72. Uncle and Nephew and the White Otters
An uncle and his nephew lived alone far off in the woods. In former times there had been a great many of their people, but with the exception of these two all were dead.
One day the uncle said: “My nephew, you have grown to be a large lad, and now you must attend to hunting. You must take the bow and the quiver of arrows with which I used to hunt.” So saying, the old man took from the wall his bow, which was grimed with smoke, and cleaned it very carefully. Then he said: “We will now make a trial at shooting.” Having gone out of the lodge, the uncle by way of example first shot into a tree, and the nephew with another arrow made a good shot. Thereupon the uncle said, “That kind of shooting will do; you must now begin hunting.”
The next morning very early, when they were ready, the uncle said, “You must go out between sunrise and sunset, and you must always keep on the sun side; never go north.” The lad started to hunt, and had not been out long when he killed a deer, and soon afterward another, both of which he took home. The uncle thanked him, saying, “We can live now, for we have plenty of meat.” He hung the meat up in pieces, with bark strings, throughout the lodge.
The lad brought in game every day for some time. After a while he had to go a long way toward the south to find any game; his uncle always cautioned him against going northward.
Once after he came home and was sitting around the lodge, the uncle said: “When I was young I used to have an object with which to amuse myself. I will get it for you and when you are home you can play with it.” Then bringing out a flute, the uncle taught the boy to play it. As the uncle blew on it the flute said, “Tomorrow I shall kill a deer, a bear, etc.,” greatly pleasing the boy who also played on it. In the morning he started off hunting, and, indeed, he killed just such game as the flute said he would. That night after [[402]]he had rested from hunting he played on his flute and again it said, “I shall kill an elk tomorrow,” a different kind of animal from that of the previous day. The next day the lad killed exactly what the flute said.
The morning after he went out he wondered why he must go so far toward the south; he made up his mind to go northward; so making a circuit, he was soon north of his lodge. Finding tracks of game animals, he followed them until he came to a broad opening. Here he ran after the elks, which he saw in a circle in the woods; at last he came out in the opening again, where he had started. All at once he heard a woman’s voice calling, “Here! Hold on!” but he ran on at full speed after the elk. Around again he went after these animals. When he got back to the same place a second time the woman’s voice called out, “Wait and rest!” Looking around, he saw the woman sitting on a fallen tree, whereupon he stopped. She said to him: “Sit down here and rest. I know you are tired; when you have rested you can run again after the elk.” He sat down near her, and pretty soon she took his head on her knees. He had very long hair—so long that he kept it tied up; whenever he let it down, it swept the ground. He tied one of his hairs to a root in the ground, but the woman did not see him do this. After a while he fell asleep, whereupon she put him into a basket; swinging this on her back she started off on a run. Rising soon into the air, she traveled very fast.
The hair which had been made fast to a root stretched till it would stretch no longer; then they could go no farther, for the hair pulled them back to the place from which they had started. The lad woke up, and the woman said to herself, “I think there is some witchcraft about you; we will try again.” Once more she began to search in his hair. At last he closed his eyes, and she asked, “Are you asleep?” “No,” he replied. She continued untying his hair, again inquiring, “Are you asleep?” He did not answer this time, for he was indeed asleep. Putting him into the basket and flinging it on her back, she ran off very fast, after a while rising in the air. When she had gone a long distance she came down by the bank of a river; rousing the lad, she asked, “Do you know this place?” “Yes,” said he; “I have fished in this river.” “Well,” said she, “hold your head down, and let me look at it again.” She took his head on her knees, and after a while spoke to him, but he did not answer, for he was once more asleep. Putting him into the basket, she went up in the air, coming down at last on an island. Then, rousing the youth, she asked, “Do you know this place?” “Yes; my uncle and I used to come here often,” he replied (he had never been there, but he wished to deceive her). Again she put him to sleep, afterward taking him up in the air in her basket. Finally, removing the basket from her back, she laid it on the edge of a ravine, which was so deep that the [[403]]tops of the tallest trees which grew in it could just be seen below the brink. Then, upsetting the basket, down the lad went headlong into the depths, but he fell slowly, for he had orenda (magic power) and hence came to the ground unhurt. But he could find no way of escape. The sides of the ravine were like a wall and he was alone.
