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Algonquin Legends of New England

by Charles Godfrey Leland · English · Gutenberg #6803 · 581,163 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Algonquin Legends of New England

Author: Charles Godfrey Leland


        
Release date: November 1, 2004 [eBook #6803]
                Most recently updated: December 30, 2020

Language: English

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Produced by Emily Ratliff, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
This file was produced from images generously made available by
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THE ALGONQUIN LEGENDS OF NEW ENGLAND

OR

_Myths and Folk Lore of the Micmac, Passamaquoddy, and Penobscot
Tribes_

BY CHARLES G. LELAND




[Frontispiece Illustration: MIK UM WESS THE INDIAN PUCK, OR ROBIN
GOOD-FELLOW.

From a scraping on birch bark by Tomak Josephs, Indian Governor at
Peter Dona's Point, Maine. The Mik um wees always wears a red cap like
the Norse Goblin.]



PREFACE.

When I began, in the summer of 1882, to collect among the Passamaquoddy
Indians at Campobello, New Brunswick, their traditions and folk-lore, I
expected to find very little indeed. These Indians, few in number,
surrounded by white people, and thoroughly converted to Roman
Catholicism, promised but scanty remains of heathenism. What was my
amazement, however, at discovering, day by day, that there existed
among them, entirely by oral tradition, a far grander mythology than
that which has been made known to us by either the Chippewa or Iroquois
Hiawatha Legends, and that this was illustrated by an incredible number
of tales. I soon ascertained that these were very ancient. The old
people declared that they had heard from their progenitors that all of
these stories were once sung; that they themselves remembered when many
of them were poems. This was fully proved by discovering manifest
traces of poetry in many, and finally by receiving a long Micmac tale
which had been sung by an Indian. I found that all the relaters of this
lore were positive as to the antiquity of the narratives, and
distinguished accurately between what was or was not pre-Columbian. In
fact, I came in time to the opinion that the original stock of all the
Algonquin myths, and perhaps of many more, still existed, not far away
in the West, but at our very doors; that is to say, in Maine and New
Brunswick. It is at least certain, as the reader may convince himself,
that these Wabanaki, or Northeastern Algonquin, legends give, with few
exceptions, in full and coherently, many tales which have only reached
us in a broken, imperfect form, from other sources.

This work, then, contains a collection of the myths, legends, and
folk-lore of the principal Wabanaki, or Northeastern Algonquin, Indians;
that is to say, of the Passamaquoddies and Penobscots of Maine, and of
the Micmacs of New Brunswick. All of this material was gathered
directly from Indian narrators, the greater part by myself, the rest by
a few friends; in fact, I can give the name of the aboriginal authority
for every tale except one. As my chief object has been simply to
collect and preserve valuable material, I have said little of the
labors of such critical writers as Brinton, Hale, Trumbull, Powers,
Morgan, Bancroft, and the many more who have so ably studied and set
forth red Indian ethnology. If I have rarely ventured on their field,
it is because I believe that when the Indian shall have passed away
there will come far better ethnologists than I am, who will be much
more obliged to me for collecting raw material than for cooking it.

Two or three subjects have, it is true, tempted me into occasional
commenting. The manifest, I may say the undeniable, affinity between
the myths and legends of the Northeastern Indians and those of the
Eskimo could hardly be passed over, nor at the same time the identity
of the latter and of the Shaman religion with those of the Finns,
Laplanders, and Samoyedes. I believe that I have contributed material
not devoid of value to those who are interested in the study of the
relations of the aborigines of America with the Mongoloid races of the
Old World. This is a subject which has been very little studied through
the relations of these Wabanaki with the Eskimo.

A far more hazardous venture has been the indicating points of
similarity between the myths or tales of the Algonquins and those of
the Norsemen, as set forth in the Eddas, the Sagas, and popular tales
of Scandinavia. When we, however, remember that the Eskimo once ranged
as far south as Massachusetts, that they did not reach Greenland till
the fourteenth century, that they had for three centuries intimate
relations with Scandinavians, that they were very fond of legends, and
that the Wabanaki even now mingle with them, the marvel would be that
the Norsemen had not left among them traces of their tales or of their
religion. But I do not say that this was positively the case; I simply
set forth in this book a great number of curious coincidences, from
which others may draw their own conclusions. I confess that I cannot
account for these resemblances save by the so-called "historical
theory" of direct transmission; but if any one can otherwise explain
them I should welcome the solution of what still seems to be, in many
respects, a problem.

I am, in fact, of the opinion that what is given in this work confirms
what was conjectured by David Crantz, and which is thus expressed in
his History of Greenland (London, 1767): "If we read the accounts which
have been given of the most northerly American Indians and Asiatic
Tartars, we find a pretty great resemblance between their manner of
life, morals, usages, and notions and what has been said in this book
of the Greenlanders, only with this difference: that the farther the
savage nations wandered towards the North, the fewer they retained of
their ancient conceptions and customs. As for the Greenlanders, if it
be true, as is supposed, that a remnant of the old Norway Christians
incorporated themselves and became one people with them, the
Greenlanders may thence have heard and adopted some of their notions,
which they may have new-modeled in the coarse mould of their own
brain."

Among those who have greatly aided me in preparing this work I deem it
to be a duty to mention MISS ABBY ALGER, of Boston, to whom it is
cordially dedicated; the REV. SILAS T. RAND, of Hantsport, Nova Scotia,
who lent me a manuscript collection of eighty-five Micmac tales, and
communicated to me, with zealous kindness, much information by letter;
and MRS. W. WALLACE BROWN, of Calais, Maine. It was through this lady
that I derived a great proportion of the most curious folk-lore of the
Passamaquoddies, especially such parts as coincided with the Edda. With
these I would include MR. E. JACK, of Fredericton, New Brunswick. When
it is remembered that there are only forty-two of the Hiawatha Legends
of Schoolcraft, out of which five books have been made by other
authors, and that I have collected more than two hundred, it will be
seen how these friends must have worked to aid me.




AUTHORITIES.


The authorities consulted in writing this work were as follows:--

PERSONS.

Tomah Josephs, Passamaquoddy, Indian Governor at Peter Dana's Point,
Maine.

The Rev. Silas T. Rand, Baptist Missionary among the Micmac Indians at
Hantsport, Nova Scotia. This gentleman lent me his manuscript
collection of eighty-five stories, all taken down from verbal Indian
narration. He also communicated much information in letters, etc.

John Gabriel, and his son Peter J. Gabriel, Passamaquoddy Indians, of
Point Pleasant, Maine.

Noel Josephs, of Peter Dana's Point, alias _Che gach goch_, the
Raven.

Joseph Tomah, Passamaquoddy, of Point Pleasant.

Louis Mitchell, Indian member of the Legislature of Maine. To this
gentleman I am greatly indebted for manuscripts, letters, and oral
narrations of great value.

Sapiel Selmo, keeper of the Wampum Record, formerly read every four
years, at the kindling of the great fire at Canawagha.

Marie Saksis, of Oldtown, a capital and very accurate narrator of many
traditions.

Miss Abby Alger, of Boston, by whom I was greatly aided in collecting
the Passamaquoddy stories, and who obtained several for me among the
St. Francis or Abenaki Indians.

Edward Jack, of Fredericton, for several Micmac legends and many
letters containing folk-lore, all taken down by him directly from
Indians.

Mrs. W. Wallace Brown. Mr. Brown was agent in charge of the
Passamaquoddies in Maine. To this lady, who has a great influence over
the Indians, and is much interested in their folk-lore and legends, I
am indebted for a large collection of very interesting material of the
most varied description.

Noel Neptune, Penobscot, Oldtown, Maine.

BOOKS, MANUSCRIPTS, ETC.

_The Story of Glooskap._ A curious manuscript in Indian-English,
obtained for me by Tomah Josephs.

_The Dominion Monthly_ for 1871. Containing nine Micmac legends by
Rev. S.T. Rand.

_Indian Legends._ (Manuscript of 900 pp. folio.) Collected among
the Micmac Indians, and translated by Silas T. Rand, Missionary to the
Micmacs.

_A Manuscript Collection of Passamaquoddy Legends and Folk-Lore._
By Mrs. W. Wallace Brown, of Calais, Maine. These are all given with
the greatest accuracy as narrated by Indians, some in broken
Indian-English. They embrace a very great variety of folk-lore.

_Manuscript Fairy Tales in Indian and English._ By Louis Mitchell.

_Manuscript: The Superstitions of the Passamaquoddies._ In Indian
and English.

_A History of the Passamaquoddy Indians._ Manuscript of 80 pages,
Indian and English. All of these were written for me by L. Mitchell,
M.L.

_Wampum Records._ Read for me by Sapiel Selmo, the only living
Indian who has the key to them.

David Cusick's _Sketches of Ancient History of the Six Nations._
Lockport, N.Y., 1848. Printed, but written in Indian-English.

_Manuscript: Six Stories of the St. Francis or Abenaki Indians._
Taken down by Miss Abby Alger.

Osgood's _Maritime Provinces._ In this work there are seven short
extracts relative to Glooskap given without reference to any book or
author.




CONTENTS


INTRODUCTION

GLOOSKAP, THE DIVINITY.

Of Glooskap's Birth, and of his Brother Malsum, the Wolf

How Glooskap made the Elves and Fairies, and then Man of an Ash-Tree,
and last of all the Beasts, and of his Coming at the Last Day

Of the Great Deeds which Glooskap did for Men; how he named the
Animals, and who they were that formed his Family

How Win-pe, the Sorcerer, having stolen Glooskap's Family, was by him
pursued. How Glooskap for a Merry Jest cheated the Whale. Of the Song
of the Clams, and how the Whale smoked a Pipe

Of the Dreadful Deeds of the Evil Pitcher, who was both Man and Woman;
how she fell in Love with Glooskap, and, being scorned, became his
Enemy. Of the Toads and Porcupines, and the Awful Battle of the Giants

How the Story of Glooskap and Pook-jin-skwess, the Evil Pitcher, is
told by the Passamaquoddy Indians

How Glooskap became friendly to the Loons, and made them his Messengers

How Glooskap made his Uncle Mikchich, the Turtle, into a Great Man, and
got him a Wife. Of the Turtles' Eggs, and how Glooskap vanquished a
Sorcerer by smoking Tobacco

How Glooskap sailed through the Great Cavern of Darkness

Of the Great Works which Glooskap made in the Land

The Story of Glooskap as told in a few Words by a Woman of the
Penobscots

How Glooskap, leaving the World, all the Animals mourned for him, and
how, ere he departed, he gave Gifts to Men

How Glooskap had a Great Frolic with Kitpooseagunow, a Mighty Giant who
caught a Whale

How Glooskap made a Magician of a Young Man, who aided another to win a
Wife and do Wonderful Deeds

How a certain Wicked Witch sought to cajole the Great and Good
Glooskap, and of her Punishment

Of other Men who went to Glooskap for Gifts

Of Glooskap and the three other Seekers

Of Glooskap and the Sinful Serpent

The Tale of Glooskap as told by another Indian, showing how the Toad
and Porcupine lost their Noses

How Glooskap changed Certain Saucy Indians into Rattlesnakes

How Glooskap bound Wuchowsen, the Great Wind-Bird, and made all the
Waters in the World stagnant

How Glooskap conquered the Great Bull-Frog, and in what Manner all the
Pollywogs, Crabs, Leeches, and other Water Creatures were created

How the Lord of Men and Beasts strove with the Mighty Wasis, and was
shamefully defeated

How the Great Glooskap fought the Giant Sorcerers at Saco, and turned
them into Fish

How Glooskap went to England and France, and was the first to make
America known to the Europeans

How Glooskap is making Arrows, and preparing for a Great Battle. The
Twilight of the Indian Gods

How Glooskap found the Summer

THE MERRY TAXES OF LOX, THE MISCHIEF-MAKER.

The Surprising and Singular Adventures of two Water Fairies who were
also Weasels, and how they each became the Bride of a Star. Including
the Mysterious and Wonderful Works of Lox, the Great Indian Devil, who
rose from the Dead

Of the Wolverine and the Wolves, or how Master Lox froze to Death

How Master Lox played a Trick on Mrs. Bear, who lost her Eyesight and
had her Eyes opened

How Lox came to Grief by trying to catch a Salmon

How Master Lox, as a Raccoon, killed the Bear and the Black Cats, and
performed other Notable Feats of Skill, all to his Great Discredit

How Lox deceived the Ducks, cheated the Chief, and beguiled the Bear

The Mischief-Maker. A Tradition of the Origin of the Mythology of the
Senecas. A Lox Legend

How Lox told a Lie

THE AMAZING ADVENTURES OF MASTER RABBIT.

How Master Rabbit sought to rival Kecoony, the Otter

How Mahtigwess, the Rabbit, dined with the Woodpecker Girls, and was
again humbled by trying to rival them

Of the Adventure with Mooin, the Bear; it being the Third and Last Time
that Master Rabbit made a Fool of himself

Relating how the Rabbit became Wise by being Original, and of the
Terrible Tricks which he by Magic played Loup-Cervier, the Wicked
Wild-Cat

How Master Rabbit went to a Wedding and won the Bride

How Master Rabbit gave himself Airs

The Young Man who was saved by a Rabbit and a Fox

THE CHENOO LEGENDS.

The Chenoo, or the Story of a Cannibal with an Icy Heart

The Story of the Great Chenoo, as told by the Passamaquoddies

The Girl-Chenoo

THUNDER STORIES.

Of the Girl who married Mount Katahdin, and how all the Indians brought
about their own Ruin

How a Hunter visited the Thunder Spirits who dwell on Mount Katahdin

The Thunder and Lightning Men

Of the Woman who married the Thunder, and of their Boy

AT-O-SIS, THE SERPENT.

How Two Girls were changed to Water-Snakes, and of Two others that
became Mermaids

Ne Hwas, the Mermaid

Of the Woman who loved a Serpent that lived in a Lake

The Mother of Serpents

Origin of the Black Snakes

THE PARTRIDGE.

The Adventures of the Great Hero Pulowech, or the Partridge

The Story of a Partridge and his Wonderful Wigwam

How the Partridge built Good Canoes for all the Birds, and a Bad One
for Himself

The Mournful Mystery of the Partridge-Witch; setting forth how a Young
Man died from Love

How one of the Partridge's Wives became a Sheldrake Duck, and why her
Feet and Feathers are red

THE INVISIBLE ONE

STORY OF THE THREE STRONG MEN

THE WEEWILLMEKQ'

How a Woman lost a Gun for Fear of the Weewillmekq'

Muggahmaht'adem, the Dance of Old Age, or the Magic of the Weewillmekq'

Another Version of the Dance of Old Age

TALES OF MAGIC.

M'teoulin, or Indian Magic

Story of the Beaver Trapper

How a Youth became a Magician

Of Old Joe, the M'teoulin

Of Governor Francis

How a Chiefs Son taught his Friend Sorcery

Tumilkoontaoo, or the Broken Wing

Fish-Hawk and Scapegrace

The Giant Magicians




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


MIK UM WESS, THE INDIAN PUCK, OR ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW

GLOOSKAP KILLING HIS BROTHER, THE WOLF

GLOOSKAP LOOKING AT THE WHALE SMOKING HIS PIPE

GLOOSKAP SETTING HIS DOGS ON THE WITCHES

THE MUD-TURTLE JUMPING OVER THE WIGWAM OF HIS FATHER-IN-LAW

GLOOSKAP AND KEANKE SPEARING THE WHALE

GLOOSKAP TURNING A MAN INTO A CEDAR-TREE

LOX CARRIED OFF BY CULLOO

THE INDIAN BOY AND THE MUSK-RAT. SEEPS, THE DUCK

THE RABBIT MAGICIAN

THE CHENOO AND THE LIZARD

THE WOMAN AND THE SERPENT




INTRODUCTION


Among the six chief divisions of the red Indians of North America the
most widely extended is the Algonquin. This people ranged from Labrador
to the far South, from Newfoundland to the Rocky Mountains, speaking
forty dialects, as the Hon. J. H. Trumbull has shown in his valuable
work on the subject. Belonging to this division are the Micmacs of New
Brunswick and the Passamaquoddy and Penobscot tribes of Maine, who with
the St. Francis Indians of Canada and some smaller clans call
themselves the Wabanaki, a word derived from a root signifying white or
light, intimating that they live nearest to the rising sun or the east.
In fact, the French-speaking St. Francis family, who are known _par
eminence_ as "the Abenaki," translate the term by _point du
jour_.

