XXI
THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT
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 vanished into 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 not think 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.