A Guide to Mythology

by Helen A. Clarke

HOW WASBASHAS, THE SNAIL, BECAME A MAN

(North American Indian)

Upon the banks of the Missouri River there once lived a snail, in great enjoyment; for he found plenty of food, and was never in want of anything that a snail could desire. At length, however, disaster reached him. The waters of the river overflowed its banks; and, although the little creature clung to a log with all his strength,—hoping thereby to remain safe upon the shore,—the rising flood carried both him and the log away, and they floated helplessly many days, until the waters subsided, when the poor snail was left upon a strange shore that was covered with the river’s slime, where, as the sun arose, the heat was so intense that he was irrecoverably fixed in the mud. Oppressed with the heat and drought, and famishing for want of nourishment, in despair he resigned himself to his fate and prepared to die. But suddenly new feelings arose, and a renewed vigor entered his frame. His shell burst open; his head gradually arose above the ground; his lower extremities assumed the character of feet and legs; arms extended from his sides, and their extremities divided into fingers; and, thus beneath the influence of the shining sun, he became a tall and noble-looking man. For a while he was stupefied with the change; he had no energy, no distinct thoughts; but by degrees his brain assumed its activity, and returning recollection induced him to travel back to his native shore. Naked and ignorant, and almost perishing with hunger, he walked along. He saw beasts and birds enticing to the appetite; but, not knowing how to kill them, his hunger was left unappeased.

At last he became so weak that he laid himself down upon the ground in despair, thinking that he must die. He had not been lying thus very long, when he heard a voice calling him by name, “Wasbashas, Wasbashas!” He looked up, and before him beheld the Great Spirit sitting upon a white animal. And the eyes of the Spirit were like stars; the hair of his head shone like the sun. Trembling from head to foot, Wasbashas bowed his head. He could not look upon him. Again the voice spoke, in a mild tone, “Wasbashas, why art thou terrified?” “I tremble,” replied Wasbashas, “because I stand before him who raised me from the ground. I am faint; I have eaten nothing since I was left a little shell upon the shore.” The Great Spirit then lifted up his hands, displaying in them a bow and arrows; and telling Wasbashas to look at him, he put an arrow to the string of the bow, and sent it into the air, striking a beautiful bird, that dropped dead upon the ground. A deer then coming in sight, he placed another arrow to the string, and pierced it through and through. “There,” said the Great Spirit, “is your food, and these are your arms,”—handing him the bow and arrows. The beneficent Being then instructed him how to remove the skin of the deer, and prepare it for a garment. “You are naked,” said he, “and must be clothed; for although it is now warm, the skies will change, and bring rains and snow and cold winds.” Having said this, he also imparted the gift of fire, and instructed him how to roast the flesh of the deer and bird. He then placed a collar of wampum around his neck. “This,” said he, “is your title of authority over all the beasts.” Having done this, the Great Spirit arose in the air and vanished from sight. Wasbashas refreshed himself with the food, and afterward pursued his way to his native land. Having walked a long distance, he seated himself on the banks of a river, and meditated on what had transpired, when a large beaver arose up from the channel and addressed him. “Who art thou?” said the beaver, “that comest here to disturb my ancient reign?”

“I am a man,” he replied. “I was once a creeping shell; but who art thou?” “I am king of the nation of beavers,” was answered; “I lead my people up and down this stream. We are a busy people, and the river is my dominion.”

“I must divide it with you,” said Wasbashas; “the Great Spirit has placed me at the head of beasts and birds, fishes and fowls, and has provided me with the power of maintaining my rights;” and then he exhibited the gifts of the Great Spirit, the bow and arrows and the wampum.

“Come, come,” said the beaver in a modified tone, “I perceive we are brothers; walk with me to my lodge, and refresh yourself after your journey.” So saying he conducted Wasbashas, who had accepted the invitation with great alacrity, to a beautiful large village, where he was entertained in the chief’s lodge, which was built in a cone shape; and, as the floor was covered with pine mats, it had a very delightful appearance to the eyes of Wasbashas.

After they had seated themselves, the chief bade his wife and daughter prepare for them the choicest food in their possession. Meanwhile he entertained his guest by informing him how they constructed their lodges, and described their manner of cutting down trees with their teeth, and felling them across streams so as to dam up the water; and also instructed him in the method of finishing the dams with leaves and clay. With this wise conversation the chief beguiled the time, and also gained the respect of Wasbashas. His wife and daughter now entered, bringing in fresh peeled poplar and willow and sassafras and elder-bark, which was the most choice food known to them. Of this Wasbashas made a semblance of tasting, while his entertainer devoured a large amount with great enjoyment. The daughter of the chief now attracted the eyes of Wasbashas. Her modest deportment and cleanly attire, her assiduous attention to the commands of her father, heightened very much her charms, which in the estimation of the guest were very great; and the longer Wasbashas gazed upon the maiden, the more deeply he was enamoured, until at length he formed the resolution to seek her in marriage; upon which, with persuasive words, he spoke to the chief, begging him to allow his suit. The chief gladly assented; and as the daughter had formed a favourable opinion of the suitor, a marriage was consummated—but not without a feast to which beavers and friendly animals were invited. From this union of the snail and beaver the Osage tribe has its origin.