The Wabanaki have in common the traditions of a grand mythology, the
central figure of which is a demigod or hero, who, while he is always
great, consistent, and benevolent, and never devoid of dignity,
presents traits which are very much more like those of Odin and Thor,
with not a little of Pantagruel, than anything in the characters of the
Chippewa Manobozho, or the Iroquois Hiawatha. The name of this divinity
is Glooskap, meaning, strangely enough, the Liar, because it is said
that when he left earth, like King Arthur, for Fairyland, he promised
to return, and has never done so. It is characteristic of the Norse
gods that while they are grand they are manly, and combine with this a
peculiarly domestic humanity. Glooskap is the Norse god intensified. He
is, however, more of a giant; he grows to a more appalling greatness
than Thor or Odin in his battles; when a _Kiawaqu'_, or Jotun,
rises to the clouds to oppose him, Glooskap's head touches the stars,
and scorning to slay so mean a foe like an equal, he kills him
contemptuously with a light tap of his bow. But in the family circle he
is the most benevolent of gentle heroes, and has his oft-repeated
little standard jokes. Yet he never, like the Manobozho-Hiawatha of the
Chippewas, becomes silly, cruel, or fantastic. He has his roaring revel
with a brother giant, even as Thor went fishing in fierce fun with the
frost god, but he is never low or feeble.

Around Glooskap, who is by far the grandest and most Aryan-like
character ever evolved from a savage mind, and who is more congenial to
a reader of Shakespeare and Rabelais than any deity ever imagined out
of Europe, there are found strange giants: some literal Jotuns of stone
and ice, sorcerers who become giants like Glooskap, at will; the
terrible Chenoo, a human being with an icy-stone heart, who has sunk to
a cannibal and ghoul; all the weird monsters and horrors of the Eskimo
mythology, witches and demons, inherited from the terribly black
sorcery which preceded Shamanism, and compared to which the latter was
like an advanced religion, and all the minor mythology of dwarfs and
fairies. The Indian _m'teoulin_, or magician, distinctly taught
that every created thing, animate or inanimate, had its indwelling
spirit. Whatever had an _idea_ had a soul. Therefore the Wabanaki
mythology is strangely like that of the Rosicrucians. But it created
spirits for the terrible Arctic winters of the north, for the icebergs
and frozen wastes, for the Northern Lights and polar bears. It made, in
short, a mythology such as would be perfectly congenial to any one who
has read and understood the Edda, Beowulf, and the Kalevala, with the
wildest and oldest Norse sagas. But it is, as regards spirit and
meaning, utterly and entirely unlike anything else that is American. It
is not like the Mexican pantheon; it has not the same sounds, colors,
or feelings; and though many of its incidents or tales are the same as
those of the Chippewas, or other tribes, we still feel that there is an
incredible difference in the spirit. Its ways are not as their ways.
This Wabanaki mythology, which was that which gave a fairy, an elf, a
naiad, or a hero to every rock and river and ancient hill in New
England, is just the one of all others which is least known to the New
Englanders. When the last Indian shall be in his grave, those who come
after us will ask in wonder why we had no curiosity as to the romance
of our country, and so much as to that of every other land on earth.

Much is allowed to poets and painters, and no fault was found with Mr.
Longfellow for attributing to the Iroquois Hiawatha the choice exploits
of the Chippewa demi-devil Manobozho. It was "all Indian" to the
multitude, and one name answered as well in poetry as another, at a
time when there was very little attention paid to ethnology. So that a
good poem resulted, it was of little consequence that the plot was a
_melange_ of very different characters, and characteristics. And
when, in connection with this, Mr. Longfellow spoke of the Chippewa
tales as forming an Indian Edda, the term was doubtless in a poetic and
very general sense permissible. But its want of literal truth seems to
have deeply impressed the not generally over particular or accurate
Schoolcraft, since his first remarks in the Introduction to the
Hiawatha Legends are as follows:--

"Where analogies are so general, there is a constant liability to
mistakes. Of these foreign analogies of myth-lore, the least tangible,
it is believed, is that which has been suggested with the Scandinavian
mythology. That mythology is of so marked and peculiar a character that
it has not been distinctly traced out of the great circle of tribes of
the Indo-Germanic family. Odin and his terrific pantheon of war gods
and social deities could only exist in the dreary latitudes of storms
and fire which produce a Hecla and a Maelstrom. These latitudes have
invariably produced nations whose influence has been felt in an
elevating power over the world. From such a source the Indian could
have derived none of him vague symbolisms and mental idiosyncrasies
which have left him as he is found to-day, without a government and
without a god."

This is all perfectly true of the myths of Hiawat'ha-Manobozho. Nothing
on earth could be more unlike the Norse legends than the "Indian Edda"
of the Chippewas and Ottawas. But it was not known to this writer that
there already existed in Northeastern America a stupendous mythology,
derived from a land of storms and fire more terrible and wonderful than
Iceland; nay, so terrible that Icelanders themselves were appalled by
it. "This country," says the Abbe Morillot, "is the one most suggestive
of superstition. Everything there, sea, earth, or heaven, is strange."
The wild cries which rise from the depths of the caverned ice-hills,
and are reechoed by the rocks, icebergs, or waves, were dreadful to
Egbert Olafson in the seventeenth century. The interior is a desert
without parallel for desolation. A frozen Sahara seen by Northern
lightning and midnight suns is but a suggestion of this land. The sober
Moravian missionary Crantz once only in his life rose to poetry, when
more than a century ago he spoke of its scenery. Here then was the
latitude of storm and fire required by Schoolcraft to produce something
wilder and grander than he had ever found among Indians. And here
indeed there existed all the time a cycle of mythological legends or
poems such as he declared Indians incapable of producing. But strangest
of all, this American mythology of the North, which has been the very
last to become known to American readers, is literally so nearly like
the Edda itself that as this work fully proves, there is hardly a song
in the Norse collection which does not contain an incident found in the
Indian poem-legends, while in several there are many such coincidences.
Thus, in the Edda we are told that the first birth on earth was that of
a giant girl and boy, begotten by the feet of a giant and born from his
armpit. In the Wabanaki legends, the first birth was of Glooskap, the
Good principle, and Malsum the Wolf, or Evil principle. The Wolf was
born from his mother's armpit. He is sometimes male and sometimes
female. His feet are male and female, and converse. We pass on only
twelve lines in the Edda (Vafthrudnismal, 36) to be told that the wind
is caused by a giant in eagle's plumage, who sits on a rock far in the
north "at the end of heaven." This is simply and literally the
_Wochowsen_ or Windblower of the Wabanaki word for word,--not the
"Thunder-Bird" of the Western Indians. The second birth on earth,
according to the Edda, was that of man. Odin found Ash and Elm "nearly
powerless," and gave them sense. This was the first man and woman.
According to the Indians of Maine, Glooskap made the first men from the
_ash_-tree. They lived or were in it, "devoid of sense" till he
gave it to them. It is to be observed that primevally among the Norse
the _ash_ alone stood for man. So it goes on through the whole
Edda, of which all the main incidents are to be found among the sagas
of the Wabanaki. The most striking of these are the coincidences
between _Lox_ (lynx, wolf, wolverine, badger, or raccoon, and
sometimes man) and Loki. It is very remarkable indeed that the only two
religions in the world which possess a devil in whom _mischief_
predominates should also give to each the same adventures, if both did
not come from the same source. In the Hymiskvida of the Edda, two
giants go to fish for whales, and then have a contest which is actually
one of heat against cold. This is so like a Micmac legend in every
detail that about twenty lines are word for word the same in the Norse
and Indian. The Micmac giants end their whale fishing by trying to
freeze one another to death.

It is to the Rev. Silas T. Rand that the credit belongs of having
discovered Glooskap, and of having first published in the Dominion
Monthly several of these Northern legends. After I had collected nearly
a hundred among the Passamaquoddy and Penobscot Indians, this
gentleman, with unexampled kindness, lent me a manuscript of eighty-four
Micmac tales, making in all nine hundred folio pages. Many were
similar to others in my collection, but I have never yet received a
duplicate which did not contain something essential to the whole.
Though the old Indians all declare that most of their lore has
perished, especially the more recondite mythic poems, I am confident
that much more remains to be gathered than I have given in this work.
As it is, I have omitted many tales simply because they were evidently
Canadian French stories. Yet all of these, without exception, are half
Indian, and it may be old Norse modified; for a French story is
sometimes the same with one in the Eddas. Again, for want of room I
have not given any Indian tales or chronicles of the wars with the
Mohawks. Of these I have enough to make a very curious volume.

These legends belong to all New England. Many of them exist as yet
among the scattered fragments of Indian tribes here and there. The
Penobscots of Oldtown, Maine, still possess many. In fact, there is not
an old Indian, male or female, in New England or Canada who does not
retain stories and songs of the greatest interest. I sincerely trust
that this work may have the effect of stimulating collection. Let every
reader remember that everything thus taken down, and deposited in a
local historical society, or sent to the Ethnological Bureau at
Washington, will forever transmit the name of its recorder to
posterity. Archaeology is as yet in its very beginning; when the
Indians shall have departed it will grow to giant-like proportions, and
every scrap of information relative to them will be eagerly
investigated. And the man does not live who knows what may be made of
it all. I need not say that I should be grateful for such Indian lore
of any kind whatever which may be transmitted to me.

It may very naturally be asked by many how it came to pass that the
Indians of Maine and of the farther north have so much of the Edda in
their sagas; or, if it was derived through the Eskimo tribes, how these
got it from Norsemen, who were professedly Christians. I do not think
that the time has come for fully answering the first question. There is
some great mystery of mythology, as yet unsolved, regarding the origin
of the Edda and its relations with the faiths and folk-lore of the
elder Shamanic beliefs, such as Lapp, Finn, Samoyed, Eskimo, and
Tartar. This was the world's first religion; it is found in the
so-called Accadian Turanian beginning of Babylon, whence it possibly
came from the West. But what we have here to consider is whether the
Norsemen did directly influence the Eskimo and Indians. Let us first
consider that these latter were passionately fond of stories, and that
they had attained to a very high standard of culture as regards both
appreciation and invention. They were as fond of recitations as any
white man is of reading. Their memories were in this respect very
remarkable indeed. They have taken into their repertory during the past
two hundred years many French fairy tales, through the Canadians. Is it
not likely that they listened to the Northmen?

It is not generally noted among our learned men how long the Icelanders
remained in Greenland, how many stories are still told of them by the
Eskimo, or to what extent the Indians continue to mingle with the
latter. During the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries, says
the Abbe Morillot, "there were in Greenland, after Archbishop Adalbert,
more than twenty bishops, and in the colony were many churches and
monasteries. In the Oestrbugd, one of the two inhabited portions of the
vast island, were one hundred and ninety villages, with twelve
churches. In Julianshaab, one may to-day see the ruins of eight
churches and of many monasteries." In the fifteenth century all these
buildings were in ruins, and the colony was exterminated by the
pestilence or the natives. But among the latter there remained many
traditions of the Scandinavians associated with the ruins. Such is the
story of Oren'gortok, given by the Abbe Morillot, and several are to be
found in Rink's Legends. When we learn that the Norsemen, during their
three centuries of occupation of Greenland, brought away many of the
marvelous tales of the Eskimo, it is not credible that they left none
of their own. Thus we are told in the Floamanna Saga how a hero,
abandoned on the icy coast of Greenland, met with two giant witches
(Troldkoner), and cut the band from one of them. An old Icelandic work,
called the Konungs Skuggsjo (Danish, Kongespeilet), has much to say of
the marvels of Greenland and its monsters of the sea. On the other
hand, Morillot declares that the belief in ghosts was brought to
Greenland by the Icelanders and Scandinavians. The sagas have not been
as yet much studied with a view to establishing how much social
intercourse there was between the natives and the colonists, but common
experience would teach that during three centuries it must have been
something.

There has always been intercourse between Greenland and Labrador, and
in this latter country we find the first Algonquin Indians. Even at the
present day there are men among the Micmacs and Passamaquoddies who
have gone on their hunting excursions even to the Eskimo. I myself know
one of the latter who has done so, and the Rev. S. T. Rand, in answer
to a question on the subject, writes to me as follows:--

"Nancy Jeddore, a Micmac woman, assures me that her father, now dead,
used to go as far as the wild (heathen) Eskimo, and remained once for
three years among the more civilized. She has so correctly described
their habits that I am satisfied that her statements are correct."
[Footnote: The word _Eskimo_ is Algonquin, meaning to eat raw
fish, _Eskumoga_ in Micmac, and people who eat raw flesh, or
_Eskimook_, that is, _eski_, raw, and _moo-uk_, people.
This word recalls _in-noo-uk_, people, and spirits, in Eskimo,
_Innue_, which has the same double meaning. This was all suggested
to me by an Indian.]

These Eskimo brought from the Old World that primeval gloomy Shaman
religion, or sorcery, such as is practiced yet by Laplanders and
Tartars, such as formed the basis of the old Accadian Babylonian
cultus, and such as is now in vogue among all our own red Indians. I
believe that it was from the Eskimo that this American Shamanism all
came. In Greenland this faith assumed its strangest form; it made for
itself a new mythology. The Indians, their neighbors, borrowed from
this, but also added new elements of an only _semi_-Arctic
character. Thus there is a series of steps, but every one different,
from the Eskimo to the Wabanaki, of Labrador, New Brunswick, and Maine,
from the Wabanaki to the Iroquois, and from the Iroquois to the more
western Indians. And while they all have incidents in common, the
character of each is radically different.

It may be specially noted that while there is hardly an important point
in the Edda which may not be found, as I have just shown, in Wabanaki
legends, there is very little else in the latter which is in common
with such Old World mythology as might have come to the Indians since
the discovery by Columbus. Excluding French Canadian fairy tales, what
we have left is chiefly Eskimo and Eddaic, and the proportion of the
latter is simply surprising. There are actually more incidents taken
from the Edda than there are from lower sources. I can only account for
this by the fact that, as the Indians tell me, all these tales were
once _poems_, handed down from generation to generation, and
always sung. Once they were religious. Now they are in a condition
analogous to that of the German Heldenbuch. They have been cast into a
new form, but they are not as yet quite degraded to the nursery tale.

It may be objected that if the Norsemen in Greenland were Christians it
is most unlikely that they would have taught the legends of the Edda to
the heathen; to which I reply that some scholar a few centuries hence
may declare it was a most improbable thing that Christian Roman
Catholic Indians should have taught me the tales of Glooskap and Lox.
But the truth is, we really know very little as to how soon wandering
Vikings went to America, or how many were here.

I would say in conclusion that, while these legends of the Wabanaki are
fragmentary and incomplete, they still read like the fragments of a
book whose subject was once broadly and coherently treated by a man of
genius. They are handled in the same bold and artistic manner as the
Norse. There is nothing like them in any other North American Indian
records. They are, especially those which are from the Passamaquoddy
and Penobscot, inspired with a genial cosmopolite humor. While Glooskap
is always a gentleman, Lox ranges from Punch to Satan; passing through
the stages of an Indian Mephistopheles and the Norse Loki, who appears
to have been his true progenitor. But neither is quite like anything to
be found among really savage races. When it is borne in mind that the
most ancient and mythic of these legends have been taken down from the
trembling memories of old squaws who never understood their inner
meaning, or from ordinary _senaps_ who had not thought of them
since boyhood, it will be seen that the preservation of a mass of prose
poems, equal in bulk to the Kalevala or Heldenbuch, is indeed almost
miraculous.




THE ALGONQUIN LEGENDS OF NEW ENGLAND.

GLOOSKAP THE DIVINITY.




_Of Glooskap's Birth, and of his Brother Malsum the Wolf._


Now the great lord Glooskap, who was worshiped in after-days by all the
Wabanaki, or children of light, was a twin with a brother. As he was
good, this brother, whose name was Malsumsis, or Wolf the younger, was
bad. Before they were born, the babes consulted to consider how they
had best enter the world. And Glooskap said, "I will be born as others
are." But the evil Malsumsis thought himself too great to be brought
forth in such a manner, and declared that he would burst through his
mother's side. [Footnote: The reader of Rabelais cannot fail to recall
here the remarks of the author as to the extraordinary manner in which
it pleased the giant Gargantua to come into the world. The Armenians
believe that Christ was born through the right side of the Virgin. The
Buddhists say the same of Buddha's birth. (Heth and Moab, London,
1883.) Another and as I believe the correct account declares that
Malsum the Wolf was born from his mother's armpit.] And as they planned
it so it came to pass. Glooskap as first came quietly to light, while
Malsumsis kept his word, killing his mother.