Meanwhile the boy’s uncle waited and waited, saying to himself: “It is late. Something has happened, for my nephew is not coming home tonight. I must find out what the trouble is.” On taking down the flute he found the mouthpiece bloody,[350] whereupon he said, “They have overmatched my poor nephew in orenda, and trouble has come to him.” As there was not much blood on the mouthpiece, he thought that perhaps the lad would free himself and come back in a few days.
Now the nephew lay down among the rocks in the deep, blind ravine and tried to sleep, but he could not. All at once he heard a great bird coming, and as it swept past it bit a mouthful of flesh out of his arm. Spitting on the arm he rubbed it and thus cured the bite. When the bird had been gone some time, he heard it coming again, and as it flew past in the opposite direction, it took a large bite out of his other arm. This he cured in the same manner as before. When daylight came he arose and on looking around he saw skeletons on every side. Two men were barely alive. The lad said to himself, “I suppose that I shall die here in this same way.”
That night the boy’s uncle saw on looking at the flute that the mouthpiece was bloodier than before. He then gave up his nephew as lost; sitting down at the hearth’s edge he cried and scattered ashes on his head in despair.
The second night the bird twice flew past the lad, each time taking a piece of flesh out of one of his arms. Thereupon the boy would spit on the arm, thus healing it as he did on the first evening. When the huge bird had gone he fell asleep and dreamed that he heard an old woman’s voice saying: “Grandson, I have come to help you. You think you are going to die, but you are not; I will save you. Just at sunrise in the morning you will vomit, and if you throw up anything that looks like a hemlock leaf you may know that you will be saved. Pick up the leaf and stick it in the ground. Then sing, and as you sing the leaf will become a tree. Sit on one of the limbs and keep on singing. The tree will grow until it reaches beyond the top of the bank. Then jump off and run away.” In the morning the boy vomited as the old woman of the dream had predicted, and he found the small hemlock leaf. Sticking this in the ground near the wall of the ravine he began to sing. The leaf soon grew into a tree, and as he sang the tree grew higher and higher. He did not get on the tree but remained below singing until the tree was higher than the brink above. [[404]]
Gathering all the bones carefully into a pile and placing on the pile the two men who were almost dead, he went to a great hickory tree which stood near and pushing against it called out, “Rise, people, and run, or the tree shall fall on you.” Thereupon all the bones became living men and springing up they ran away from the tree. Two of the men had legs of different lengths by reason of the bones having become interchanged. The lad said: “Now, follow me, all of you, up this tree to the bank above. You must not look back, for if you do you will fall.” The last two were the men with unequal legs. The rearmost, after climbing a little way, looked back to see how far up they were; immediately he turned to bones, which fell rattling through the limbs of the hemlock tree to the ground. As the only remaining man with unequal legs got near the brink, he also looked down, whereupon he likewise fell rattling down through the branches to the ground a mere heap of bones.
When all were some distance away from the brink the young man said: “You stay here, and I will go and bring the woman who has done all this mischief to us. She has a mother, who is also a witch. We will punish both. I shall be back in a few days.” Starting off, he soon came to the lodge of the woman who had deceived him. Sitting down by her, he said, “I have come.” Soon her mother came out of another part of the lodge, saying, “Oh! my son-in-law has come.” Early the next night they heard the old woman groaning;[351] finally, crawling out of bed on her hands and knees, she rolled over on the floor. The lad struck her with a corn-pounder, saying, “Mother-in-law, wake up and tell us your dream.” Thereupon she stood up and said, “I dreamed that my son-in-law must go and kill two white otters in the lake.” He replied: “Go back to sleep, Oh! mother-in-law. I will do that tomorrow.” The old woman went back to her couch. In the morning she said: “You must run and kill two white otters in the lake and return with them before the door stops swinging after you have slammed it. If you do not do this, something strange will happen; but if you get back, you shall live.” Unknown to her, he tied one of his long hairs to the door and kept pulling the hair. On reaching the bank of the lake, he called to the otters, which came out and ran to him; he threw one of two round stones which he had in his pouch, killing one of the otters. Then great waves of water began to rush after him, and the second otter came near to him on the top of the wave. Throwing the second stone, he killed the second otter. At this the wave went back. He had kept pulling the door-flap to and fro with his hair all the time. When he reached the lodge, he called out, “Here, mother-in-law! here are your two otters.” She said, “Where, where?” (The two white otters were her two wizard brothers.) [[405]]
The uncle, who was alone, felt sure that his nephew was dead. Often as he sat in front of the fire in the evening, taking a handful of ashes in each hand, he held them over his head, letting the ashes drop on his face. At night he would hear someone coming, then a rap and a voice calling out, “Well, uncle, I have come.” Jumping up and brushing off the ashes he would go to the door, only to find a fox or an owl. In this way he was deceived a number of times, so he had resolved not to be deceived again.