THE AMAZING ADVENTURES OF MASTER RABBIT WITH THE OTTER AND THE WOODPECKER GIRLS
ALSO A FULL ACCOUNT OF THE FAMOUS CHASE, IN WHICH HE FOOLED LUSIFEE, THE WILD CAT

(Algonquin)

I. HOW MASTER RABBIT SOUGHT TO RIVAL KEEOONY, THE OTTER

Of old times, Mahtigwess, the Rabbit, who is called in the Micmac tongue Ableegumooch, lived with his grandmother, waiting for better times; and truly he found it a hard matter in midwinter, when ice was on the river and snow was on the plain, to provide even for his small household. And running through the forest one day he found a lonely wigwam, and he that dwelt therein was Keeoony, the Otter. The lodge was on the bank of a river, and a smooth road of ice slanted from the door down to the water. And the Otter made him welcome, and directed his housekeeper to get ready to cook; saying which, he took the hooks on which he was wont to string fish when he had them, and went to fetch a mess for dinner. Placing himself on the top of the slide, he coasted in and under the water, and then came out with a great bunch of eels, which were soon cooked, and on which they dined.

“By my life,” thought Master Rabbit, “but that is an easy way of getting a living! Truly these fishing-folk have fine fare, and cheap! Cannot I, who am so clever, do as well as this mere Otter? Of course I can. Why not?” Thereupon he grew so confident of himself as to invite the Otter to dine with him—adamadusk ketkewop—on the third day after that, and so went home.

“Come on!” he said to his grandmother the next morning; “let us remove our wigwam down to the lake.” So they removed; and he selected a site such as the Otter had chosen for his home, and the weather being cold he made a road of ice, of a coast, down from his door to the water, and all was well. Then the guest came at the time set, and Rabbit, calling his grandmother, bade her get ready to cook a dinner. “But what am I to cook, grandson?” inquired the old dame.

“Truly I will see to that,” said he, and made him a nabogun, or stick to string eels. Then going to the ice path, he tried to slide like one skilled in the art, but indeed with little luck, for he went first to the right side, then to the left, and so hitched and jumped till he came to the water, where he went in with a bob backwards. And this bad beginning had no better ending, since of all swimmers and divers the Rabbit is the very worst, and this one was no better than his brothers. The water was cold, he lost his breath, he struggled, and was well-nigh drowned.

“But what on earth ails the fellow?” said the Otter to the grandmother, who was looking on in amazement.

“Well, he has seen somebody do something, and is trying to do likewise,” replied the old lady.

“Ho! come out of that now,” cried the Otter, “and hand me your nabogun!” And the poor Rabbit, shivering with cold, and almost frozen, came from the water and limped into the lodge. And there he required much nursing from his grandmother, while the Otter, plunging into the stream, soon returned with a load of fish. But, disgusted at the Rabbit for attempting what he could not perform, he threw them down as a gift, and went home without tasting the meal.

II. HOW MAHTIGWESS, THE RABBIT, DINED WITH THE WOODPECKER GIRLS, AND WAS AGAIN HUMBLED BY TRYING TO RIVAL THEM.

Now Master Rabbit, though disappointed, was not discouraged, for this one virtue he had, that he never gave up. And wandering one day in the wilderness, he found a wigwam well filled with young women, all wearing red head-dresses; and no wonder, for they were Woodpeckers. Now, Master Rabbit was a well-bred Indian, who made himself as a melody to all voices, and so he was cheerfully bidden to bide to dinner, which he did. Then one of the red-polled pretty girls, taking a woltes, or wooden dish, lightly climbed a tree, so that she seemed to run; and while ascending, stopping here and there and tapping now and then, took from this place and that many of those insects called by the Indians apchel-moal-timpkawal, or rice, because they so much resemble it. And note that this rice is a dainty dish for those who like it. And when it was boiled, and they had dined, Master Rabbit again reflected, “La! how easily some folks live! What is to hinder me from doing the same? Ho, you girls! come over and dine with me the day after to-morrow!”