The two grew up together, and one day the younger, who knew that both
had charmed lives, asked the elder what would kill him, Glooskap. Now
each had his own secret as to this, and Glooskap, remembering how
wantonly Malsumsis had slain their mother, thought it would be
misplaced confidence to trust his life to one so fond of death, while
it might prove to be well to know the bane of the other. So they agreed
to exchange secrets, and Glooskap, to test his brother, told him that
the only way in which he himself could be slain was by the stroke of an
owl's feather, [Footnote: There are different readings of this
incident. In Mr. Band's manuscript the alleged means of Glooskap's
death is described as being a cat-tail flag (_haw-kwee-usqu'_,
Passamaquoddy), while a handful of bird's down is the bane of Malsum
the Wolf. The termination _sis_ is a diminutive, here meaning the
younger.] though this was not true. And Malsumsis said, "I can only die
by a blow from a fern-root."

It came to pass in after-days that Kwah-beet-a-sis, the son of the
Great Beaver, or, as others say, Miko the Squirrel, or else the evil
which was in himself, tempted Malsumsis to kill Glooskap; for in those
days all men were wicked. So taking his bow he shot Ko-ko-khas the Owl,
and with one of his feathers he struck Glooskap while sleeping. Then he
awoke in anger, yet craftily said that it was not by an owl's feather,
but by a blow from a pine-root, that his life would end.

[Illustration: Glooskap killing his brother the wolf]

Then the false man led his brother another day far into the forest to
hunt, and, while he again slept, smote him on the head with a pine-root.
But Glooskap arose unharmed, drove Malsumsis away into the woods,
sat down by the brook-side, and thinking aver all that had happened,
said, "Nothing but a flowering rush can kill me." But the Beaver, who
was hidden among the reeds, heard this, and hastening to Malsumsis told
him the secret of his brother's life. For this Malsumsis promised to
bestow on Beaver whatever he should ask; but when the latter wished for
wings like a pigeon, the warrior laughed, and scornfully said, "Get
thee hence; thou with a tail like a file, what need hast thou of
wings?"

Then the Beaver was angry, and went forth to the camp of Glooskap, to
whom he told what he had done. Therefore Glooskap arose in sorrow and
in anger, took a fern-root, sought Malsumsis in the deep, dark forest,
and smote him so that he fell down dead. And Glooskap sang a song over
him and lamented.

The Beaver and the Owl and the Squirrel, for what they did and as they
did it, all come again into these stories; but Malsumsis, being dead,
was turned into the Shick-shoe mountains in the Gaspe peninsula.

For this chapter and parts of others I am indebted to the narrative of
a Micmac Indian, taken down by Mr. Edward Jock; also to another version
in the Rand MS. The story is, in the main-points, similar to that given
by David Cusick in his History of the Six Nations, of Enigorio the Good
Mind, and Enigonhahetgea, Bad Mind, to which I shall refer anon.

It is very evident that in this tradition Glooskap represents the Good
principle, and Malsumsis, the little wolf,--that is the Wolf who is the
Younger, rather than little or small,--the Evil one. Malsum typifies
destruction and sin in several of these tales. He will arise at the
last day, when Glooskap is to do battle with all the giants and evil
beasts of olden time, and will be the great destroyer. Malsum is the
Wolf Fenris of this the true Indian Edda.

For a further comment on this birth of the twins and its resemblance to
a passage in the Edda, the reader is referred to the notes on the next
chapter.




_How Glooskap made the Elves and Fairies, and then Man of an Ash
Tree, and last of all, Beasts, and of his Coming at the Last Day._

(Passamaquoddy.)


Glooskap came first of all into this country, into Nova Scotia, Maine,
Canada, into the land of the Wabanaki, next to sunrise. There were no
Indians here then (only wild Indians very far to the west).

First born were the Mikumwess, the Oonabgemessuk, the small Elves,
little men, dwellers in rocks.

And in this way he made Man: He took his bow and arrows and shot at
trees, the basket-trees, the Ash. Then Indians came out of the bark of
the Ash-trees. And then the Mikumwees said ... called tree-man....
[Footnote: The relater, an old woman, was quite unintelligible at this
point.]

Glooskap made all the animals. He made them at first very large. Then
he said to Moose, the great Moose who was as tall as Ketawkqu's,
[Footnote: A giant, high as the tallest pines, or as the clouds.] "What
would you do should you see an Indian coming?" Moose replied, "I would
tear down the trees on him." Then Glooskap saw that the Moose was too
strong, and made him smaller, so that Indians could kill him.

Then he said to the Squirrel, who was of the size of a Wolf, "What
would you do if you should meet an Indian?" And the Squirrel answered,
"I would scratch down trees on him." Then Glooskap said, "You also are
too strong," and he made him little. [Footnote: Another account states
that Glooskap took the Squirrel in his hands and smoothed him down.]

Then he asked the great White Bear what he would do if he met an
Indian; and the Bear said, "Eat him." And the Master bade him go and
live among rocks and ice, where he would see no Indians.

So he questioned all the beasts, changing their size or allotting their
lives according to their answers.

He took the Loon for his dog; but the Loon absented himself so much
that he chose for this service two wolves,--one black and one white,
[Footnote: Dogs are used for beasts of burden, to draw sledges, in the
North.] But the Loons are always his tale-bearers. Many years ago a man
very far to the North wished to cross a bay, a great distance, from one
point to another. As he was stepping into his canoe he saw a man with
two dogs,--one black and one white,--who asked to be set across. The
Indian said, "You may go, but what will become of your dogs?" Then the
stranger replied, "Let them go round by land." "Nay," replied the
Indian, "that is much too far." But the stranger saying nothing, he put
him across. And as they reached the landing place there stood the dogs.
But when he turned his head to address the man, he was gone. So he said
to himself, "I have seen Glooskap."

Yet again,--but this was not so many years ago,--far in the North there
were at a certain place many Indians assembled. And there was a
frightful commotion, caused by the ground heaving and rumbling; the
rocks shook and fell, they were greatly alarmed, and lo! Glooskap stood
before them, and said, "I go away now, but I shall return again; when
you feel the ground tremble, then know it is I." So they will know when
the last great war is to be, for then Glooskap will make the ground
shake with an awful noise.

Glooskap was no friend of the Beavers; he slew many of them. Up on the
Tobaic are two salt-water rocks (that is, rocks by the ocean-side, near
a freshwater stream). The Great Beaver, standing there one day, was
seen by Glooskap miles away, who had forbidden him that place. Then
picking up a large rock where he stood by the shore, he threw it all
that distance at the Beaver, who indeed dodged it; but when another
came, the beast ran into a mountain, and has never come forth to this
day. But the rocks which the master threw are yet to be seen.

This very interesting tradition was taken down by Mrs. W. Wallace Brown
from a very old Passamaquoddy Indian woman named Molly Sepsis, who
could not speak a word of English, with the aid of another younger
woman named Sarah.

It will be observed that it is said in the beginning that Glooskap
produced the first human beings from, the ash-tree. Ash and Elm in the
Edda were the Adam and Eve of the human race. There were no intelligent
men on earth--

  "Until there came three
  mighty and benevolent
  Aesir to the world
  from their assembly
  nearly powerless,
  Ash and Embla (Ash and Elm),
  void of destiny.

  "Spirit they possessed not,
  sense they had not,
  blood nor motive powers,
  nor goodly color.
  Spirit gave Odin,
  sense gave Hoenir,
  blood gave Lodur,
  and good color."
[Footnote: _The Edda of Saemund_, translated by Benjamin Thorpe.
London: Trubner & Co. 1866. Voluspa, v. 17, 18.]

It is certain, however, that the _ash_ was the typic tree of all
life, since the next verse of the Voluspa is devoted to Yggdrasil, the
tree of existence, or of the world itself. It may be observed that in
the Finnish poem of Kalevala it is by the destruction of the great oak
that Wainamoien, aided by the hero of the sea, causes all things to
grow. The early clearing away of trees, as a first step towards
culture, may be symbolized in the shooting of arrows at the ash.

The wolf, as a beast for the deity to ride, is strongly Eddaic.

  "Magic songs they sung,
  rode on wolves,
  the god (Odin) and gods."
[Footnote: _Rognnir og regin._ Odin and the Powers. Note by B.
Thorpe to the _Hrafnagalar Odins_, in Edda, p.30.]

We have here within a few lines, accordingly, the elm as the parent of
mankind, and wolves as the beasts of transport for the supreme deity,
both in the Indian legend and in the Edda.

As Glooskap is directly declared in one tradition to keep by him as an
attendant a being who is the course of the sun and of the seasons, it
may be assumed that the black and white wolf represent day and night.

Again, great stress is laid in the Glooskap legend upon the fact that
the last great day of battle with Malsum the Wolf and the frost-giants,
stone-giants, and other powers of evil, shall be announced by an
earthquake.

  "Trembles Yggdrasil's
  Ash yet standing,
  groans that aged tree....
  and the Wolf runs....
  The monster's kin goes
  all with the Wolf....
  The stony hills are dashed together,
  The giantesses totter.
  Then arises Hlin's second grief
  When Odin goes
  with the wolf to fight."

Word for word, ash-tree, giantesses, the supreme god fighting with a
wolf, and falling hills, are given in the Indian myth. This is not the
Christian Day of Judgment, but the Norse.

In this myth Glooskap has two wolves, one black and the other white.
This is an indication of day and night, since he is distinctly stated
to have as an attendant Kulpejotei, who typifies the course of the
seasons. In the Eddas (Ragnarok) we are told that one wolf now follows
the sun, another the moon; one Fenris, the other Moongarm:--

  "The moon's devourer
  In a troll's disguise."

The magic arrows of Glooskap are of course worldwide, and date from the
shafts of Abaris and those used among the ancient Jews for divination.
But it may be observed that those of the Indian hero are like the "Guse
arrows," described in Oervarodd's Saga, which always hit their mark and
return to the one who shoots them. [Footnote: _The Primitive
Inhabitants of Scandinavia._ By Svent Nilsson. Edited by Sir John
Lubbock, 1868.]

It is important here to compare this _old_ Algonquin account of
the Creation with that of the Iroquois, or Six Nations, as given by
David Cusick, himself an Indian:--

"There was a woman who was with child, with twins. She descended from
the higher world, and was received on the turtle. While she was in the
distress of travail, one of the infants in her womb was moved by an
evil desire, and determined to pass out under the side of the parent's
arm, and the other infant endeavored in vain to prevent his design.
They entered the dark world by compulsion, and their mother expired in
a few minutes. One of them possessed a gentle disposition, and was
named Enigorio, the Good Mind. The other possessed an insolence of
character, and was called Enigonhahetgea; that is, the Bad Mind. The
Good Mind was not content to remain in a dark situation, and was
desirous to create a great light in the dark world; but the Bad Mind
was desirous that the world should remain in its original state. The
Good Mind, determined to prosecute his design, began the work of
creation. Of his mother's head he made the sun, of her body the moon.
After he had made creeks and rivers, animals and fishes, he formed two
images of the dust of the ground in his own likeness, male and female,
and by his breathing into their nostrils he gave them living souls, and
named them _ea gwe howe_, that is a real people; and he gave the
Great Island all the animals--of game for the inheritance of the
people.... The Bad Mind, while his brother was making the universe,
went through the island, and made numerous high mountains and falls of
water and great steeps, and also created reptiles which would be
injurious to mankind; but the Good Mind restored the island to its
former condition. The Bad Mind made two images of clay in the form of
mankind, but while he was giving them existence they became
_apes_. The Good Mind discovered his brother's contrivances, and
aided in giving them living souls.

Finding that his brother continually thwarted him, the Good Mind
admonished him to behave better. The Bad Mind then offered a challenge
to his brother, on condition that the victor should rule the universe.
The Good Mind was willing. He falsely mentioned that whipping with
flags [bulrushes] would destroy his _temporal_ life, and earnestly
solicited his brother to observe the instrument of death, saying that
by using deer-horns he would expire. [This is very obscure in Cusick's
Indian-English.] On the day appointed the battle began; it lasted for
two days; they tore up the trees and mountains; at last the Good Mind
gained the victory by using the horns. The last words uttered by the
Bad Mind were that he would have equal power over the souls of mankind
after their death, and so sank down to eternal doom and became the Evil
Spirit."

Contrasted with this hardly heathen cosmogony, which shows recent Bible
influence throughout, the Algonquin narrative reads like a song from
the Edda. That the latter is the original and the older there can be no
doubt. Between the "Good Mind," making man "from the dust of the
earth," and Glooskap, rousing him by magic arrows from the ash-tree,
there is a great difference. It may be observed that the fight with
horns is explained in another legend in this book, called the Chenoo,
and that these horns are the magic horns of the Chepitch calm, or Great
Serpent, who is somewhat like the dragon.

In the Algonquin story, two Loons are Glooskap's "tale-bearers," which
occasion him great anxiety by their prolonged absences. This is
distinctly stated in the Indian legend, as it is of Odin's birds in the
Edda. Odin has, as news-bringers, two ravens.

  "Hugin and Munin
  Fly each day
  over the spacious earth.
  I fear for Hugin
  that he comes not back,
  yet more anxious am I
  for Munin."

The Loons, indeed, occasioned Glooskap so much trouble by absences that
he took wolves in their place. The ravens of the Edda are probably of
biblical origin. But it is a most extraordinary coincidence that the
Indians have a corresponding perversion of Scripture, for they say that
Glooskap, when he was in the ark, that is as Noah, sent out a white
dove, which returned to him colored black, and became a raven. This is
not, however, related as part of the myth.

The Ancient History of the Six Nations, by David Cusick, gives us in
one particular a strange coincidence with the Edda. It tells us that
the Bad Mind, the principle of Evil, forced himself out into life, as
Cusick expresses it in his broken Indian-English, "under the side of
the parent's arm;" that is, through the armpit. In the Edda
(Vafthrudnismal, 33) we are told of the first beings born on earth that
they were twins, begotten by the two feet of a giant, and born out of
his armpit.

  "Under the armpit grew,
  't is said of the Hrimthurs,
  a girl and boy together;
  foot with foot begat,
  of that wise Jotun,
  a six-headed son."

There are in these six lines six coincidences with red Indian
mythology: (1.) The Evil principle as a Jotun's first-born in the one
and the Bad Mind in the other are born of the mother's armpit. (2.) In
one of the tales of Lox, the Indian devil, also a giant, we are told
that his feet are male and female. (3.) In both faiths this is the
first birth on earth. (4.) The six-headed demon appears in a Micmac
tale. (5.) There is in both the Eddaic and the Wabanaki account a very
remarkable coincidence in this: that there is a Titanic or giant birth
of twins on earth, followed by the creation of man from the ash-tree.
(6.) The Evil principle, whether it be the Wolf-Lox, in the Wabanaki
myths, or Loki in the Norse, often turns himself into a woman. Thus the
male and female sex of the first-born twins is identified.

According to the Edda, the order of births on earth was as follows:--

First, two giants were born from the mother's armpit.

Secondly, the dwarfs were created.

Thirdly, man was made from the ash-tree.

According to the Wabanaki, this was the order:--

First, two giants were born, _one_ from his mother's armpit.

Secondly, the dwarfs (Mikumwessuk) were created from the bark of the
ash-tree.

Thirdly, man was made from the _trunk_ of the ash.

The account of the creation of the dwarfs is wanting in the present
manuscript.




_Of the Great Deeds which Glooskap did for Men; how he named the
Animals, and who they were that formed his Family._

(Passamaquoddy.)


_Woodenit atbk-hagen Gloosekap_: [Footnote: Passamaquoddy.] this
is a story of Glooskap. It is told in traditions of the old time that
Glooskap was born in the land of the Wabanaki, which is nearest to the
sunrise; but another story says that he came over the sea in a great
stone canoe, and that this canoe was an island of granite covered with
trees. When the great man, of all men and beasts chief ruler, had come
down from this ark, he went among the Wabanaki. [Footnote: This part of
the legend is from a very singular and I may add almost unintelligible
manuscript, _Storey about Glooscap_, written in English by a
Passamaquoddy Indian. The word _ark_ which occurs in it reminds me
that the Indian from whom I obtained it once asked me if I did not
think that Glooskap was the same as Noah. This sentence is as follows
in the Indian-English of the original: "Gloosecap hat left from ark
come crosse even wiht wabnocelel."] And calling all the animals he gave
them each a name: unto the Bear, _mooin_; and asked him what he
would do if he should meet with a man. The Bear said, "I fear him, and
I should run." Now in those days the Squirrel (_mi-ko_) was
greater than the Bear. Then Glooskap took him in his hands, and
smoothing him down he grew smaller and smaller, till he became as we
see him now. In after-days the Squirrel was Glooskap's dog, and when he
so willed, grew large again and slew his enemies, however fierce they
might be. But this time, when asked what he would do should he meet
with a man, Mi-ko replied, "I should run up a tree."

