The old man, further, told Outalissa that if he made speed he might hope to overtake the maiden on the way. Before, however, he resumed his journey he must leave behind him his body, his spear, bow, and arrows, which the old man promised to keep for him should he return. The Chippeway left his body and arms behind him, and under the direction of the old man entered upon the road to the Blissful Island. He had travelled but a couple of bowshots when it met his view, even more beautiful than his fathers had painted it.
He stood upon the brow of a hill which sloped gently down to the water of a lake which stretched as far as eye could see. Upon its banks were groves of beautiful trees of all kinds, and many canoes were to be seen gliding over its water. Afar, in the centre of the lake, lay the beautiful island appointed for the residence of the good. He walked down to the shore and entered a canoe which stood ready for him, made of a shining white stone. Seizing the paddle, he pushed off from the shore and commenced to make his way to the island. As he did so, he came to a canoe like his own, in which he found her whom he was in pursuit of. She recognised him, and the two canoes glided side by side over the water. Then Outalissa knew that he was on the Water of Judgment, the great water over which every soul must pass to reach the beautiful island, or in which it must sink to meet the punishment of the wicked. The two lovers glided on in fear, for the water seemed at times ready to swallow them, and around them they could see many canoes, which held those whose lives had been wicked, going down. The Master of Life had, however, decreed that they should pass in safety, and they reached the shores of the beautiful island, on which they landed full of joy.
It is impossible to tell the delights with which they found it filled. Mild and soft winds, clear and sweet waters, cool and refreshing shades, perpetual verdure, inexhaustible fertility, met them on all sides. Gladly would the son of the Red Elk have remained for ever with his beloved in the happy island, but the words of the Master of Life came to him in the pauses of the breeze, saying—
“Go back to thy own land, hunter. Your time has not yet come. You have not yet performed the work I have for you to do, nor can you yet enjoy those pleasures which belong to them who have performed their allotted task on earth. Go back, then. In time thou shalt rejoin her, the love of whom has brought thee hither.”
MACHINITOU, THE EVIL SPIRIT.
Chemanitou, being the Master of Life, at one time became the origin of a spirit that has ever since caused him and all others of his creation a great deal of disquiet. His birth was owing to an accident. It was in this wise:—
Metowac, or as the white people now call it, Long Island, was originally a vast plain, so level and free from any kind of growth that it looked like a portion of the great sea that had suddenly been made to move back and let the sand below appear, which was, in fact, the case.
Here it was that Chemanitou used to come and sit when he wished to bring any new creation to life. The place being spacious and solitary, the water upon every side, he had not only room enough, but was free from interruption.