Rand and the Micmacs

by Jeremiah S. Clark

We find records of horrible man-eating giants called Kookwesijik; and another family of enormous beings called Ooskoon Kookwesijik,—the liver-coloured giants, who return from their hunting expeditions carrying at their belts a string of caribou as easily as a Micmac could carry a string of rabbits. These tawny giants are friendly, as is shown by their dealings with a party of Micmacs recorded in Legend XVII.; the party had been lost in a fog for several days in or near St. John harbour, and ever afterwards held their powerful deliverers in grateful remembrance, although the Ooskoon Kookwesijik amused themselves for a time at the expense of the pigmy Ulnoo. We might find entertainment for hours with the Megumoowesoo, which is like a fawn or satyr of Greek mythology; or the Culloo, an enormous bird, of human intelligence, and strength sufficient to carry a whole war-party on its back; or indeed with the dread Chenoo, or Northman, a sort of were-wolf, believed to be a transformed lunatic who had been maddened by disappointment in love, and whose icy heart now finds no pleasure save when feasting on human flesh and blood.

All the famous warriors are booowins, or pow-wows; they have supernatural powers, and when wide awake and in full presence of mind cannot be killed except by other braves possessing like powers. It is remarkable that these braves, or as they say, kenaps, even though mortally wounded, would immediately be in perfect health and strength if by any chance they could succeed in taking the life of a warrior; it was also believed that while a kenap was dancing the magic dance, his body could not be pierced by the swiftest arrow. A booowin could assume not only the character but also the form of whatever animal might be the totem of the clan to which he belonged, but he was restricted to his own totem, whether fox or wolf, or wild-goose, or loon, and so when two were fighting, each generally knew what he might expect of his opponent in the event of defeat in fair battle.

The last fight between the Kennebecs and the Micmacs occurred at the mouth of Pictou harbour, and was an instance in which one hero, or as they say, kenap, succeeded in destroying, single-handed, a whole war-party of the enemy. The incident is worthy of mention in this connection, for the hero of this closing scene of inter-tribal warfare was a booowin or pow-wow, who might well be compared, if we consider what he accomplished, with Samson, the strong man of Israel, or perhaps, even more properly with Heracles and the other demigods of ancient Grecian story. Our hero’s name is Kaktoogo, or Old Thunder, but he also had a second name given by the French, for the French had arrived on Acadia’s shores before this final defeat of the invading Kennebecks; the dignified name was Toonale, an attempt to pronounce Tonnere, the French translation of his sonorous name. You will notice that “r” was replaced by “l” in all words borrowed from the French and English, for neither the “r” nor “j” sound was formerly heard in the language of the Micmacs.

Let us picture two war-parties of the Kennebecs intrenched within blockhouses from which they make repeated sallies upon the wary natives of Megamaage[^[3]]. The forts are constructed by first digging a cellar, and then felling and arranging great trees, so that not only a barricade is formed, but a heavily roofed fort. The Micmacs are intrenched in a somewhat similar manner on their camping-ground at Merrigomish. It was quite evident to the Micmacs that their ancestral foes were not on a mere scalping expedition but had designed a war of extermination. Kaktoogo the Thunderer must make good use of all his magic, or he and his people will certainly be destroyed. First and last of the American Red-men, he took command of a navy; for in order to avoid ambuscades, he took possession of a French trading ship, and came around by sea from Merrigomish to Pictou. Soon he bore down upon the hostile fort with all sails set, and in true Indian fashion, as if his gallant craft were a bark canoe, ran hard aground as near as possible to his deadly foe; but before the French timbers quiver from that disastrous shock; Kaktoogo has leaped into the water, as Cæsar’s standard-bearer did on the coast of savage Britain a few centuries ago, and makes his way with all speed toward the land. Kaktoogo has every faculty alert, and, since he is a mighty pow-wow, no one but another demigod can kill him outright. He reached the shore and rushed upon the fort before either friends or foes had recovered from their astonishment, and,

“Like valor’s minion carved out his passage”

as nobly as ever did Macbeth, or Samson, or any other warrior, nor did he pause till every man of them had paid the forfeit of his life.

So complete was the victory that their ancestral foes never sent another war-party into Megamaage the Acadie, or Wholesome Place of the Micmacs. The bold Kaktoogo had at last “made a realm,” but it cannot be said of him that he “reigned,” for more insidious foes than the Kennebecs or the more dreaded Mohawks were among them, and were gradually conquering them by blandishments that stole away the manhood of the nation. Coureurs-du-bois were roaming everywhere throughout the forest, bringing dangerous thunder-weapons and more dangerous fire-water; and Glooscap, the Magnificent One, was grieved as he marked the steady approach of what the pale-face calls “Civilization.” The daring intruders soon visited the Son of Heaven at his home on that giant rock, Blomidon, around whose amethystine base “The tides of Minas swirl;” and several attempts were made to capture the mighty Sakumow, that he too might be caged and sent home to France.

At last Glooscap was disgusted with the treachery of the foreigners, and saddened by the weakness of his own people; so, by way of giving vent to his righteous indignation, he turned his kettle upside down, and transformed his two dogs into rocks, where they stand to-day, the guardians of Blomidon, still looking westward awaiting his return. Then the Great Snowy Owl retreated into the depths of the forest, where his mournful cry is often heard as he wails again and again: “Koo-koo-skoe,—I am so sorry.” The lordly Glooscap sailed away to the land of the setting sun on Fundy’s ebbing tide as it returned again to the ocean; there he makes his home in the Acadie of the blessed, until the faithless interlopers have either changed their barbarian habits, or gone to their own place. When all men shall have learned to honour Truth he will return and usher in the millennium amidst the wildest rejoicing of the elements.

But oh, the people are weary of waiting for his return, the stoutest hearts are failing; for search-party after search-party has come back, bringing only ample proofs of his unceasing love; Glooscap will never return to beautiful Megamaage the Acadie, or Wholesome Place of the Micmacs; Kenap and Sakumow now drown the memory of the former times by destroying body and soul with the withering curse of the pale-face, or take up the wail of the old women and re-echo the mournful cry of the Wobekookoogwes, the great Snowy Owl, which comes again with startling clearness from the depth of the forest: “I am so sorry,—Koo-koo-skoo.” And now as the camp-fire has burned low, and the melancholy cry of the owl resounds through the lonely archways of the forest, let us repeat the final word of the Booske-atookwa, the sage story teller, and reverently say Kespeadooksit,—the story is ended.

We have spent a few moments, idly perhaps, in hastily reviewing some features of the Mythology of the Micmacs, and we have found a weird delight in studying what was to them most sacred. But the mythology of the people, beautiful as it is, is not by any means the life-giving Truth; the outgrowth of the human mind, this rugged faith must fail to lead that mind to anything outside of itself; for the most magnificent statue on which man ever worked is still at heart a stone. Like Tennyson’s Prophet, the Mythology of the Micmacs is dead: