji·mα‵k can be told wiske·djak. of Wiske·djak.
Free Translation.
Wiske·djak was always doing mischief in his lifetime among the Indians, so it is said. He was always doing everything he could to plague his countrymen, the Indians. He spent his life going about everywhere where there were Indians, to tease them and play mischief among them. Because he was so funny, it was thought good to have him going about in spite of his mischief. He had no canoe, so he always walked about, going great distances here and there and everywhere, until he had travelled almost all over the world, where he was heard of doing his mischievous pranks. He had the power to make everything in creation answer him when he spoke to it; trees, water, animals, and all the other little creatures would reply to him when he spoke. That is all that can be said of Wiske·djak.
(9) Further Comment on Wiske·djak.
Wiske·djak, “meat bird,” was a great mischief maker. He was always a roamer, always hungry. He used to visit from one [[22]]family of Indians to another, but he never liked to stay long with one, so soon he would move away and go near other people. He was always looking for trouble and got it too, but in spite of all he was never killed. Indeed, nobody ever wanted to kill him, even though he was causing so much mischief, because the people liked to have him around. So he never came to an end. All of Wiske·djak’s pranks were done at different times long ago, not all one after another at one time, as it might seem. He is still living somewhere, but he is very quiet now, as we don’t hear of him doing anything new nowadays.