Then the Moose, being questioned, answered, standing still and looking
down, "I should run through the woods." And so it was with Kwah-beet
the Beaver, [Footnote: This is very obscure in the original manuscript.
It reads "Herask beaber did do anything just look behager."] and
Glooskap saw that of all created beings the first and greatest was Man.

Before men were instructed by him, they lived in darkness; it was so
dark that they could not even see to slay their enemies. [Footnote:
This was read to me by an Indian from a wampum record, now kept at
Sebayk. I do not think I am mistaken in the phrase. It probably refers
to ignorance of warlike weapons.] Glooskap taught them how to hunt, and
to build huts and canoes and weirs for fish. Before he came they knew
not how to make weapons or nets. He the Great Master showed them the
hidden virtues of plants, roots, and barks, and pointed out to them
such vegetables as might be used for food, as well as what kinds of
animals, birds, and fish were to be eaten. And when this was done he
taught them the names of all the stars. He loved mankind, and wherever
he might be in the wilderness he was never very far from any of the
Indians. He dwelt in a lonely land, but whenever they sought him they
found him. [Footnote: This is from the Rand manuscript. The writer
remarks that these expressions were the very words of a Micmac Indian
named Stephen Flood, "who had no idea that he was using almost the
identical expressions of Holy Writ with reference to God."] He traveled
far and wide: there is no place in all the land of the Wabanaki where
he left not his name; hills, rocks and rivers, lakes and islands, bear
witness to him.

Glooskap was never married, yet as he lived like other men he lived not
alone. There dwelt with him an old woman, who kept his lodge; he called
her Noogumee, "my grandmother." (Micmac.) With her was a youth named
Abistariaooch, or the Martin. (M.) And Martin could change himself to a
baby or a little boy, a youth or a young man, as befitted the time in
which he was to act; for all things about Glooskap were very wonderful.
This Martin ate always from a small birch-bark dish, called
_witch-kwed-lakun-cheech_ (M.), and when he left this anywhere
Glooskap was sure to find it, and could tell from its appearance all that
had befallen his family. And Martin was called by Glooskap Uch-keen (M.),
"my younger brother." The Lord of men and beasts had a belt which gave
him magical power and endless strength. And when he lent this to
Martin, the younger brother could also do great deeds, such as were
only done in old times.

Martin lived much with the Mikumwess or Elves, or Fairies, and is said
to have been one of them.




_How Win-pe the Sorcerer, having stolen Glooskap's Family, was by him
pursued, and how, Glooskap for a Merry Jest cheated the Whale. Of the
Song of the Clams, and how the Whale smoked a Pipe._

(Micmac.)


_N'kah-ne-oo_. In old times (P.), in the beginning of things, men
were as animals and animals as men; how this was, no one knows. But it
is told that all were at first men, and as they gave themselves up to
this and that desire, and to naught else, they became beasts. But
before this came to pass, they could change to one or the other form;
yet even as men there was always something which showed what they were.

Now Glooskap lived on an island named Aja-lig-un-mechk, and with him
were many Indians with the names and natures of animals and birds.

These men, but most of all Pulowech, the Partridge, having acquired
power themselves, became jealous of Glooskap, and made up their minds
to depart when he was away, taking with them Martin and the
grandmother. For they had great hope that Glooskap, being left alone on
the island, would perish, because they knew not his power. There is
another story which says that he was living at the mouth of the
Oolostook, at a place called Menogwes (St. John, N. B.), and went away
into the forest as far as Goolwahgik (Juan), and had been gone six
weeks, when he returned home and found the old woman, whose name was
Mooinarkw, [Footnote: Mr. Rand translates this Micmac word as Mrs.
Bear.] and Martin had been taken away. Following their tracks to the
shore he saw one of his greatest enemies, a terrible sorcerer named
Win-pe, just pushing off in his canoe. And with him were his wife and
child and Dame Bear and Martin. They were still within call, and
Glooskap cried from the shore to the grandmother to send back his dogs,
which were not larger than mice, and, as some stories tell us, were
squirrels. So she took a _woltes-takun_, which is a small wooden
platter, and on such Indian dice are tossed. This she put in the water,
and placed the dogs on it, and it floated to the shore, and Glooskap
took it up. Win-pe with his family and prisoners pushed on to
Passamoogwaddy (M.), and thence to Grand Manan; and after remaining
there a while he crossed over to Kes-poog-itk (Yarmouth), and so went
slowly along the southern coast through Oona-mahgik (Cape Breton), and
over to Uktukkamkw (Newfoundland), where he was slain.

Now whether it was to gain magical power, or to weaken that of Win-pe,
or to chasten the others by suffering, who knows? But Glooskap rested
seven years alone before he pursued the enemy, though some say it was
seven months. And when the time had come, he took his dogs and went to
the shore, and looked far out to sea over the waves, and sang the magic
song which the whales obey. [Footnote: In the _Tales and Traditions
of the Eskimo_, by Dr. Henry Rink, we are told in the story of
Akigsiak that an old man taught the hero a magic lay for luring a whale
to him. In another, Katersparsuk sings such a song to the walrus.] Soon
there rose in the distance a small whale, who had heard the call, and
came to Glooskap; but he was then very great, and he put one foot on
the whale to test his weight, and the fish sank under him. So he sent
it away.

Then the lord of men and beasts sang the song again, and there came the
largest, a mighty female, and she bore him well and easily over to
Kes-poog-itk. But she was greatly afraid of getting into shoal water,
or of running ashore, and this was what Glooskap wished her to do that he
might not wet his feet. So as she approached she asked him if land were
in sight. But he lied, and said "No." So she went on rapidly.

However, she saw shells below, and soon the water grew so shoal that
she said in fear, "_Moon-as-taba-kan-kari-jean-nook_? (M.) Does
not the land show itself like a bow-string?" And he said, "We are still
far from land."

Then the water grew so shoal that she heard the song of the Clams as
they lay under the sand, singing to her that she should throw him off
and drown him. For these Clams were his deadly enemies. But Bootup the
Whale did not understand their language, so she asked her rider--for he
knew Clam--what they were chanting to her. And he replied in a song:--

  "They tell you to hurry (_cussal_) (M),
  To hurry, to hurry him along,
  Over the water,
  Away as fast as you can!"

Then the Whale went like lightning, and suddenly found herself high on
the shore. Then she lamented and sang:--

  "Alas, my grandchild (_noojeech_),
  Ah, you have been my death;
  I can never leave the land,
  I shall swim in the sea no more."

But Glooskap sang:--

  "Have no fear, _noogumee_,
  You shall not suffer,
  You shall swim in the sea once more."

[Illustration: GLOOSKAP LOOKING AT THE WHALE SMOKING HIS PIPE]

Then with a push of his bow against her head he sent her off into deep
water. And the Whale rejoiced greatly. But ere she went she said, "Oh,
my grandson, _K'teen pehabskwass n'aga tomawe_?" (P.). "Hast thou
not such a thing as an old pipe and some tobacco?" He replied,--

  "Ah yes.
  You want tobacco,
  I behold you."

So he gave her a short pipe and some tobacco, and thereunto a light.
And the Whale, being of good cheer, sailed away, smoking as she went,
while Glooskap, standing silent on the shore, and ever leaning on his
maple bow, beheld the long low cloud which followed her until she
vanished in the far away.

In a Passamaquoddy tale of Pook-jin-skwess the Witch, the Clams sing a
song deriding the hero. The words are:--

  "Mow chow nut-pess sell
  Peri marm-hole wett."

These words are not Indian, but they are said to mean,--

  You look very funny with your long hair streaming in the wind,
  And sailing on a snail's horn.

The large Clams sing this in a bass voice, the small ones in falsetto.
The gypsies say that a Snail, when put on a pie, utters four cries, or
squeaks; hence in Germany the Romany call it _Stargoli_: that is,
_shtor-godli_, four cries.




_Of the Dreadful Deeds of the Evil Pitcher, who was both Man and
Woman, and how she fell in love with Glooskap, and, being scorned,
became his Enemy. Of the Toads and Porcupines, and the Awful Battle of
the Giants._

(Passamaquoddy.)


When Glooskap came into the world it abounded in giants, monsters,
sorcerers and witches, fiends and devils. Among the witches there was,
one whom the Passamaquoddy call Pook-jin-skwess, or the Pitcher.
[Footnote: It is not impossible that this well-known Indian witch gave
her name to Moll Pitcher, the famous fortune-teller of Lynn.] And they
have a legend that she once fell in love with Glooskap when he was
young and had not gained the power of his riper age. He fled before
her, and she pursued him. It was a dreadful flight, since to make rapid
steps both took the form of giants by their _m'-te-oulin_ (P.), or
magic power. It was like an awful storm in winter, the wind chasing the
cloud; it was like a frightful tempest in summer, the lightning chasing
the thunder. As the snow lay deep, both had snow-shoes on. When they
came to the shore Glooskap leaped from the main-land to the island of
Grand Manan, [Footnote: A leap of about nine miles.] and so escaped
her. Now the snow-shoes of Glooskap were _sams'ook_ (P.), or
round, while those of Pook-jin-skwess were long and pointed, [Footnote:
The Penobscots give the long shoes to Glooskap.] and the marks of them
as they jumped are to be seen deep in the rocks to this day.

When Glooskap came to the camp, which was at Ogumkegeak (M.), now called
Liverpool, he found no one. But there lay the _witch-kwed-lakun-cheech_
(M.), or birch-bark dish of Martin, and from it, or, as another legend
states, from an old man and woman who dwelt hard by, he learned that
Win-pe and the families had been gone for seven years, along a road
guarded by wicked and horrible beings, placed by Win-pe to prevent the
Great Master from finding him. For it was a great triumph for him to
keep Glooskap's friends as slaves, and all the land spoke thereof.

And these monsters were Pook-jin-skwess, or the Evil Pitcher herself,
in many forms; for she could be man or woman, [Footnote: In the
_Tales and Traditions_ of the Eskimo, we are told that a woman
named Arnakuak, being apparently gifted by magic with the ability to
change her sex, had her daughter-in-law; Ukuamak, for a wife, and,
having eloped with her, was followed and killed by her own son. As this
is almost immediately followed by a story of a man who gave birth to a
child, it would appear that the idea was common to both Eskimo and
Indians. Only the wicked magicians in Indian tales change their sex,
like Loki in the Edda.] or many of them, and also several girls, when
she willed it. Now it is a great part of Indian _m'teoulin_ (P.)
to know what one's enemies are planning and plotting, and all their
tricks and darkened paths; and in this Glooskap went beyond them all,
for before his time every one went his own way, even in wickedness. But
Glooskap first of all threw out his soul unto others.

And when he came to Ogumkeok he found a hut, and in it, seated over a
fire, the ugliest old hag he had ever seen, trembling in every limb, as
if near death, dirty, ragged, and loathsome in all ways. Looking up at
him with bleared eyes, she begged him to gather her a little firewood,
which he did. And then she prayed him to free her from the _wah
gook_(M.), or vermin, with which she was covered, and which were
maddening her with their bites. These were all devils in disguise, the
spirits of foul poison, such as she deemed must kill even the Master.
Now Glooskap, foreseeing all this, had taken with him, as he came, from
a bog many cranberries. And bidding Pook-jin-skwess bend over, he began
to take from her hair the hideous vermin, and each, as he took it,
became a horrid porcupine or toad. [Footnote: In the Eskimo mythology,
_Arnarkuagsak_, the old woman of the sea, is tormented by vermin
about her head. These are really the souls of still-born or murdered
infants, who have become imps. The first thing which the _angakok_
or sorcerer, who visits her must do is to free her from these pests.
The descent of the sorcerer to this mother of all the monsters of the
sea, who are at the same time _giants_, when they choose to assume
the human form, recalls that of Odin to Hela. Both make this journey to
hell, not for themselves, but in the interests of mankind.] Then the
hag asked, "Have you found one?" "I have," replied the Master.
"_Basp_!" (M.) "Crush it!" was her answer, and Glooskap crushed a
cranberry; and she, hearing the noise, thought that he had done as she
bid, and that the poison on his fingers would penetrate to his life.
But he put the imps, one by one, under the wooden platter, which lay
before him. As this went on he put the witch to sleep. When she awoke
he was gone. The foul porcupines and toads were swarming all over the
ground, having upset their hive. And filled with fury at being made a
jest of, since it was a great despite that he had not even found it
worth while to kill her when asleep, she burst out into her own form,
which was beautiful as sin, wild as the devil, and gathering up all her
imps, and making herself far more magical by fiercer will, went onward
to encounter him again.

Then Glooskap came to a narrow pass in the hills. Here were two
terrible beasts, as one story has it, or two monstrous dogs, [Footnote:
The Indians had dogs before the coming of the whites. They were
wolf-like.] as it is told in another. And they attacked him; but he set
his own at them, and they, growing to tremendous size, killed the others.
His dogs were so trained that when called to come off they went on, and
the more they were bid to be quiet the more they bit.

Soon he came to the top of a high hill, and looking thence over all the
land saw afar off a large wigwam, and knew in his heart that an enemy
dwelt therein. And coming to it he found an old man and his two
daughters. [Footnote: In another account, an old sorceress and her
daughters; also an old man and his wife and daughters. According to two
versions, these are all separate wizards, but the whole spirit of the
Passamaquoddy legends make them Pook-jin-skwess alone.] Now the girls
came out greeting [Footnote: In the story of the Rabbit and Lusifee the
sorcerer singly twice assumes the form of an old man and his two
daughters. There is yet another story, in which a magician thus triples
himself with two daughters. It is, I believe, Eskimo, but I cannot
distinctly remember as to this.] him with very pleasant glances, wooing
softly and sweetly; they offered him a string of sausages, such as the
Indians make from the entrails of the bear by only turning them inside
out. For the fat, which clings to the outside, fills the skin. When
these are washed and dried and smoked, many deem them delicious. But
these which the girls offered, as girls do, to show their love, by
casting the string round the neck of the favored youth, were enchanted,
and had they once put the necklace upon him he would have been
overpowered. However, they knew not of this new magic which the Master
had brought into the land, by which one can read the heart; so, as they
sidled up unto him with smiles and blandishments, waving in the wind as
they danced their garlands of enchanted sausages, he looked as if he
wanted to be won. And when his dogs growled at them he cried,
"_Cuss_!" (M.), which means _Stop_! but which the dogs only
knew as "Hie, at them!" So they flew at the witches, and these flashed
up like fire into their own dreadful forms of female fiends. Then there
was a terrible tumult, for never before in the land of the Wabanaki had
there been such a battle. All the earth and rocks around were torn up.
All the while the Master cried to the dogs, "Stop! These are my
sisters. Come off, ye evil beasts! Let them alone! Cease, oh cease!"
Yet the more he exhorted them to peace the more they inclined to war,
and the more fiercely they fought, until the witches fled.

[Illustration: GLOOSKAP SETTING HIS DOGS ON THE WITCHES]

Then he entered the wigwam where the old sorcerer sat, waiting for him
as food. And the Master said, "Are you hungry? Or do you love sausages?
Here they are!" Instantly casting the links around his neck, he was
taken, and Glooskap slew him with one blow.

Then, going on, he reached the Strait of Camsoke [Footnote: Camsoke
means, "There is a high bluff on the opposite side of the river."--S.
T. Rand.] (M.), or Canso, and to cross over again sang the song which
wins the whales, and one of these rising, carried him to the opposite
shore. Thence he made the circle of Oona-mah-gik, keeping round by the
southern coast, and coming to the old camps where his enemy had been.
From the _witch-kwed-lakun-cheech_, or birch-bark dish, left by
Martin, he learned how long they had been gone. [Footnote: As the gypsy
leaves his _patteran_, or sign, so the Indian makes marks which
set forth clearly enough how long he has camped at any place, and how
many were in the party, etc. It may be supposed that Martin, not daring
to attract Win-pe's attention, effected this by a few secret scratches.
Thus three lines and a crescent or moon would mean three nights.] When
he came to Uk-tu-tun (M., Cape North) he found they had rowed to
Uk-tuk-amqw (M., Newfoundland), and had left three days before.

