The ideas of the bear mother and of the bear wife of a human man are common Seneca concepts.
This legend was related during the winter of 1904–1905 by Edward Cornplanter. Later I secured versions from Mrs. Aurelia J. Miller and David George. From the notes of all these versions this present version has been compiled. I am aware that it is in my own words rather than in the language of any one of my informants. I have added nothing, however, and have carefully kept the story to its original form.
19. THE SEVENTH SON.[[28]]
My grandfather used to tell it to go to sleep by.
There were seven brothers two years apart. Their grandparents took care of them. They were all extra hunters. It seems the way my grandfather told it, each one shot an animal and used its skin for a short skirt; one had bear skin and the others different skins.
The grandparents knew of a family of beautiful daughters a good ways east that would make good wives, but had bad habits. Oh my, they were queer folks.
It seems each boy must go out when he was come to manhood and listen for signs of women,—the women to marry. So when the oldest was a man the grandfather said, “Now you must go away and listen, then come back.” All right, so he went away and by and by he came back and said: “Oh Grandfather!” “Now wait,” said the grandfather, “I must smoke first.” So he filled up his pipe hard and took a coal and made big clouds,—smoke, it was. Then by an’ by he said, “Now you tell me.” So the boy,—man now,—said, “O-whoo-oo-o. Whoo-ho-wa-a!” “All right,” grandfather says, “next morning you go off again. Go east and don’t stop. You keep right on.” So he went on and didn’t come back.
By and by the second son said, “I am a man now. Now’s my time to go off.” All right, so he went off and came back and heard a wren and he said he had heard something. When the grandfather finished smoking he said: “Now you follow that on and keep right east and don’t stop ‘tall.” So he never came back.
So turns came to all and they went too, same way and heard crow, rabbit, deer, cracking sticks, and they followed the sounds.
Then the seventh son came of age and he was a kind of a witch [sic] and he dressed up in his best. Now I am going to describe his dress. He had a short skirt to the middle, most to his knees, made of nice spotted deer-skin,—yearling,—and he had nice moccasins and nothing else only a ga-gē-da, (a breast sash). And so he was like a big witch.[[29]] He went off and he didn’t turn round when he heard a noise but kept right on going.