And having accepted this invitation, all the guests came on the day set, when Master Rabbit undertook to play woodpecker. So having taken the head of an eel-spear and fastened it to his nose to make a bill, he climbed as well as he could—and bad was the best—up a tree, and tried to get his harvest of rice. Truly he got none; only in this did he succeed in resembling a Woodpecker, that he had a red poll; for his pate was all torn and bleeding, bruised by the fishing-point. And the pretty birds all looked and laughed, and wondered what the Rabbit was about.

“Ah!” said his grandmother, “I suppose he is trying again to do something which he has seen some one do. ’Tis just like him.”

“Oh, come down there!” cried Miss Woodpecker, as well as she could for laughing. “Give me your dish!” And having got it she scampered up the trunk, and soon brought down a dinner. But it was long ere Master Rabbit heard the last of it from these gay tree-tappers.

III. RELATING HOW THE RABBIT BECAME WISE BY BEING ORIGINAL, AND OF THE TERRIBLE TRICKS WHICH HE BY MAGIC PLAYED LOUP-CERVIER.

There are men who are bad at copying, yet are good originals, and of this kind was Master Rabbit, who, when he gave up trying to do as others did, succeeded very well. And, having found out his foible, he applied himself to become able in good earnest, and studied m’téoulin, or magic, so severely that in time he grew to be an awful conjurer, so that he could raise ghosts, crops, storms, or devils whenever he wanted them. For he had perseverance, and out of this may come anything, if it be only brought into the right road.

Now it came to pass that Master Rabbit got into great trouble. The records of the Micmacs say that it was from his stealing a string of fish from the Otter, who pursued him; but the Passamaquoddies declare that he was innocent of this evil deed, probably because they make great account of him as their ancestor and as the father of the Wabanaki. Howbeit, this is the way in which they tell the tale.

Now the Rabbit is the natural prey of the Loup-Cervier, or Lusifee, who is a kind of wild-cat, none being more obstinate. And this Wild-Cat once went hunting with a gang of wolves, and they got nothing. Then Wild-Cat, who had made them great promises and acted as chief, became angry, and, thinking of the Rabbit, promised them that this time they should indeed get their dinner. So he took them to Rabbit’s wigwam; but he was out, and the Wolves, being vexed and starved, reviled Wild-Cat, and then rushed off howling through the woods.

Now I think that the Rabbit is m’téoulin. Yes, he must be, for when Wild-Cat started to hunt him alone, he determined with all his soul not to be caught, and made himself as magical as he could. So he picked up a handful of chips, and threw one as far as possible, then jumped to it—for he had a charm for a long jump; and then threw another, and so on, for a great distance. This was to make no tracks, and when he thought he had got out of scent and sight and sound he scampered away like the wind.

Now, as I said, when the wolves got to Master Rabbit’s house and found nothing, they smelt about and left Wild-Cat, who swore by his tail that he would catch Rabbit, if he had to hunt forever and run himself to death. So, taking the house for a center, he kept going round and round it, all the time a little further, and so more around and still further. Then at last having found the track, he went in hot haste after Mr. Rabbit. And both ran hard, till, night coming on, Rabbit, to protect himself, had only just time to trample down the snow a little, and stick up a spruce twig on end and sit on it. But when Wild-Cat came up he found there a fine wigwam, and put his head in. All that he saw was an old man of very grave and dignified appearance, whose hair was gray, and whose majestic (sogmoye) appearance was heightened by a pair of long and venerable ears. And of him Wild-Cat asked in a gasping hurry if he had seen a Rabbit running that way.

“Rabbits!” replied the old man. “Why, of course, I have seen many. They abound in the woods about here. I see dozens of them every day.” With this he said kindly to Wild-Cat that he had better tarry with him for a time. “I am an old man,” he remarked with solemnity—“an old man, living alone, and a respectable guest, like you, sir, comes to me like a blessing.” And the Cat, greatly impressed, remained. After a good supper he lay down by the fire, and, having run all day, was at once asleep, and made but one nap of it till morning. But how astonished, and oh, how miserable he was, when he awoke, to find himself on the open heath in the snow and almost starved! The wind blew as if it had a keen will to kill him; it seemed to go all through his body. Then he saw that he had been a fool and cheated by magic, and in a rage swore again by his teeth, as well as his tail, that the Rabbit should die. There was no hut now, only the trampled snow and a spruce twig, and yet out of this little, Rabbit had conjured up so great a delusion.

Then he ran again all day. And when night came, Master Rabbit, having a little more time than before, again trampled down the snow, but for a greater space, and strewed many branches all about, for now a huge effort was to be made. And when Wild-Cat got there he found a great Indian village, with crowds of people going to and fro. The first building he saw was a church, in which service was being held. And he, entering, said hastily to the first person he saw, “Ha! ho! have you seen a Rabbit running by here?”