Then again he sang, and once more a whale carried him over. And now he
knew that he was indeed coming to what he sought, for in the deserted
camp he found the embers of a fire, still smoking. Advancing rapidly,
he saw near the next camp Martin, seeking wood to burn. The youth and
the old Dame Bear had been most cruelly treated by Win-pe, and they
were nearly starved, but Martin's clothes were good. [Footnote: There
is a reason for this singular detail. Nancy Jeddore, the Indian from
whom Mr. Rand learned one version of this legend, informed him that the
Martin, thin at all times, always has a fine fur, however starved he
may be. Dying with hunger, he is always well dressed.] And Martin was
so sunk in sorrow that he did not hear Glooskap call him, and not till
the Master threw a small stick at him did he look up, and even then he
thought it had fallen from a tree. Then, seeing him, he cried out with
joy; but Glooskap, who was hiding in the woods, bade him be silent.
"Wait till it is dark," he said, "and I will go to your wigwam. Now you
may go home and tell your grandmother."

In the other story (M.) it is narrated that as Martin with the
grandmother were on the road, and Dame Bear bore him as almost a babe
on her back, he turned his head and saw Glooskap following them, and
cried out,--

  "Where, oh where,
  Where is my brother?
  He who fed me often
  On the marrow of the moose!"

And she replied,--

  "Alas for thee, boy!
  He is far, far away;
  You will see him no more."

But the little fellow, seeing him again, sang as before, and Dame Bear,
turning her head and beholding her Master, was so moved that she
fainted and fell to the ground. Then Glooskap raised her in his arms,
and when she had recovered she related how cruelly they had been
treated by Win-pe. And Glooskap said, "Bear with him yet a little
while, for I will soon pay him in full for what he has done."

Then the Master bade the old woman go back to the camp with Martin, and
say nothing. It was the youth's duty to go for water and tend the baby
in its swinging cot. And Glooskap told him all that he should do. When
he should bring water he must mix with it the worst filth, and so offer
it to Win-pe, the sorcerer.

And even as he ordered it was done, and Martin meekly offered the foul
drink to the evil man, who at the smell of it cried aloud, "_Uk
say_!" (M., Oh, horror!) and bade him bring a cleaner cup. But
Martin, bearing the babe, threw it into the fire, and, running to the
spot where Glooskap hid, cried out, "_Nse-sako! nse-sako_!" (M.,
My brother! my brother!) Win-pe, pursuing him, said, "Cry out to him;
your brother cannot help you now. He is far away from here, on the
island where I left him. Cry out well, for now you must die!" All this
had been done that Win-pe's power might be put to sleep by anger, and
his mind drawn to other things. And the Master rose before him in all
his might, and stepped forward, while Win-pe drew backward a pace to
recover his strength. And with great will the Master roused all the
magic within him, and, as it came, he rose till his head was above the
tallest pine; and truly in those days trees were giants beyond those of
this time. But the lord of men and beasts laughed as he grew till his
head was far above the clouds and reached the stars, and ever higher,
till Win-pe was as a child at his feet. And holding the man in scorn,
and disdaining to use a nobler weapon, he tapped the sorcerer lightly
with the end of his bow, like a small dog, and he fell dead.




_How the Story of Glooskap and Pook-jin-skwess, the Evil Pitcher, is
told by the Passamaquoddy Indians_. [Footnote: In this story
Glooskap is called Pogumk, the Black Cat or Fisher, that is, a species
of wild cat, while Martin is a N'mockswess, sable. There seems to be no
settled idea as to what was the _totem_ or innate animal nature of
the lord of men and beasts. I have a series of pictures scraped on
birch-bark illustrating these myths, executed by a Passamaquoddy, in
which Glooskap and the adopted grandmother in the stone canoe are
represented as wood-chucks, or ground-hogs. (Mon-in-kwess, P.)]

(Passamaquoddy.)


There was a village of Indians who were all Black Cats, or Po'gum'k.
One of them, the cleverest and bravest, went forth every day with bow
and arrow, tomahawk and knife, and killed moose and bear, and sent meat
to the poor, and so he fed them all. When he returned they came to him
to know where his game lay, and when he had told them they went forth
with toboggins [Footnote: Toboggin, a sled made very simply by turning
up the ends of one or more pieces of wood to prevent them from catching
in the snow.] and returned with them loaded with meat. And the chief of
the Black Cats was by his mother the son of a bear. [Footnote: A
confused but important point in all these myths.]

Pook-jin-skwess, the Witch, was a Black Cat. She was a woman or a man
as she willed to be; but in these days she was a man. And she, being
evil, hated the chief, and thought long how she could kill or remove
him, and take his place. Now, one day when all the camp had packed what
they had, being about to travel, Pitcher asked the chief to go with
him, or with her, as you may will, down to the water-side to gather
gulls' eggs. And then they went far out in a canoe, and very far, and
still farther, till they came to an island, and there they landed, and
while Pogumk (who was Glooskap) sought for eggs, the false-hearted
Pitcher stole away in the _akweden_ (P., canoe), and as she
paddled she sang a song--

  "Nikhed-ha Pogumk min nekuk,
  Netswil sagamawin!" (P)

  "I have left the Black Cat on an island,
  I shall be the chief of the Fishers now!"

So she came to the village, and the next day they all departed through
the woods; there was not one of them left save the one who was worth
them all. And at night they camped, expecting every day that the chief
would come to them, and till then Pitcher was in his place.

Now on the thirtieth day the chief remembered his friend the Fox, who
had _m'teoulin_ (P.), or magic power. And he sang a song, and the
Fox heard it, although he was miles away, beyond forests and mountains.
And thus knowing all, he went to the shore and swam to the island,
where he found the chief. At this time the Black Cat could not swim
such a distance, [Footnote: The most powerful _manitous_, or
magicians, in the Chippeway tales, as well as in all others of the
Indians, may exhaust their power and be forced to depend on that of
inferiors in the great art. In this tale Glooskap is decidedly under a
cloud.] but the Fox offered to take him to the mainland. Then they
waded into the water, and the Fox said, "Close thine eyes and hold fast
to my tail as tightly as thou canst, and be of good faith, oh, my elder
brother, and we shall soon gain the shore." Saying this, he swam away
and his friend followed. And it went well with them, but the chief grew
weary, and he opened one eye a little, and saw that they were not ten
feet from the shore. And being of little faith he thought, for he spoke
not aloud, "We shall never get to land." But the Fox replied, "Do not
believe it." But the journey lasted long, for what seemed to Pogumk to
be ten feet was ten miles, and the wind was high and the waters were
wild, for Pitcher had called forth a storm. So they swam all day and
all the evening before they landed. "And now, my elder brother," said
the Fox, "you may go your way." And he went to the camp of the Black
Cats.

When he came to the camp it was cold, and there were only ashes, for
the people had gone on. So he followed them, and in one day came near
them. And the first whom he overtook was his mother, bearing his
younger brother Sable ('Nmmok-swess, P.) on her back, so that while she
looked forward he looked behind. And as Pogumk peeped out from among
the leaves, Sable saw him, and said, "Here comes my brother!" And she
turned, but saw nothing, for the chief suddenly hid himself behind a
tree. Then they went on, and Sable cried again, "Indeed, mother, I
behold my elder brother!" And this time the mother, glancing quickly,
caught him, and they all laughed for joy, and she threw Sable down in
the leaves, like a stick. Then the chief bade Sable run to the camp.
"And when you are there," he said, "build up a great fire of hemlock
bark, and take Pitcher's babe, even the babe which she loves, and which
you tend, and throw it into the fire, and run to me as fast as you can,
for verily thou wilt be in dire need to do so."

And as he commanded it was done; and when the fire was hot, Sable threw
the babe into it, and it was burned to death. And Pitcher, being, as
one may well believe, maddened at such a sight, pursued him as a
starving wolf pursues a rabbit. Then Sable, in great fear, cried aloud,
"Oh, my elder brother, my brother!" And Pitcher screamed, "Call aloud
to him, for you must run as far as the island where Pogumk is, to save
yourself!" And at that word Pogumk stepped forward and confronted her,
and said, "Truly, she need not run so far."

And seeing him and hearing this, fear came upon her; but she laughed
aloud to hide it, and said, "I did but chase him in sport, for I love
Sable." But Pogumk replied grimly, "I know thee and thy tricks, thou
the evil one." Then, as his magic had come to him, he used his power,
and put Pitcher with her back against a tree; and there she stayed,
stuck to it, unable to get away. But the chief and Sable went to the
camp. Now Pitcher had a hatchet and wedge, and with much ado she cut
herself away, and the Black Cats heard her pounding and chopping all
night long. And in the morning she came to them, and there was a great
piece of wood sticking to her back, and they laughed her to scorn, and
sang at her,--

  "He who made the chief
  Stay on a distant island,
  He is stuck by the chief
  Fast with his back to a tree."

Now Pitcher the Witch, being mad with shame and spite, fled from the
face of man, and ran through the woods like a wild wolf. And so she
came to Bar Harbor (Pes'sonkqu', P.), and sat down on a log, and said,
with her heart full of bitterness and malice, "I would that I could
become something which should torment all men." And as she said this
she became a mosquito (T'sis-o, P.), and so it came to pass that
mosquitoes were made. And to this day men see that wherever the Black
Cat is, there too is the Sable not far away. [Footnote: The
Passamaquoddy version relates that Pitcher in her flight pursued a
moose to Bar Harbor, where, having killed him and drawn out the
entrails, she petrified him. A Penobscot woman told me she had often
seen the moose rock there, and the "inments." But she attributed the
deed to Glooskap, to whom it properly belongs, his petrified moose and
dogs and the print of his bow, etc., being still shown in Nova Scotia;
and it is also said that it was at Freshwater, after returning from Bar
Harbor (Maine), that Pitcher was changed into a mosquito. Another story
states that Pook-jin-skwess, having pursued young men all her life,
changed into a mosquito that she might continue to prey on them.]

Of this Pook-jin-skwess it was said that she had children of her own,
begotten by sorcerers and giants and monsters; but as they were all
ugly she stole from the Indian women their fairest babes, and brought
them up as if they were her own, that she might not be entirely put to
shame because of her children. And once she had thus stolen a boy, and
when he grew up some one said to him that he should not believe that
she was his mother, but should question her as to it. Now the youth,
reflecting on this, observed that his brothers and sisters were all as
ugly as evil beasts and no better behaved, while he himself was comely
and good. Then he asked her what this might mean. And she replied,
laughing, "Because they were all begotten (or born) in the night-time,
but you are a child of the day and of light." [Footnote: There is
probably an allusion in this to the Wabanaki, or Children of Light;
that is, the Algonquin. This story was told me by Noel Josephs, a
Passamaquoddy. I have been told by an old Passamaquoddy woman that the
descendants of Pook-jin-skwess were the 'Nmmok-skwess. This stealing
the white boy is related in another tale more folly. It may refer to
the early dark Eskimo.]




_How Glooskap became friendly to the Loons, and made them his
Messengers._

(Micmac.)


When Glooskap was pursuing Win-pe, he one day on Uktukamkw saw from
afar flying over water the Kwe-moo (M.), or Loons. And thrice did their
chief make the circle of the lake, coming near to the land of men and
beasts every time, as if he would fain seek somewhat. Then Glooskap
asking him what he wanted, Kwe-moo replied that he would be his servant
and friend. So Glooskap taught him a strange long cry like the howl of
a dog, and when the loons were in need of him or would pray to him they
were to utter this cry.

And it came to pass that when he was in Newfoundland he came to an
Indian town, and they who dwelt therein were all Kwee-moo-uk, or Loons.
And they, as men, were exceeding glad to see their lord, who had
blessed them as birds, and did their best to please him. So he made
them his huntsmen and messengers, and in all the tales of Glooskap the
Kweemoo ever appears as faithful to him. Whence to this day, when the
Indians hear the cry of the Loon, they say, "_Kwemoo el-komik-too-ajul
Gloocapal_" (He is calling upon Glooskap).




_How Glooskap made his Uncle Mikchich the Turtle into a Great Man,
and got him a Wife. [Footnote: This legend of the tortoise is carefully
compiled from six different versions: the narration of Tomah Josephs, a
Passamaquoddy; the Anglo-Indian manuscript, already cited; two accounts
in the Rand manuscript; the author quoted without credit in _The
Maritime Provinces_; and one by Mrs. W. Wallace Brown. As the totem
of the Tortoise was of the highest rank among the Algonquins, this
account of its origin is of corresponding interest. Having employed an
old Indian to carve the handle of a war or scalping knife for me, such
as was used by his Passamaquoddy ancestors, he carved on it a tortoise.
It was especially the totem of the Lenni-Lenape, called by the
Passamaquoddies _Lel-le-mabe_, "the people."] Of Turtles' Eggs,
and how Glooskap vanquished a Sorcerer by smoking Tobacco._

(Micmac and Passamaquoddy.)


Now when Glooskap left Uktukamkw, or Newfoundland, it was in a canoe,
and he came to Piktook (M. for Pictou), which means the bubbling up of
air, because there is much bubbling in the water near that place. And
here there was an Indian village, and in that place the Master met with
a man whom he loved all his life.

And this was not because this man, whose name in Micmac is Mikchich and
in Passamaquoddy Chick-we-notchk, meaning the Turtle, was great, or
well favored, or rich. For truly he was none of these, being very poor
and lazy, no longer young, and not very clever or wise in any way. It
is said that he was indeed Glooskap's uncle, but others think that this
was by adoption. However, this old fellow bore all his wants with such
good nature that the Master, taking him in great affection, resolved to
make of him a mighty man. Which came to pass, and that in a strange
manner, as we shall see.

For coming to Piktook, where there were above a hundred wigwams,
Glooskap, being a very handsome, stately man, with the manner of a
great chief, was much admired, and that not a little by all the women,
so that every one wished to have him in the house. Yet he gave them all
the go-by, and dwelt with his old uncle, in whose quaint ways and
old-time stories he took great delight. And there was to be a great
feast with games, but Glooskap did not care to go, either as a guest
or a performer in the play.

Still he inquired of Mikchich if he would not take part in it, telling
him that all the maidens would be there, and asking him why he had
never married, and saying that he should not live alone. Then the uncle
said: "Poor and old and plain am I; I have not even garments fit for a
feast; better were it for me to smoke my pipe at home." "Truly, if that
be all, uncle," replied Glooskap, "I trow I can turn tailor and fit you
to a turn; and have no care as to your outside or your face, for to him
who knows how, 't is as easy to make a man over as a suit of clothes."
"Yes; but, nephew," said Mikchich, "how say you as to making over the
inside of a mortal?" "By the great Beaver!" answered the Master, "that
is something harder to do, else I were not so long at work in this
world. But before I leave this town I shall do that also for you; and
as for this present sport, do but put on my belt." And when he had done
that, Mikchich became so young and handsome that no man or woman ever
saw the like. And then Glooskap dressed him in his own best clothes,
and promised him that to the end of his days, whenever he should be a
man, he would be the comeliest of men; and because he was patient and
tough, he should, as an animal, become the hardest to kill of all
creatures on the face of the earth, as it came to pass.

So Mikchich went to the feast. Now the chief of Piktook had three
beautiful daughters, and the youngest was the loveliest in the land.
And on her he cast his eyes, and returning said, "I have seen one whom
I want." Now all the young men in Piktook desired this girl, and would
kill any one who would win her.

So the next day Glooskap, taking a bunch of _wawbap_ (P., wampum),
went, to the chief and proposed for Mikchich, [Footnote: All invitations
to festivals, or formal ceremonies, proposals of marriage, etc., were
preceded among these tribes by a gift of wampum.] and the mother at
once said "Yes." So the girl made up a bed of fresh twigs and covered
it with a great white bear-skin, and went to Mikchich, and they
returned and had dried meat for supper. So they were married.

Now Turtle seemed to be very lazy; and when others hunted he lounged at
home. One day his young wife said to him that if this went on thus they
must soon starve. So he put on his snow-shoes and went forth, and she
followed him to see what he would do. And he had not gone far ere he
tripped and fell down, and the girl, returning, told her mother that he
was worthless. But the mother said, "He will do something yet. Be
patient."

