He wanted to return to Nagasaki, but there was no way. The boat that had carried him to the islands had long since fallen into decay, and it was impossible to get another. He must stay forever and ever in the land of dance and song, and the thought became hideous.
Then he heard a weird cry. Looking behind him, he saw a giant stork settling on the bank of a lake to catch some of the rainbow fish within.
A happy thought came to him. No, he would not dwell eternally in Horaisan. He would go back to Nagasaki.
Catching the bird, he tamed it, and one morning while the islanders reveled and the sea was as many colored as the enchanted blossoms in the gardens, he flew away, borne by the giant stork back to the sweet land of Saikaido, back to the shining Gulf of Sinabara, and his native Nagasaki. He would live as his fathers had lived, he would die when his time came, and never again would he pine for a land where all was revelry and beauty and song.
Ever since that time the Japanese have loved the stork. They picture it upon their royal banners and upon the walls of their houses, and give it the freedom of their gardens. Whenever a youth becomes dissatisfied and yearns for a land where delights are never ending, they tell him the story of the man who went to the Everlasting Islands, show a picture of the stork that carried him back to Nagasaki, and say,
“Even as it was with Vasobiove, so would it be with you.”
WHY GRIZZLY BEAR GOES ON ALL FOURS
A Shasta Legend. Adapted from Bancroft
(Indian Folk Tale—Geography—Ethics)
Ages ago, before there were any mountains or valleys or rivers flowing seaward, Great Spirit lived up in the sky, higher than the most distant star. All about him were snow heaps and white cloud billows, so thick he could not see through them, and he wondered what lay beyond.