The night after the death of the otters the old woman again dreamed, and her son-in-law hit her again with the corn-pounder. Waking up, she said, “I dreamed that my son-in-law must kill the bird on the top of the great tree.” He answered, “Oh, mother-in-law! I will attend to that in the morning, so go to sleep now.” In the morning his mother-in-law said, “If you get back after the door, which you have slammed in going out, stops swinging, something strange will happen.” Again tying a hair to the door, he darted off. When near the tall tree he saw on the very top a black eagle. The first arrow he sent went almost to the tree, but was driven back by the magic power of the eagle. Then he shot a second arrow, which struck the eagle right in the heart, bringing it to the ground. Taking the eagle, he rushed back to the lodge, meanwhile keeping the door swinging with his hair. When he returned home, he called out, “Mother-in-law, here is the eagle.” She said, Whu, whu! astonished at what he had done (this eagle was the old woman’s third brother, which had always fed on the men thrown into the ravine).
Now the lad, having taken his wife outside, said, “I want this lodge to turn into flint, and let it become heated to a white heat.”[352] The old woman and her three daughters were inside at the time. The former cried out, “Have pity on me, son-in-law,” but he answered, “You had no pity for me, mother-in-law; so let them all within burn up.” Having gone back with his wife to the men near the ravine, he said: “I have brought back this woman. Now we shall be revenged. This is the woman who threw us off this bank to die in the ravine below.” Stripping off a wide piece of bark from a tree and tying the woman thereto with bark thongs, he placed it in a leaning position against a tree. Then all gathered fuel, which was piled around the woman, and a fire kindled by which the old woman’s daughter was burned to death.
The youth found two of his brothers among those whom he had rescued. It appeared that all the men were related, some as brothers, others as cousins. The young man went with his brothers to his uncle’s lodge. Before starting he had told all the other persons to go to their homes. When near the lodge of the old uncle they heard the aged man weeping. They listened for some time. When the old man stopped weeping he began to sing, “Ten summers I [[406]]shall mourn for him.” In attempting to enter the lodge they found the door-flap fastened. The lad called out, “Oh, uncle! I have returned.” But the uncle, long annoyed by wizards in the form of animals, replied: “Be off! You have deceived me enough.” But the young man begged him to unfasten the door-flap, assuring him that he had brought his brothers. Again the uncle shouted: “Be off! You shall not get in here.” Finally, the old man relented, and making a hole in the skin door-flap, called out: “Thrust your arm in. I shall see if you are my nephew.” The nephew willingly complied with the uncle’s request, whereupon the uncle tied his arm with a bark thong. The youth finally cried out: “Oh, uncle! do not tie my arm so tight. You hurt me.” Opening the door-flap, the old man saw that it was really his nephew, and exclaimed, “Oh, nephew! wait a moment until I clean up a little.” Then, having brushed off the ashes, he welcomed his nephew and his party.