One day it came to pass that Glooskap said to Mikchich, "To-morrow
there will be a great game at ball, and you must play. But because you
have made yourself enemies of all the young men here, they will seek to
slay you, by crowding all together and trampling upon you. And when
they do this it will be by your father-in-law's lodge, and to escape
them I give you the power to jump high over it. This you may do twice,
but the third time will be terrible for you, and yet it must be."

All this happened as he foretold; for the young men indeed tried to
take his life, and to escape them Mikchich jumped over the lodge, so
that he seemed like a bird flying. But the third time he did this he
was caught on the top of the tent-poles, and hung there dangling in the
smoke which rose from below.

[Illustration: THE MUD TURTLE JUMPING OVER THE WIGWAM OF HIS
FATHER-IN-LAW.]

Then Glooskap, who was seated in the tent, said, "Uncle, I will now
make you the _sogmo_, or great chief of the Tortoises, and you
shall bear up a great nation." Then he smoked Mikchich [Footnote: In a
verbal Passamaquoddy narrative (John Gabriel), and in one given in
_The Maritime Provinces_, this was effected by Glooskap with
tobacco-smoke from his pipe. In Mr. Rand's manuscript it is the smoke
of the tent-fire. The Passamaquoddy narrations are invariably more
spirited and _humorous_ than the Micmac.] so long that his skin
became a hard shell, and the marks of the smoke may be seen thereon to
this day. And removing his entrails he destroyed them, so that but one
short one was left. And he cried aloud, "_Milooks_! (M.) My
nephew, you will kill me!" But the nephew replied, "Not so. I am giving
you great life. From this time you may roll through a flame and never
feel it, and live on land or in the water. And though your head be cut
off, it will live for nine days, and your heart, even, shall beat as
long when taken from your body." So Mikchich rejoiced greatly.

And this came betimes, for he soon had need of it all. For the next day
all the men went on a hunt, and the Master warned him that they would
seek to slay him. Now the young men went on before, and Turtle lingered
behind; but all at once he made a magic flight far over their heads,
unseen, and deep in the forest he slew a moose. Then he drew this to
the snow-shoe track or road, and when his foes came up there he sat
upon the moose, smoking, and waiting for them. Now Glooskap had told
them that they would see some one come out ahead of them all that day,
and when this came to pass they were more angered in their hearts than
ever.

So they plotted to kill Turtle, and his nephew, who was about to leave,
told him how it would be. "First of all, they will build a mighty fire
and throw you in it. But do thou, O uncle, go cheerfully, for by my
power thou wilt in nowise suffer. Then they will speak of drowning, but
thou must beg and pray that this may not be; and then they will the
more seek to do so, and thou shalt fight them to the bitter end, and
yet it shall be."

And as he said, so it came to pass; and Mikchich, being of good cheer,
bade farewell to his nephew. [Footnote: This is amusingly, though not
very clearly, set forth in the Indian manuscript as follows: "Make
believe but you dond want be trown. So he shaken hands witt is nuncel
kick hororch good by do him. Tell is uncle you--I shall not be kill and
I am going Lever (to live)--we may meet again."] And they seized him
and threw him into a great fire, but he turned over and went to sleep
in it, being very lazy; and when the fire had burnt out he awoke, and
called for more wood, because it was a cold night.

Then they seized him yet again, and spoke of drowning. But, hearing
this, he, as if he were in mortal dread, begged them not to do this
thing. And he said they might cut him to pieces, or burn him, as they
would, but not to throw him into the water. [Footnote: This in the
original is extremely like Brer Rabbit's prayer not to be thrown into
the brier-bush. As this legend is one of the oldest of the Algonquin,
and certainly antedating the coming of the whites, I give it the
priority over the negro.] Therefore they resolved to do so, and dragged
him on. Then he screamed horribly and fought lustily, and tore up trees
and roots and rocks like a madman; but they took him into a canoe and
paddled out into the middle of the lake (or to the sea), and, throwing
him in, watched him sink as he vanished far down below. So they thought
him dead, and returned rejoicing.

Now the next day at noon there was a hot sunshine, and something was
seen basking on a great rock, about a mile out in the lake. So two
young men took a canoe and went forth to see what this might be. And
when they came to the edge of the rock, which was about a foot high,
there lay Mikchich sunning himself; but seeing them coming to take him,
he only said, "Good-by," and rolled over plump into the water, where he
is living to this day. In memory whereof all turtles, when they see any
one coming, tip-tilt themselves over into the water at once.

And Turtle lived happily with his wife, and she had a babe. New it
happened in after-days that Glooskap came to see his uncle, and the
child cried. "Dost thou know what he says?" exclaimed the Master.
"Truly, not I," answered Mikchich, "unless it be the language of the
Mu-se-gisk (P., Spirits of the Air), which no man knoweth." "Well," replied
Glooskap, "he is talking of eggs, for he says '_Hoo-wah! hoo-wah_!'
which methinks is much the same as '_Waw-wun, waw-wun_.' And
this in Passamaquoddy means egg." "But where are there any?" asked
Mikchich. Then Glooskap bade him seek in the sand, and he found many,
and admired and marveled over them greatly; and in memory of this, and
to glorify this jest of Glooskap, the Turtle layeth eggs even to this
day.

       *       *       *       *       *

The great Glooskap was a right valiant smoker; in all the world was no
man who loved a pipe of good tobacco so much as he. In those days the
summers were longer in the land of the Wabanaki, the sun was warmer,
and the Indians raised _tomawe_ (tobacco, P.), and solaced
themselves mightily therewith. [Footnote: I have met with an old Indian
woman in New Brunswick who told me that her grandmother remembered to
have seen tobacco raised there by the Passamaquoddy.] And there came to
Glooskap a certain evil-minded magician, who sought to take his life,
as the Master very well knew, for he read the hearts of men as if they
had been strings of wampum. And this _m'teoulin_ (P., magician),
believing himself to be greatest in all things, thought to appall
Glooskap by outdoing him at first in something at which he excelled;
for a fish is frightened when another swims faster, but not till then.

And the man sat down to smoke with an exceeding long pipe with a great
bowl, but that of Glooskap grew to be much greater. Then, having filled
his pipe, the sorcerer exhausted and burnt it out at one pull, and then
blew all the smoke out of his nose at one puff. So he sat and looked at
the Master. But Glooskap, whose pipe held ten times as much tobacco,
did the same, and blowing it out split the rocky ground, so that a
great chasm opened before them. Then they were silent awhile, till the
Master said, "If you can do that you may kill me." But he could not,
and so went back with shame to those who had sent him. [Footnote: In
this "tale of tobacco," told me by John Gabriel, the evil-minded
magician is described as a Black Cat. This is probably an error, as
Glooskap himself appears as chief of the Black Cats in another tale. It
may be, however, that this was Pook-jin-skwess in disguise.]




_How Glooskap sailed through the great Cavern of Darkness._

(Micmac.)


Now it is told in another tradition--and men tell even this
differently--that _pitche_, in these old times (P.) Glooskap's
seven neighbors, who were all so many different animals, took away his
family, and that he followed them, even as it has been written, unto
Newfoundland. And when he came there it was night, and, finding Marten
alone, he took him forth into the forest to seek food, putting his belt
on the boy, which gave him such power that he hunted well and got much
meat.

So it came to pass that the next morning Dame Kah-kah-gooch, the
Crow, [Footnote: _Kah-kah-gooch_, Micmac, _Kah-kah-goos_,
Passamaquoddy. The Crow is represented in several stories as always
peeping, spying, begging, pilfering, and tale-bearing about a town. The
Passamaquoddy Indians hare peculiar superstitions as regards killing
the crow.] observed that Marten was drying meat on his wigwam. And this
she spread abroad. But when the people learned that the child had done
this, a great fear came upon them all, and they sat every man in his
lodge and awaited death, for they knew that the Master had come.

And he indeed came; but when he saw them all as frightened as rabbits
before the wild-cat, he laughed aloud and forgave them, for he was
noble and generous. And as they were hungry--for he had come in hard
times--he gave them much venison, and sorrow departed from their
wigwams. But as they had left him of old, he now left them. When they
knew him not they left him to die; now that they knew him they feared
lest they should perish without him. But he turned his steps towards
other paths.

Now having made a canoe, the Master, with Marten and Dame Bear, went
upon a mighty river. As the story says, it was broad and beautiful at
first, and so they sailed away down towards its mouth. Then they came
to great cliffs, which gathered round and closed over them. But the
river ran on beneath these, and ever on far underground, deeper and
deeper in the earth, till it dashed headlong into rapids, among rocks
and ravines, and under cataracts which were so horrible that death
seemed to come and go with every plunge of the canoe. And the water
grew narrower and the current more dreadful, and fear came upon Marten
and the woman, so that they died. But the Master sat with silent soul,
though he sang the songs of magic, and so passed into the night, but
came forth again into sunlight. And there was a lonely wigwam on the
bank, into which he bore Marten and the grandmother, and saying,
"_Numchahse_! arise!" lo, they arose, and deemed they had only
slept. And now Glooskap had gained the greatest power. [Footnote: This
incident of the passage underground is deeply suggestive of Wabeno
mystery and initiation. It will strike every student of classic lore as
almost identical with much that he has read. If it has not the same
symbolical meaning here, it has apparently none whatever.]

This incident of passing through darkness, on a roaring stream in a
frail bark, before emerging to sunlight or illumination, was not only
in the ancient heathen myths. We are reminded of it by the storm
through which Jesus passed with the disciples. That it made a great
impression upon the Indians is shown by its being told of Pulewech, the
Partridge, who is a type of Glooskap, and who, like him, makes war on
the powers of evil, set forth in the Porcupines. The Indians, who
imagined and selected so many wild and terrible tests to form the
Shaman, or sorcerer, as well as the warrior, would hardly neglect that
of _de profundis clamari_, the storm, the waves, darkness, and the
roaring flood.

If there is really any Norse influence in this tale, this river must be
the one mentioned in the Vafthrudnismal,--

  "Ifing the stream is called
  which earth divides between
  the Jotuns and the gods.
  Open it shall run
  throughout all time.
  On that stream no ice shall he."

It will be observed that, having gone down or across this stream,
Pulewech finds himself in the country of the Evil sorcerers; that is,
Jotunheim. To conquer a river among the Norse, in a dream, was a sign
of victory; to be carried away by one was a terrible omen.

  "Methought a river ran
  Through the whole house,
  that it roared violently,
  rushed over the benches,
  brake the feet of yon
  brothers twain;
  Nothing the water spared;
  Something that will portend."

  (Atlamal, in Groenlewzku, 25.)




_Of the Great Works which Glooskap made in the Land._

(Micmac, Passamaquoddy, Penobscot.)


Over all the Land of the Wabanaki there is no place which was not
marked by the hand of the Master. And it is to be seen on hills and
rivers and great roads, as well as mighty rocks, which were in their
day living monsters.

For there is a very wonderful highway from Cwesowra legek [Footnote:
Hardwood Point, Fort Cumberland.] to Parrsborough, running parallel
with the river now called Hebert, and this road is called by Indians
Ou-wokun, the Causeway, but by white men, or the Iglesmani, the Boar's
Back. For it is said that he meant to visit Partridge Island and Cape
Blomidon, but they who were with him had got tired of the sea, and
wished to cross over by land. And while they were resting and getting
ready for their trip across, the Master, raising his magic power to a
great deed to be spoken of forever, went away a little time, and cast
up a great and beautiful level ridge, throwing it over bogs and
streams; and on this they traveled, rejoicing, and, having reached the
island, awaited him.

And yet again the Master did a mighty deed. It came to pass in those
days that the Beavers had built a dam across from Utkoguncheek, or Cape
Blomidon, to the opposite shore, and thereby made a pond that filled
all the valley of Annapolis. Now in those times the Beavers were
monstrous beasts, and the Master, though kind of heart, seems to have
had but little love for them ever since the day when Qwah-beetsis, the
son of the Great Beaver, tempted Malsum to slay his brother. Now the
bones of these Beavers may be found to this day, and many there are on
Oonamahgik, and their teeth are six inches across, and there are no
such _qwah-beet_ to-day. [Footnote: Both Mr. Rand and myself have
been solemnly assured by Indians who had seen these antediluvian
remains that they are the petrified relics of Glooskap's victims.] And
these are the remains of the Beavers who built the dam at Cape Blomidon
and forded the Annapolis Valley. Now Glooskap would have a hunt and do
a deed which should equal the great whale-fishing of Kit-pooseeog-unow.
So he cut the great dam near the shore, and bade Marten watch; for he
said, "I mistrust that there is a little Beaver hiding hereabouts." And
when the dam was cut from where it joined the shore there was a mighty
rush of many waters, so that it swung round to the westward, yet it did
not break away from the other shore. Therefore the end of it lodged
with a great split therein when the flood had found a free course, and
the whole may be seen there still, even to this day, and may be seen by
all of those who pass up the bay; and this point, or Cape Split, is
called by the Micmacs Pleegun, which, being interpreted, means the
opening of a beaver dam.

Then, to frighten the Beaver, Glooskap threw at it a few handfuls of
earth, and these, falling somewhat to the eastward of Partridge Island,
became the Five Islands. And the pond which was left was the Basin of
Minas.

And yet another tradition tells that, after cutting the dam, Glooskap
sat and watched, but no beaver came out; [Footnote: This is the
Anglo-Indian manuscript, already referred to.] for _Qwah-beet_
had gone out of a back door. So he took a rock and threw it afar,
[Footnote: "He took Rock tructed 150 miles ip River to sker beaber
bock down, but beaber has gone ober granfalls."]--one hundred and
fifty miles,--to scare the Beaver back again; but the Beaver had gone
over the Grand Falls, and the stone remaineth there even to this day.




_The Story of Glooskap as told in a few Words by a Woman of the
Penobscots._


"Glus-gahbe gave names to everything. He made men and gave them life,
and made the winds to make the waters move. The Turtle was his uncle;
the Mink, _Uk-see-meezel_, his adopted son; and _Monin-kwessos_,
the Woodchuck, his grandmother. The Beaver built a great dam, and
Glus-gahbe turned it away and killed the Beaver. At Moose-tchick he
killed a moose; the bones may be seen at Bar Harbor turned to stone.
He threw the entrails of the Moose across the bay to his dogs, and they,
too, may be seen there to this day, as I myself have seen them; and there,
too, in the rock are the prints of his bow and arrow." [Footnote: Many a
place is pointed out as the locality of the same legend. In addition to
those in New Brunswick and Bar Harbor, Thoreau found another in Maine,
which he thus describes:--

"While we were crossing this bay" (that is, the mouth of Moose River),
"where Mount Kineo rose dark before us, within two or three miles, the
Indian repeated the tradition respecting this mountain's having been
anciently a cow-moose,--how a mighty Indian hunter, whose name I
forget, succeeded in killing this queen of the moose tribe with great
difficulty, while her calf was killed somewhere among the islands in
Penobscot Bay; and to his eyes this mountain had still the form of the
moose in a reclining posture, its precipitous side presenting the
outline of her head. He told this at some length, though it did not
amount to much, and with apparent good faith, and asked us how we
supposed the hunter could have killed such a mighty moose as that; how
we could do it. Whereupon a man-of-war to fire broadsides into her was
suggested, etc. An Indian tells such a story as if he thought it
deserved to have a good deal said about it, only he has not got it to
say; and so he makes up for the deficiency by a drawling tone,
long-windedness, and a dumb wonder which he hopes will be contagious."

This concluding criticism is indeed singularly characteristic of Mr.
Thoreau's own nasal stories about Nature, but it is as utterly untrue
as ridiculous when applied to any Indian storytelling to which I have
ever listened, and I have known the near relatives of the Indians of
whom he speaks, and heard many of them tell their tales. This writer
passed months in Maine, choosing Penobscot guides expressly to study
them, to read Indian feelings and get at Indian secrets, and this
account of Glooskap, whose name he forgets, is a fair specimen of what
he learned. Yet he could in the same book write as follows: "The
Anglo-American can indeed cut down and grub up all this waving forest,
And make a stump and vote for Buchanan on its ruins; but he cannot
Converse with the spirit of the tree he fells, he cannot read the
poetry and mythology which retires as he advances."

If Mr. Thoreau had known the Indian legend of the spirit of the fallen
tree--and his guide knew it well--he might have been credited with
speaking wisely of the poetry and _mythology_ which he ridicules
the poor rural Yankees for not possessing.

Such a writer can, indeed, peep and botanize on the grave of Mother
Nature, but never evoke _her_ spirit.