“Hush—sh, sh!” replied the man. “You must wait till meeting is over before asking such questions.” Then a young man beckoned to him to come in, and he listened till the end to a long sermon on the wickedness of being vindictive and rapacious; and the preacher was a gray ancient, and his ears stood up over his little cap like the two handles of a pitcher, yet for all that the Wild-Cat’s heart was not moved one whit. And when it was all at an end he said to the obliging young man, “But have you seen a Rabbit running by?”

“Rabbits! Rab-bits!” replied the young man. “Why, there are hundreds racing about in the cedar swamps near this place, and you can have as many as you want.” “Ah!” replied Wild-Cat, “but they are not what I seek. Mine is an entirely different kind.” The other said that he knew of no sort save the wild wood-rabbits, but that perhaps their Governor, or Chief, who was very wise, could tell him all about them. Then the Governor, or Sagamore, came up. Like the preacher, he was very remarkable and gray, with the long locks standing up one on either side of his head. And he invited the stranger to his house, where his two very beautiful daughters cooked him a fine supper. And when he wished to retire they brought out blankets and a beautiful white bear’s skin, and made up a bed for him by the fire. Truly, his eyes were closed as soon as he lay down, but when he awoke there had been a great change. For now he was in a wet cedar swamp, the wind blowing ten times worse than ever, and his supper and sleep had done him little good, for they were all a delusion. All around him were rabbits’ tracks and broken twigs, but nothing more.

Yet he sprang up, more enraged than ever, and swearing more terribly by his tail, teeth, and claws that he would be revenged. So he ran on all day, and at night, when he came to another large village, he was so weary that he could just gasp, “Have—you—seen a Rab—bit run this way?” With much concern and kindness they all asked him what was the matter. So he told them all this story, and they pitied him very much; yea, one gray old man—and this was the Chief—with two beautiful daughters, shed tears and comforted him, and advised him to stay with them. So they took him to a large hall, where there was a great fire burning in the middle thereof. And over it hung two pots with soup and meat, and two Indians stood by and gave food to all the people. And he had his share with the rest, and all feasted gayly.

Now, when they had done eating, the old Governor, who was very gray, and from either side of whose head rose two very venerable, long white feathers, rose to welcome the stranger, and in a long speech said it was, indeed, the custom of their village to entertain guests, but that they expected from them a song. Then Wild-Cat, who was vain of his voice, uplifted it in vengeance against the Rabbits:

Oh, how I hate them!

How I despise them!

How I laugh at them!

May I scalp them all!

Then he said that he thought the Governor should sing. And to this the Chief consented, but declared that all who were present should bow their heads while seated, and shut their eyes, which they did. Then Chief Rabbit, at one bound, cleared the heads of his guests, and drawing his timheyen, or tomahawk, as he jumped, gave Wild-Cat a wound which cut deeply into his head and only fell short of killing him by entirely stunning him. When he recovered, he was again in snow, slush and filth, more starved than ever, his head bleeding from a dreadful blow, and he himself almost dead. Yet, with all that, the Indian devil was stronger in him than ever, for every new disgrace did but bring more resolve to be revenged, and he swore it by his tail, claws, teeth, and eyes.

So he tottered along, though he could hardly walk; nor could he, indeed, go very far that day. And when almost broken down with pain and weariness, he came about noon to two good wigwams. Looking into one, he saw a gray-haired old man, and in the other a young girl, apparently his daughter. And they received him kindly, and listened to his story, saying it was very sad, the old man declaring that he must really remain there, and that he would get him a doctor, since, unless he were well cared for at once, he would die. Then he went forth as if in great concern, leaving his daughter to nurse the weary, wounded stranger.

Now, when the doctor came, he, too, was an old gray man, with a scalp-lock strangely divided like two horns. But the Wild-Cat had become a little suspicious, having been so often deceived, for much abuse will cease to amuse even the most innocent; and truly he was none of these. And, looking grimly at the Doctor, he said: “I was asking if any Rabbits are here, and truly you look very much like one yourself. How did you get that split nose?” “Oh, that is very simple,” replied the old man. “Once I was hammering wampum beads, and the stone on which I beat them broke in halves, and one piece flew up, and, as you see, split my nose.” “But,” persisted the Wild-Cat, “why are the soles of your feet so yellow, even like a Rabbit’s?” “Ah, that is because I have been preparing some tobacco, and I had to hold it down with my feet, for, truly, I needed both my hands to work with. So the tobacco stained them yellow.” Then the Wild-Cat suspected no more, and the Doctor put salve on his wound, so that he felt much better.

