Myth Telling
As has been several times mentioned in these pages, one of the principal ways of passing time at night in an Indian camp is the recital of fables for their amusement. Most old men and women can recount these stories, but there are some particularly famed for their talents in this respect, and these are compensated for their trouble by feasting, smoking, and small presents. At night, when all work is over, a kettle is put on containing some choice meat, tobacco mixed with weed prepared, the lodge put in order, the family collected, and the story-teller invited, who often prolongs his narrations the greater part of the night. Some of the tales are of a frightful kind, and to their impression on young minds is no doubt mainly to be attributed the fear of ghost monsters and other imaginary supernatural powers exhibited by most Indians when grown.
We have taken some pains to call together a few of the most famed and sensible story-tellers and listened with much patience to a great many of their allegories, but find nothing in any of them bearing on their ideas of a future state.[55] The circumstances and actors portrayed do not reveal the actual notions of the tribe on their religion as it now exists but are founded on their ancient mythology and handed down complete in their details through successive generations, and their real significance, if they ever had any further than amusement, is now lost or absorbed in their manner of worship as referred to in these pages.
Nevertheless, we can discern in them a probability of their being the real belief of their ancestors in their primitive ignorance, before their superstitions and religions had assumed a systematic form and tangible shape. This much may be inferred by the tacit acknowledgment of their truth apparent in the auditors and the unwillingness evinced by all to hear them ridiculed or contradicted. We think the truth of the matter is these tales were believed and formed a portion if not the greater part of the religion of their ancestors, are reverenced for their antiquity and originality, together with a lingering uncertainty as to their having actually transpired in times long passed. This may be deduced from the evident veneration with which some of them are regarded, and from the fact that there are no new fables made at the present day, nor any one who possesses or professes the character of a myth maker. These stories are not added to or diminished, for if in the telling the least circumstance be omitted the narrator is reminded of the error and corrects it. In none of them is the creation of animals or other objects, animate or inanimate, reasonably attempted, though such things are alluded to in many absurd forms and grotesque imaginings according with the general tenor of the tale. These, though often trifling in their details, present a connected chain of events and often contain a kind of moral, that is, a double meaning as observed in the one relating to the formation of the Ursa Major and Polar Star, before inserted.
None of these serve to demonstrate to the young the power and ubiquity of Wakoñda.[56] This awful principle is too much feared to be lightly introduced in common conversation or connected with amusing tales, though inferior demons and minor supernatural powers with a great variety of figures of the imagination, such as monsters, ghosts, giants, beasts with reasoning powers, transformation, and works of necromancy, are represented.
There does not appear to be much useful instruction conveyed by any of these oral tales, but they are resorted to as a source of amusement. Stories related by us to them from books, such as the fables of Æsop or those from the “Arabian Nights,” are listened to with great attention and sought after as eagerly as their own fiction. Moreover, they can, when these fables are plainly narrated, not only comprehend the literal meaning but appreciate the moral when it is pointed, not in its moral sense but as a necessary conclusion arising from the circumstances related. The only objection to recording many of these tales is their interminable length, one frequently occupying two or three hours in its recital. So remarkably long are they that the auditors are apt to become sleepy, and the narrator, if not responded to occasionally to convince him of their attention, breaks off and abruptly takes his leave. We now subjoin some of these stories that may serve to show the scope of imagination involved and that others may form their own opinions regarding their interest and utility.
Fables
Related by “The Ear Rings of Dog’s Teeth,” an Old Assiniboin
A long time ago there lived a great chief of a powerful nation, but he was a fearful and desperate man. He had killed six of his wives at different times in fits of passion, and at the time of our story had separated from his people, being jealous of his wife, and placed his lodge alone on the bank of a small stream. His family consisted of his wife, a boy say 12 years old, and a girl about 10 years, both his children by the woman now with him. The man went out hunting, and the game being far off did not return for several days. In the meantime the woman continued her domestic duties at home. Being in the timber in quest of wood, she struck her ax on a hollow tree and a great many snakes came forth, one of which[57] was large and handsome, had a fascinating eye and horns upon his head, spoke sweet words to the woman, and in the end succeeded in seducing her. Her husband returned and inquired of her “What had become of the paint on her face, which he put there before starting?” She made some hesitating answer and he suspected all was not right and determined to watch. In the course of a few days he gave out that he was again going hunting and might be absent some time, as he had not yet seen game. He as usual painted his wife’s face and departed. In place of going to hunt he hid in the bushes to watch his wife, who made her visits to the snake’s nest, striking on the tree and calling on the horned snake in terms of endearment to come forth. The snake came out, and the husband witnessed the infidelity of his wife.
He remained a day or two near the place, and each day observed his wife to repair to the snake’s den for like purposes. He then returned home. She was absent, but returned in a short time. “My wife,” said he, “I have killed a deer some distance off; go and get the meat.” After having received instructions as to where the meat was to be found, the woman departed with her dogs to bring it. In the meantime her husband went into the bushes, struck with his battle ax on the snake’s house, saying, “My husband, come forth,” imitating the voice of his wife. The reptile sallied out with all his family and the Indian destroyed them all with his battle ax. Gathering up the snakes, he carried them home and cooked them by boiling them to a jelly. His wife returned without finding any meat (as indeed there was none), and found her husband sitting down sharpening a huge flint ax. He invited her to sit down, and observing that she must be hungry after such a long travel, poured into a bowl the mess of snakes, which he handed to his wife, who, thinking it was some other kind of meat, ate the whole. After she had feasted, the man said, “You have eaten your beloved husband, the snake, and now you shall follow him.” He rose up and cut her head off at one stroke of his sharp ax. A storm arose, the wind blew, the thunder rolled, and the man disappeared in a whirlwind of dust and was caught up in the air. The children, much frightened at all this, ran out of the lodge over the prairie, never ceasing their speed until they were at some distance.
On stopping to rest themselves they looked back and beheld the Head of their mother rolling after them, calling on them to stop.[58]