The moving the island is evidently of Eskimo origin, since Crantz
(_History of Greenland_) heard nearly the same story of some
magician-giant. It was probably suggested by the very common floating
away of ice-islands.]




_How Glooskap, leaving the World, all the Animals mourned for him,
and how, ere he departed, he gave Gifts to Men._

(Micmac.)


Now Glooskap had freed the world from all the mighty monsters of an
early time: the giants wandered no longer in the wilderness; the
_cullo_ terrified man no more, as it spread its wings like the
cloud between him and the sun; the dreadful Chenoo of the North
devoured him not; no evil beasts, devils, and serpents were to be found
near his home. And the Master had, moreover, taught men the arts which
made them happier; but they were not grateful to him, and though they
worshiped him they were not the less wicked.

"Now when the ways of men and beasts waxed evil they greatly vexed
Glooskap, and at length he could no longer endure them, and he made a
rich feast by the shore of the great Lake Minas. All the beasts came to
it, and when the feast was over he got into a great canoe, and the
beasts looked after him till they saw him no more. And after they
ceased to see him, they still heard his voice as he sang; but the
sounds grew fainter and fainter in the distance, and at last they
wholly died away; and then deep silence fell on them all, and a great
marvel came to pass, and the beasts, who had till now spoken but one
language, were no longer able to understand each other, and they fled
away, each his own way, and never again have they met together in
council. Until the day when Glooskap shall return to restore the Golden
Age, and make men and animals dwell once more together in amity and
peace, all Nature mourns. And tradition says that on his departure from
Acadia the Great Snowy Owl retired to the deep forests, to return no
more until he could come to welcome Glooskap; and in those sylvan
depths the owls even yet repeat to the night _Koo-koo-skoos_!
which is to say in the Indian tongue, 'Oh, I am sorry! Oh, I am sorry!'
And the Loons, who had been the huntsmen of Glooskap, go restlessly up
and down through the world, seeking vainly for their master, whom they
cannot find, and wailing sadly because they find him not." [Footnote:
This passage is one of seven on the subject of Glooskap, cited in
Osgood's _Maritime Provinces_, without giving either the name of
the author or the book from which they were taken.]

But ere the Master went away from life, or ceased to wander in the ways
of men, he bade it be made known by the Loons, his faithful messengers,
that before his departure years would pass, and that whoever would seek
him might have one wish granted, whatever that wish might be. Now,
though the journey was long and the trials were terrible which those
must endure who would find Glooskap, there were still many men who
adventured them. [Footnote: There is a great embarrassment of riches,
or rather a great wealth of embarrassment, as regards this chapter. In
the Rand manuscript there are three histories of the adventures of the
pilgrims who sought Glooskap. Another and very different was given to
me by John Gabriel. In one account there are three travelers, in
another four; others speak of seven and twelve. Finally, there are many
incidents which apparently belong to this part of the Glooskap cycle,
scattered here and there in different disconnected legends.

Mrs. W. Wallace Brown was told by the Passamaquoddy Indians that when
Glooskap departed he took with him the king of each of the different
kinds of animals; so that the wolves, loons, etc., mourn not only for
the lord, but for their masters.]

Now ye shall hear who some of these were and what happened to them. And
this is the first tale as it was told me in the tent of John Gabriel,
the Passamaquoddy.

When all men had heard that Glooskap would grant a wish to any one who
would come to him, three Indians resolved to try this thing; and one
was a Maliseet from St. John, and the other two were Penobscots from
Old Town. And the path was long and the way was hard, and they suffered
much, and they were seven years on it ere they came to him. But while
they were yet three months' journey from his dwelling, they heard the
barking of his dogs, and as they drew nearer, day by day, it was
louder. And so, after great trials, they found the lord of men and
beasts, and he made them welcome and entertained them.

But, ere they went, he asked them what they wanted. And the eldest, who
was an honest, simple man, and of but little account among his people,
because he was a bad hunter, asked that he might excel in the killing
and catching of game. Then the Master gave him a flute, or the magic
pipe, which pleases every ear, and has the power of persuading every
animal to follow him who plays it. And he thanked the lord, and left.

Now the second Indian, being asked what he would have, replied, 'The
love of many women.' And when Glooskap asked how many, he said, "I care
not how many; so that there are but enough of them, and more than
enough." At hearing this the Master seemed displeased, but, smiling
anon, he gave him a bag which was tightly tied, and told him not to
open it until he had reached his home. So he thanked the lord, and
left.

Now the third Indian was a gay and handsome but foolish young fellow,
whose whole heart was set on making people laugh, and on winning a
welcome at every merry-making. And he, being asked what he would have
or what he chiefly wanted, said that it would please him most to be
able to make a certain quaint and marvelous sound or noise, [Footnote:
Pedere, crepitare.] which was frequent in those primitive times among
all the Wabanaki, and which it is said may even yet be heard in a few
sequestered wigwams far in the wilderness, away from men; there being
still here and there a deep magician, or man of mystery, who knows the
art of producing it. And the property of this wondrous sound is such
that they who hear it must needs burst into a laugh; whence it is the
cause that the men of these our modern times are so sorrowful, since
that sound is no more heard in the land. And to him Glooskap was also
affable, sending Marten into the woods to seek a certain mystical and
magic root, which when eaten would make the miracle the young man
sought. But he warned him not to touch the root ere he got to his home,
or it would be the worse for him. And so he kindly thanked the lord,
and left.

It had taken seven years to come, but seven days were all that was
required to tread the path returning to their home, that is, for him
who got there. Only one of all the three beheld his lodge again. This
was the hunter, who, with his pipe in his pocket, and not a care in his
heart, trudged through the woods, satisfied that so long as he should
live, there would always be venison in the larder.

But he who loved women, and had never won even a wife, was filled with
anxious wishfulness. And he had, not gone very far into the woods
before he opened the bag. And there flew out by hundreds, like white
doves, swarming all about him, beautiful girls, with black burning eyes
and flowing hair. And wild with passion the winsome witches threw their
arms about him, and kissed him as he responded to their embraces; but
they came ever more and more, wilder and more passionate. And he bade
them give way, but they would not, and he sought to escape, but he
could not; and so panting, crying for breath, smothered, he perished.
And those who came that way found him dead, but what became of the
girls no man knows.

Now the third went merrily onward alone, when all at once it flashed
upon his mind that Glooskap had given him a present, and without the
least heed to the injunction that he was to wait till he had reached
his home drew out the root and ate it; and scarce had he done this ere
he realized that he possessed the power of uttering the weird and
mystic sound to absolute perfection. And as it rang o'er many a hill
and dale, and woke the echoes of the distant hills, until it was
answered by the solemn owl, he felt that it was indeed wonderful. So he
walked on gayly, trumpeting as he went, over hill and vale, happy as a
bird.

But by and by he began to weary of himself. Seeing a deer he drew an
arrow and stealing silently to the game was just about to shoot, when
despite himself the wild, unearthly sound broke forth like a demon's
warble. The deer bounded away, and the young man cursed! And when he
reached Old Town, half dead with hanger, he was worth little to make
laughter, though the honest Indians at first did not fail to do so, and
thereby somewhat cheered his heart. But as the days went on they
wearied of him, and, life becoming a burden, he went into the woods and
slew himself. And the evil spirit of the night-air even Bumole,
[Footnote: For an account of Bumole, or Pamola, see the chapter on
Supernatural Beings. Bumole seems to have been the personification
of the night-hawk.] or Pamola, from whom came the gift, swooped down
from the clouds and bore him away to 'Lahmkekqu', the dwelling place of
darkness, and he was no more heard of among men.

As regards the destruction of the giants by Glooskap, it may be
observed that the same tradition exists among the Six Nations. Cusick
tells us that about 1250 years before Columbus discovered America a
powerful tribe called Otne-yar-heh, that is, Stone Giants, who were
ravenous cannibals, overran the country, and nearly exterminated the
inhabitants. These Stone Giants practiced, themselves in rolling on the
sand; by this means their bodies became hard. Then Tas-enyawa-gen, the
Holder of the Heavens, came to earth as a giant, and being made their
chief, led them into a hollow, where he overwhelmed them with rocks.
Only one escaped to the far North. The reader will recognize in these
the Chenoos, or Kewahqu', who cover themselves with pitch and roll on
the ground. But no one can deny that, while that which Cusick narrates
has much in common with the mythology of the Wabanaki, it is much less
like that of the Edda; that Indian grotesqueness has in it greatly
perverted an original: and finally, that it certainly occupies a
position midway between the mythology of the Northeastern Algonquins
and that of the Chippewas, Ottawas, and other Western tribes.
Examination shows this in every story. Thus the Wabanaki warrior makes
his bow infallible in aim by stringing it with a cord made of his
sister's hair. This is Norse, as it was of old Latin. But in the
Iroquois the young man "adorns his arms with the hairs of his sister."
Here the tradition has begun to weaken.

It may be interesting to visitors to Niagara to know that the army of
Stone Giants crossed the river during their journey just below the
Falls.




_How Glooskap had a great Frolic with Kitpooseagunow, a Mighty Giant
who caught a Whale._

(Micmac.)


_N'kah-nee-oo_. In the old time (P.) Glooskap came to Pulewech
Munegoo (M., Partridge Island), and here he met with Kitpooseagunow,
[Footnote: _Kitpooseagunow_, "one born after his mother's death," is
a magician-giant, who plays in the Algonquin mythology a part only inferior
to that of Glooskap, whom he in every way resembles. Both are benevolent,
both make war on wicked sorcerers and evil wild beasts, and both, finally,
are much like Gargantua and Pantagruel in their sense of humor. They are
sometimes made the heroes of the same adventure in different stories. The
true origin of the name, according to Mr. Rand, is as follows: "After a
cow moose or caribou has been killed, her calf is sometimes taken out
alive, and reared by hand. As may be supposed, the calf is very easily
tamed. The animal thus born is called _Kitpooseagunow_, and from
this a verb is formed which denotes the act."--_Legends of the Mic Macs,
Old Dominion Monthly_, 1871.

This giant was also called the Protector of the Oppressed. He probably
represents the Glooskap myth in another form.] whose mother had been
slain by a fearful cannibal giant. And it was against these that he
made war all his life long, as did Glooskap. Whence it came to pass
that they loved one another, which did not at all hinder them from
having a hearty and merry encounter, in which they missed but little of
killing one or the other, and all in the best natured way in the world.

[Illustration: Glooskap and Keanke spearing the whale]

Now, having come to Pulewech Munegoo, the lord of men and beasts was
entertained by Kitpooseagunow. And when the night came, he who was born
after his mother's death said to his guest, "Let us go on the sea in a
canoe and catch whales by torchlight;" to which Glooskap, nothing loath,
consented, for he was a mighty fisherman, as are all the Wabanaki of
the seacoast. [Footnote: Glooskap would seem to have been the prototype
of the giant fisher so well known in song:--

  "His rod was made of a sturdy oak,
  His line, a cable, in storms ne'er broke;
  He baited his hook with a dragon's tail,
  And sat on a rock and bobbed for whale."

A fabulous monster, apparently identical with the dragon, is common in
Micmac stories.]

Now when they came to the beach there were only great rocks, lying here
and there; but Kitpooseagunow, lifting the largest of these, put it on
his head, and it became a canoe. And picking up another, it turned to a
paddle, while a long splinter which he split from a ledge seemed to be
a spear. Then Glooskap asked, "Who shall sit in the stern and paddle,
and who will take the spear?" Kitpooseagunow said "That will I." So
Glooskap paddled, and soon the canoe passed over a mighty whale; in all
the great sea there was not his like; but he who held the spear sent it
like a thunderbolt down into the waters, and as the handle rose again
to sight he snatched it up, and the great fish was caught. And as
Kitpooseagunow whirled it on high, the whale, roaring, touched the
clouds. Then taking him from the point, the fisher tossed him into the
bark as if he had been a trout. And the giants laughed; the sound of
their laughter was heard all over the land of the Wabanaki. And being
at home, the host took a stone knife and split the whale, and threw one
half to the guest Glooskap, and they roasted each his piece over the
fire and ate it.

Now the Master, having marked the light, which was long in the heaven
after the sun went down, said, "The sky is red; we shall have a cold
night." And his host understood him well, and saw that he would make it
cold by magic. So he bade Marten bring in all the fuel he could find,
and all there was of the oil of a porpoise; and this oil he so
multiplied by magic that there was ten times more of it. And they sat
them down and smoked, and told tales of old times; but it grew ever
colder and colder. And at midnight, when all was burnt out, Marten
froze to death, and then the grandmother, but the two giants smoked on,
and laughed and talked. Then the rocks out-of-doors split with the
cold, the great trees in the forest split; the sound thereof was as
thunder, but the Master and he who was born after his mother's death
laughed even louder. And so they sat until the sun rose. Then Glooskap
said to the dead woman, "_Noogume, numchahse_!" (M.) "Grandmother,
arise!" and to his boy, "_Abistanooch numchahse_!" "Marten,
arise!" and they arose, and went about their work.

And the morning being bright, they went forth far into the forest to
find game. But they got very little, for they caught only one small
beaver, and Glooskap gave up his share of this to Kitpooseagunow. And
he, taking the skin, fastened it to his garter, whence it dangled like
the skin of a mouse at the knee of a tall man. But as he went on
through the woods the skin grew larger and larger and larger, till it
broke away by its own weight. Then the giant twisted a mighty sapling
into a withe, and fastened it around his waist. But it still grew apace
as he went on, till, trailing after, it tore down all the forest,
pulling away the trees, so that Kitpooseagunow left a clean, fair road
behind him. [Footnote: Many of these stories have received later
additions, which can be detected by their occurring only in single
versions of them. In the story of Kitpooseagunow (Rand's manuscript)
the giants arrive at a "large town," and go to a "store," where they
sell the skin for all the money, goods, houses, and lands which, the
merchant possesses. "And the skin was so heavy that it took the greater
part of the day to weigh it."]

And when the night came on they fished again, as they had done before;
and again it was said, but this time by the host, "The sky is red; we
shall have a cold night." So they heaped up wood more than the first
time, but now it was far colder. And soon the boy was dead, and the
grandmother also lay frozen. But when the sun rose the Master brought
them back to life, and, bidding good-by to Kitpooseagunow, went his
way. [Footnote: It is possible that there is a version of this story in
which Glooskap kills his friend with frost, and then revives him. In
one story it is a _frozen stream_, incarnate as a man, which
attempts in vain to freeze Glooskap. The extraordinary manner in which
host and guest, or even intimate friends, endeavor to _kill_ one
another in the most good-natured rivalry, is of constant occurrence in
the Eskimo legends. It is not infrequent among our own backwoods or
frontier-men.

The stone-canoe occurs in Eskimo legends (_vide_ Rink), as it does
in those of all American Indians.]

The most striking feature, however, of this legend is its Norse-like
breadth or grandeur and its genial humor, which are very remarkable
characteristics for the fictions of savages. Its resemblance to the
Scandinavian tales is, if accidental, very remarkable. The two heroes
are, like Thor and Odin, giant heroes who make war on Jotuns and
Trolls; that is, giant-like sorcerers. It is their profession; they
live in it. No one can read Beowulf or the Eddas without being struck
by the great resemblance between Grendel, the hideous, semi-human night
prowler, and the Kewahqu', a precisely similar monster, who rises from
the depths of waters to wantonly murder man. I do not recall any two
beings in any other two disconnected mythologies so strangely similar.
The fishing for the whale recalls that which is told in the Older Edda
(Hymiskrida, 21), where Hymir succeeds in hooking two of these fish:--

"Then he and Hymir rowed out to sea. Thor rowed oft with two oars, and
so powerfully that the giant was obliged to acknowledge they were
speeding very fast. _He himself rowed at the prow_."

If the reader will compare this account of the Edda with the Micmac
story, he cannot fail to be struck with the great resemblance between
them. It is even specified in both that the hero, though a guest,
paddles. And in both instances the host catches a whale. Now compare
with this the legend of Manobozho-Hiawatha, who merely catches the
great sunfish, and is swallowed by it. Does it not seem as if the
Western Indians had here borrowed from the Micmacs, and the Micmacs
from the Norse? Whether this was done directly or through the Eskimo is
as yet a problem. It may also be noted that both in the Edda and in the
Micmac story, it is declared that one of the giants picked up the boat
and carried it.