But oh, the wretchedness of the awaking in the morning! For then Wild-Cat found himself indeed in the extreme of misery. His head was swollen and aching to an incredible degree, and the horrible wound, which was gaping wide, had been stuffed with hemlock needles and pine splinters, and this was the cool salve which the Doctor had applied. And then he swore by all his body and soul that he would slay the next being he met, Rabbit or Indian. Verily this time he would be utterly revenged.

Now Mahtigwess, the Rabbit, had almost come to an end of his m’téoulin, or wizard power, for that time, yet he had still enough left for one more great effort. And, coming to a lake, he picked up a very large chip, and, having seamed it with sorcery and magnified it by magic, threw it into the water, where it at once seemed to be a great ship, such as white men build. And when the Wild-Cat came up he saw it, with sails spread and flags flying, and the captain stood so stately on the deck, with folded arms, and he was a fine, gray-haired, dignified man, with a cocked hat, the two points of which were like grand and stately horns. But the Wild-Cat had sworn, and he was mindful of his great oath; so he cried, “You cannot escape me this time, Rabbit! I have you now!” Saying this he plunged in, and tried to swim to the ship. And the captain, seeing a Wild-Cat in the water, being engaged in musket drill, ordered his men to fire at it, which they did with a bang! Now this was caused by a party of night-hawks overhead, who swooped down with a sudden cry like a shot; at least it seemed so to Wild-Cat, who, deceived and appalled by this volley, deeming that he had verily made a mistake this time, turned tail and swam ashore into the dark old forest, where, if he is not dead, he is running still.

In the following two stories, the two most celebrated heroes of American Indian Mythology figure. The first is known as Manabozho among the Algonquin Indians and as Hiawatha among the Iroquois. Although he appears most often in the form of a man in Indian legends, he seems at times to be endowed with divine attributes. According to the ordinary account of him[1] he is regarded as the messenger of the Great Spirit, sent down to mankind, in the character of a wise man or prophet. But he has all the attributes of humanity as well as the power of performing miraculous deeds. He adapts himself perfectly to their manners and customs and ideas. He marries, builds a lodge, hunts and fishes, goes to war, has his triumphs and his failures like other Indians. Whatever man could do in strength or wisdom he could do, but when he encounters situations requiring more than human strength, his miraculous powers come into play. He is provided with a magic canoe which goes where it is bid. He could leap over extensive regions of country like an ignis fatuus. He appears suddenly like a god, or wanders over weary wastes of country a poor and starving hunter. His voice is at one moment deep and sonorous as a thunder-clap, and at another clothed with the softness of feminine supplication. He could transform himself into any animal he pleased. He often conversed with animals, fowls, reptiles, and fishes. He deemed himself related to them, and always in speaking to them called them “my brother,” and one of his greatest resources when finding himself hard pressed was to change himself into their shapes.

He could conquer Manitoes, no matter what their evil power might be. Manitoes in Indian stories are not unlike fairies in their characteristics. They were of all imaginary kinds, grades, powers, sometimes benign, sometimes malicious, but Manabozho was a personage strong enough in his necromantic powers to baffle the most malicious, beat the stoutest, and overreach the most cunning. He was not, however, the wholly benevolent being we might expect he would be with all these great gifts; he was unfortunately ambitious, vainglorious, and deceitful, and at times not much better himself than a wicked Manito. But what could be expected of a son of the West Wind, for his father was Ningabiun, the West Wind, and you will find that mythical beings which personify the wind are always of a tricksy disposition just as the wind itself is. As a god he was often spoken of as the great white Hare.

The Algonquin hero, Glooskap,[2] is equally interesting, and of a more truly heroic disposition than Manabozho. The name of this divinity, Glooskap, means a liar, because it is said that when he left the earth for the land of spirits he promised to return and he has never done so. Many and wonderful are the tales told of Glooskap, but he is never silly, or cruel, or fantastic like Manabozho. Any one who goes to Nova Scotia, to-day, may see the grand Cape Blomidon, where Glooskap lived. It juts out between the Bay of Fundy and the Basin of Minas. Its foundations are of red sandstone and far up toward the sky it is crowned with granite battlements. Sometimes the waters of the Basin of Minas gently wash against the base of this gigantic cape and sometimes one could walk a mile or two from the cape to reach the water. Twice a day this happens as the tide comes up and recedes. Truly, it is a magical land, and Blomidon is a noble home, well befitting the great Indian divinity whose head rises to the stars, and who could slay a giant enemy with a mere tap of his bow. We shall meet with both of these heroes again later.