73. Deoyadastatʻhe and Hadjowiski[353]
Hadjowiski lived with his family, consisting of his wife and seven children, in a large lodge in the forest. Only the youngest of the seven children had a name—Deoyadastatʻhe. He was so small that he never went outside the lodge, nor did he play within it. He remained under the bed at all times, where he played with his dog, which was a flea. The father of the family, Hadjowiski, was very poor, for although he went forth to hunt at sunrise, sometimes even before, he brought home but little meat.
One morning his wife, who was chagrined by the failure of her husband to provide a sufficiency of food for herself and little ones, said to him: “Can you not bring home more meat than you do? We are very, very hungry.” Hadjowiski, dissembling, replied, “No; I can not kill more game, for I have not efficient orenda (magic power).” But the suspecting wife persisted in her questioning: “Well, your back always looks as if you had killed plenty of game. What do you do with it after you have killed it?” To this the husband answered: “Nothing. I never have good luck.” The wife did not believe him, however, so she retorted, “I think that you are doing something wrong with what you kill.”
That day Hadjowiski did not bring any game home, but his back bore traces of fresh blood. In further chiding him his wife said: “There is fresh blood on your back, so you must have killed some game today.” But he replied: “No; I killed nothing. That blood came from my getting hurt by a hemlock tree falling on me.” But she did not believe him at all.
The next morning he was on the trail long before sunrise. His wife, now thoroughly aroused, stealthily followed him. Just at midday she saw him kill with a small stone a large bear. Taking the [[407]]bear on his back, he started off, trailed by his wife. He soon reached a lodge, which he entered, wholly unaware that his wife was following him. Creeping up to the lodge, she listened outside to what was being said within, and overheard the voice of a woman, saying, “The next time you come you must stay here, and you must not go back home again.” Hadjowiski replied, “It is well; I shall do so.” Thereupon he came out of the lodge, in which he left all the meat he had killed that day, and started for home.
His wife ran on ahead, and, reaching home ahead of her husband, she said to her boys, “Sons, your father has another wife, so I shall not remain here any longer.” Then putting on her panther-skin robe, she departed. When Hadjowiski arrived at his home, not finding his wife, he asked: “What is the matter? Where is your mother?” One of the boys told him that his mother had been gone all day, and that, returning but a short time before, she had put on her panther-skin robe, declaring that she was going away. Hadjowiski hung his head, but at last he asked, “Why did she go away?” The boy replied: “She told us that you have another wife.” To this the father answered: “It is well. My sons, I shall follow her. I want you to remain in the lodge while I am away. If I am alive then, I will be back home in 10 days.” Hadjowiski departed and traveled all night. The next morning he found his wife’s tracks, and discovered that she had doubled on them, but he kept straight ahead, knowing well that she had done this in order to deceive him. Soon afterward he was again on her trail, going directly westward. After traveling for some time he came at last to a lodge in which lived an old man, who said: “You are traveling, my friend?” Hadjowiski replied: “Yes. I am following the woman whose tracks come to this lodge.” Then Sʻhagoiyagentʻha,[354] for such was the old man’s name, who belonged to the Nosgwais people, answered, “I do not know where she has gone.” Hadjowiski again declared, “Her tracks come here, anyway.” Sʻhagoiyagentʻha replied: “It is well. You can look for her, if you like.” So Hadjowiski searched for her everywhere, but he could not find her. Finally the old man resolved to send him off, so he asked him, “Do you want me to tell you which way she went from here?” Hadjowiski replied, “Yes; I do.” Thereupon Sʻhagoiyagentʻha brought a small canoe made of flint, telling the man to sit in it. When Hadjowiski had done so the old man shoved the canoe out of the doorway, and at once it rose into the air, through which it passed with great rapidity. Finally the canoe collided with a high rock, and the renegade Hadjowiski was flung out; falling among the rocks, he was killed. The canoe, which was endowed with life, returned to the old man.
When the sons of Hadjowiski had been at home for several days the eldest went out to hunt. When night came he did not return to [[408]]his home. So the next morning the second brother started off to find him, if possible. The brothers who remained at home waited all day, but he, too, failed to return. The second morning the third brother went to look for the two others, but he likewise did not come back. Thus, day after day passed, until at last the six brothers had gone out and not one had returned. Only Deoyadastatʻhe was left of the family of seven sons.[355] He was always under the bed playing with his dog, which was a flea. Finally, judging from the unbroken silence reigning in the lodge, Deoyadastatʻhe exclaimed: “It seems to me that there is no one in the lodge, for I hear no one moving around. I shall see about it.” So saying, he came forth from under the bed and looked around, but saw no one; then he listened for some sound, but he heard none. After listening for a long time, he exclaimed: “It seems to me that I hear my mother crying. It must be that she is weeping in the far west. I shall therefore go to her.” Going outside the lodge, he stood still, listening, while his dog stood behind him. He now heard quite distinctly the sound of weeping in the far west. By low half-uttered growls his dog showed that it, too, heard some unusual sound.
Deoyadastatʻhe finally declared: “That is my mother who is weeping, for I recognize her voice. I must go to her.” As he started, both he and his dog, rising in the air, flew along over the highest trees, directing their flight toward the west. At last in the far distant west they alighted at the edge of a village. Making their way into it, they finally entered an old hut in which they found two women, an aged grandmother and her granddaughter. To the grandmother Deoyadastatʻhe said, “I have come to visit you.” She replied: “We are too poor for that. We have nothing to eat, and you would get very hungry.” “Oh! I do not care for food,” Deoyadastatʻhe answered; “I want only shelter at night.” “It is well; you may remain,” said the grandmother. One morning when Deoyadastatʻhe had been there several days some one came on the run to the lodge, and kicking the door-flap aside, said: “You are invited tonight to the burning of the woman’s feet and to pick up wampum beads from the tears that she sheds. All are pressed to be at the lodge of assembly tonight.” When the messenger had gone, the grandmother exclaimed: “Oh! how very wicked are the people of this village. That old man, Sʻhagoiyagentʻha, is the evil servant of the Chief Dihdih.[356] (The rest of the people belong to the Gaqga[357] family.)” Now, the grandmother, whose name was Yeqsinye, also belonged to the Gaqga family. She was in the habit of making bark thread by rolling it on her legs. When night came Deoyadastatʻhe went to the lodge of assembly, where he saw a great multitude of people. Entering the lodge, he saw his mother tied to a post—the war post of torture. And as soon as Deoyadastatʻhe entered the room his mother, scenting him, knew [[409]]that he was there. Then Chief Dihdih arose and said: “Now all be ready. Look out for the beads.” He had two daughters, who lighted the torches for the people who were intending to burn the woman’s feet. When they held the torches under the woman’s feet tears flowed from her eyes which fell on the ground, where they became beautiful wampum. The people rushed forward to pick up the beads. Deoyadastatʻhe was watching for an opportunity to rescue his mother; so when the people were on their knees gathering the wampum, quickly unbinding his mother, he led her out of doors. Then he said, as he ran around the devoted lodge, “Let this lodge become flint and let it become at once heated to a white heat.”[358] This at once took place, and the people within the lodge, becoming too hot, ceased picking up wampum and tried to escape, but they could not. There were fearful shrieks and wails, but these continued only for a moment before all were dead. The heads of the dead people burst asunder and from them came owls, which flew out of the smoke-hole of the lodge.
Then Deoyadastatʻhe told his mother that they must leave that place. So calling his dog, they started for the lodge of old Yeqsinye. In passing through the village a blue lizard attacked Deoyadastatʻhe and his little party, but the young man tore it to pieces. As the pieces fell to the ground the dog carried them away so that they would not fly back into place again before they became cool. Then the young man said, “You thought that you were going to kill me, but I have destroyed you.” When Deoyadastatʻhe arrived with his mother at the lodge of old woman Yeqsinye, he said to her, “I have killed all the people of the wicked village, so you shall now live in peace.” For this the old woman thanked him.
Then Deoyadastatʻhe and his mother and dog continued their journey until they arrived at their own lodge. There they found the six brothers of Deoyadastatʻhe, who had returned during his absence.
[The relator of the story evidently did not know the entire legend, for nothing is said as to where and as to why they had been so long away, nor how they came back.—Editor.]