It may be observed that most of these Indian traditions were originally
poems. It is probable that all were sung, while they still retained the
character of serious mythical or sacred narrative. Now they are in the
transition state of heroic tales. But they unquestionably still retain
many passages of very great antiquity, and it is not impossible that
Eskimo and even Norse songs are still preserved in them. In this tale
the following coincidences with passages in the Elder Edda (Hymiskrida)
are remarkable. In both the host asks his guest to go with him to catch
whales, to which the latter assents.

  "'We three to-morrow night
  Shall be compelled
  On what we catch to live.'
  Thor said he would
  On the sea row."

Kitpooseagunow picks up the heavy canoe, with its oars and a spear, and
carries them.

  "Thor went,
  grasped the prow
  quickly with its hold-water,
  lifted the boat
  together with its oars
  and scoop;
  bore to the dwelling
  the curved vessel."

Glooskap asks which of the two shall take the paddle, and which sit in
the stern. Hymir inquires,--

  "Wilt thou do
  half the work with me?
  either the whales
  home to the dwelling bear,
  Or the boat
  fast bind?"

Kitpooseagunow drew up a whale.

  "The mighty Hymir,
  He alone
  two whales drew
  up with his hook."

After this whale-fishing, the Scandinavian giants at home have a trial
of strength and endurance. Thor throws a cup at Hymir. This cup can
only be broken on Hymir's head, which is of ice, and intensely hard.

  "That is harder
  than any cup."

This is therefore an effort on the part of Thor to overcome Cold. Hymir
is the incarnation of Cold itself.

  "The icebergs resounded
  as the churl approached;
  the thicket on his cheeks
  was frozen.
  In shivers flew the pillars
  At the Jotun's glance."

That is, the frost cracks the stones and rocks. In the Indian tale the
two giants try to see which can freeze the other. In both there is
distinctly a contest. In the Norse tale Strength or Heat fights Frost;
in the American, Frost is battled with by Frost as a rival.

It may be observed that the Indian tale is far from being perfect, and
that in all probability the whole of it includes a fishing for the
sea-serpent.

It is plainly set forth in the Edda that Cold may be overcome by a
magic spell. Thus Groa (Grougaldr, 12) promises her son a rune to
effect this:--

  "A seventh (charm) I will sing thee:
  If on a mountain high
  frost should assail thee,
  deadly cold shall not
  thy body injure,
  nor draw it to thy limbs."




_How Glooskap made a Magician of a Young Man, who aided another to
win a Wife and do Wonderful Deeds_.

(Micmac.)


It is well known unto all Indians who still keep the true faith of the
olden time that there are wondrous dwellers in the lonely woods, such
as elves and fairies, called by the Micmacs _Mikumwessos_, and by
the Passamaquoddies _Oonahgawessos_. And these can work great
wonders, and also sing so as to charm the wildest beasts. From them
alone come the magic pipes or flutes, which sometimes pass into
possession of noted sorcerers and great warriors; and when these are
played upon, the woman who hears the melody is bewitched with love, and
the moose and caribou follow the sound even to their death. And when
the _Megumawessos_ are pleased with a mortal they make him a
fairy, even like themselves.

_N'Karnayoo_. In old times there was an Indian village, and in it
were two young men, [Footnote: According to another Micmac version of
this legend, the elder of these pilgrims was Keekwahjoo, the Badger,
and the younger Caktoogwasees, or Little Thunder.] who had heard that
Glooskap, ere he left the world, would bestow on those who came to him
whatever they wanted. So they went their way, an exceeding long
pilgrimage, until they came to a great island, where he dwelt. And there
they first met with Dame Bear and Marten, and next with the Master
himself. Then they all, sitting down to supper, had placed before them
only one extremely small dish, and on this there was a tiny bit of
meat, and nothing more. But being a bold and jolly fellow, the first of
the pilgrims, thinking himself mocked for sport, cut off a great part
of the meat, and ate it, when that which was in the dish grew in a
twinkling to its former size; and so this went on all through the
supper, every one eating his fill, the dish at the end being as full as
ever.

Of these two, one wished to become a Mikum-wess, and the other to win a
very beautiful girl, the daughter of a great chief, who imposed such
cruel tasks on all who came for her, that they died in attempting them.

And the first was taken by Glooskap; and after he had by a merry trick
covered him with filth and put him to great shame, he took him to the
river, and after washing him clean and combing his hair gave him a
change of raiment and a hair string of exceeding great magic virtue,
since when he had bound it on he became a Mikumwess, having all the
power of the elfin-world. And also because he desired to excel in
singing and music, the Master gave him a small pipe, and it was that
which charmed all living beings; [Footnote: The identity of these
incidents with those of "classic" times is worth noting. There is a
lustration and the clothing the neophyte in a new garment, and he
receives the magic fillet, as in the Mysteries of the old world. Nor is
the resemblance of the pipe to that of Orpheus less striking. In many
respects this is the most remarkable old Indian myth I have ever met
with.] and then singing a song bade him join in with him. And doing
this he found that he could sing, and ever after had a wondrous voice.

Now to seek the beautiful girl it was necessary to sail afar over the sea;
and during this adventure the Mikumwess was charged to take care of the
younger pilgrim. So he begged the Master to lend him his canoe. And
Glooskap answered, "Yes, I will do this for thee, if thou wilt honestly
return it when thou needest it no more. Yet in very truth I did never
yet lend it to mortal man but that I had to go after it myself."
[Footnote: One of the traits of _bonhomie_ and common humanity
which continually occur in the Glooskap tales, even in the most serious
situations and solemn myths. In this respect the resemblance of the
Northwest Algonquin tales to the Norse is truly striking. The canoe is
among all Indians, even in Central America, exactly what the umbrella
is in civilized society. With all his immense originality Glooskap had
a number of "old Joes," of which he never seems to have tired. One was
the inexhaustible dish, and another the giant skunk set upon end to salute
his visitors, and this of the canoe was probably the commonest of all.
He is a true Indian divinity, shining like the lightning and striking
only when there is a storm, but appearing like the Aurora Borealis, or
even the Robin Goodfellow-Will-o'-the-Wisp at others.]

Thereupon the young man promised most faithfully that he would indeed
return the canoe, and with this they got them ready for the journey.
But when they came to the bay there was no canoe, and they knew not
what was to be done. But Glooskap pointed to a small island of granite
which rose amid the waves, and it was covered with tall pine-trees.
"There is my canoe!" said he; [Footnote: Another standard "piece of
witt" with the incorrigible joker. Glooskap's "floating island" was
served up as a dessert to all guests, and I doubt not that if the
double meaning of the word had been known to him, they would have had
that too.] and when he had taken them unto it, it became a real canoe,
with masts, and they set sail on it, rejoicing.

So they came in time to a very large island, where they drew up the
canoe and hid it in the bushes. Then they went forward to seek for
people, and found a village in which dwelt the chief who had the
beautiful daughter, in seeking whom so many had lost their lives.

And having found him, they went into his wigwam, and were placed on the
seat of honor. Now when an Indian seeks a wife, he or his mutual friend
makes no great ado about it, but utters two words, which tell the whole
story. And these are _Sewin-coadoo-gwah-loogwet_', which mean--in
Micmac, "I am tired of living alone." And the chief, hearing this,
consented that the young man should marry her whom he sought; but on
one condition: and this was that he should slay and bring unto him the
head of a certain horned dragon, called in Micmac _Chepichealm_.
[Footnote: Vide "Supernatural Beings." The _Chepichealm_ (M.) is
an immense horned serpent or wingless dragon. It is probably identical
with the Wiwillmekq' (P. and Pen.), which is a singular horned worm
found on trees or by water. It is believed to be capable of assuming a
vast size and to be gifted with supernatural powers.] So this was
agreed upon, and the two strangers went to the wigwam which was
assigned them.

Now in the night he that was Mikumwess arose and went alone and afar
until he came to the den of the dragon, and this was a great hole in
the ground. And over this he laid a mighty log, and then began the
magic dance around the den. So the serpent, or the great Chepichcalm,
hearing the call, came forth, putting out his head after the manner of
snakes, waving it all about in every way and looking round him. While
doing this he rested his neck upon the log, when the Indian with a blow
of his hatchet severed it. Then taking the head by one of the shining
yellow horns he bore it to his friend, who in the morning gave it to
the chief. And the old man said to himself, "This time I fear me I
shall lose my child."

Yet the young man had more to do; for the chief said, "I would fain see
my son coast down yonder hill on hand-sled." Now this lull was an
exceeding high mountain; the sides thereof were ragged with rocks and
terrible with trees and ice. Then two toboggins [Footnote: Toboggin: a
sled or sledge.] were brought out, one of them for the two strangers,
and this he that was Mikumwess was to direct. And on the other were two
powerful men, and these were both _boo-oinak_, [Footnote:
Magicians, the original of _pow-wow-in_. It is apparently the same
in meaning as the _angakok_ of the neighboring Eskimo.] who hoped
to see the former soon fall out, and then to run over them. And at the
word they went flying fearfully down the mountain, and yet ever faster,
as if to death. And soon he that sought the girl went whirling headlong
from the sled, and the two _boo-oinak_ gave a loud hurrah; for
they knew not that this had been done with intent by the Mikumwess,
that he might get them before him. So he put forth his hand, and,
seizing the younger man, turned a little aside, but in an instant went
on after; and erelong the sled of the _boo-oinak_ stopped, but the
other, bounding upwards from a mighty wall of ice, flew far over their
heads onwards; nor did it stop in the valley, but, running with
tremendous speed up the opposite hill and into the village, struck the
side of the chief's wigwam, ripping it up from end to end ere it
stopped. And the old man, seeing this, said, "This time I have lost my
daughter!"

Yet the young man had more to do; for the chief said, "There is here a
man who has never been beaten in running, and thou must strive with him
in that and overcome him, to win thy wife." And the race was appointed;
but ere it came off he that was Mikumwess lent to his friend the magic
pipe to give him power. [Footnote: It may be observed that Indian magic
depends on fetich, or objects having innate power. Glooskap himself
relies on his belt, and when he lends it to Marten, the boy becomes
"manitoo," as the more Western Indians term it. There is in the early
red Indian mythology really no God; only more or less powerful
magicians.] And when he that was the racer of the village met the young
man, the youth said, "Who art thou?" and he replied, "I am Wey-ad-esk"
(the Northern Lights, M.); "but who art thou?" And he answered, "I am
Wosogwodesk" (the Chain Lightning). And they ran. In an instant they
were no longer in sight; they were far away over the most distant
hills. Then all sat and waited, and ere it was noon he that was the
Chain Lightning returned, and he was not out of breath, nor weary, and
he had gone round the world. And at evening they saw the Northern
Lights return, and he trembled and quivered with fatigue; yet for all
that he had not been round the world, but had turned back. And the old
chief, seeing him beaten, exclaimed, "This time I shall lose my child!"

And yet there was another trial of the young man ere he could win her
whom he wanted. For the chief had a man whom no one could overcome in
swimming and diving, and it was chiefly in this last thing that he
excelled. And the young man must strive with him. And when they met he
asked the man of the village his name, and he replied, "I am an
_Ukchigumooech_" (a Sea Duck, M.); "but who are you?" And he
answered, "I am a _Kweemoo_" (a Loon, M.). So they dived, and
after a time the Sea Duck rose again for breath, but those who waited
waited long indeed ere they saw the Loon. And an hour passed, and he
came not, and yet another ere they beheld him; but when he at last rose
the old chief said, "This is the end of all our weary work, for this
time truly I have lost my child."

Yet it was not the end of the wonderful deeds which were done in that
village by the power of the great Glooskap. For the Mikumwess, at the
great dance which was held that evening at the wedding, astonished all
who beheld him. As he danced around the circle, upon the very hard
beaten floor, they saw his feet sink deeper at every step, and ever
deeper as the dance went on; ploughing the ground up into high, uneven
ridges, forming a trench as he went, until at length only his head was
to be seen. [Footnote: This is very characteristic of the true
magician, both in the Algonquin and Eskimo folk-lore. "The
_angakok_," or sorcerer of Greenland, "after meeting with
_tomarsuk_, or guardian spirits, sometimes manifested it by his
feet sinking into the rocky ground _just as if in snow_." (Rink.)
This phrase indicates the Northern origin of the idea, which occurs in
many Indian stories. I have been assured in all faith that there is a
Passamaquoddy _m'teoulin_, or sorcerer, now living, who can walk
up to his knees in a floor or in the paved street, and an honest and
trustworthy Indian assured me that he had seen him do it.]

And this ended the dancing for that night, since the ground was no
longer to be danced upon by anybody except wizards and witches.

Then the young man and his wife and the Mikumwess entered their canoe
and sailed _boosijk_ (homewards, M.). And yet their trials were
not over. [Footnote: These subsequent trials were not inflicted by the
old chief, but were, as appears by comparison with other legends,
simply jokes played by the incorrigible Glooskap. It is most probable
that in its original form this remarkable myth was all _maya_,
or illusion, and the whole a series of illusions, caused by the
arch-conjurer, typifying natural phenomena.] For they had not gone
far ere they saw an awful storm coming to meet them; and he that had
the Elfin spells knew that it was raised by _boo-oin_, or sorcery,
since these storms are the worst of all. Then, without fear, he rose,
and, filling his lungs and puffing his cheeks, he blew against the
tempest, wind against wind, until he blew the wind away, and the great
water was '_aoobuneak_', as calm and smooth as before.

So they sailed on over the sunlit sea, but it was not long before the
Elf-gifted saw rising among the waves far before them a dark mass,
which soon proved to be a tremendous Beast coming to attack them. And
as he drew near they saw it was Quahbeet, the giant beaver, and his eyes
were angry. [Footnote: From the beginning, when _Quahbeetsis_,
the son of the Beaver, inspired Malsumsis with hatred of Glooskap, this
quadruped appears as an enemy.] But the Mikumwess, seeing this, steered
straight to meet the monster, and, coming to him, said, "I am the great
hunter of beavers; lo, I am their butcher; many a one has fallen by my
hand." [Footnote: This is oddly like the speech of the beaver-killer in
_The Hunting of the Snark_.] Now the Beaver had placed himself
under water, with his tail out of it and rising upwards, that he might
sink the canoe with a blow thereof; for the Beaver strikes mightily in
such wise, as is his wont. But he of the magic power, with one blow of
his tomahawk, cut the tail from the body, and sailed onward.

Yet they had not gone far ere, on rounding a point, they saw before
them another animal of giant size, who likewise had his tail in the
air, waiting to overcome them, and this was A-bekk-thee-lo (M.), the
Skunk. Yet ere he made his hideous attack the Mikumwess, ever on the
watch, caught up his spear, and, hurling it, pierced A-bekk-thee-lo,
who did but kick two or three times ere he died. And, stepping ashore,
he who had slain him took a pole, a long dead pine, which lay upon the
sand, and, transfixing the Skunk, lifted him high in air, and, planting
the tree on the ground, left him, saying scornfully, as he left,
"_Lik cho je nain_!" which, being interpreted, meaneth, "And now
show your tail there!" [Footnote: The Skunk is here a parody on the
Beaver.]

So they returned safely. And Glooskap met them at the landing, and his
first words were, "Well, my friends, I see that you have brought back
my canoe." And they answered, "We have, indeed." Then he inquired," Has
all gone well with ye?" And they replied that it had. Then Glooskap,
laughing, let them know that in all they had experienced he had been
busy, and that in all their triumphs he had had a hand. And to the
Mikumwess he said, "Go now thy ways, thou and these, and ever lead
happy lives: thou amid the Elfin, they among mankind. And be sure of
this, that if danger or trouble should come to you, you have but to
think of me, and verily aid will come." So they rose and went to their
wigwams. [Footnote: In its earlier form this must have been a very
remarkable narrative, or poem. That the two combatants in the race were
originally the personified Northern Lights and Lightning, and that
these were _not_ merely names assumed for boasting, is shown by
the incident that the Lightning actually _passed round the world_,
while the Aurora Borealis only covered a portion of it. The diving is
either a later addition, or it represents the same stupendous spirits
taking on the appearance of mastering the element of water as well as
that of fire. Without carrying the Solar myth theory to extremes, it
cannot be denied that Glooskap appears in several of these stories as
Spring, or as the melter of ice, the conqueror of the frozen stream and
of the iceberg. In this narrative he is active and creative Nature
itself, directing and sporting with the warring elements. His vast
practical joking cannot fail to remind the reader yet again of the
Norse deities and their jovial household godhood.

This tradition is Micmac, and taken almost entirely from Mr. Rand's
manuscript. It should be borne in mind that it is not from a single
story of this collection, but from a careful analysis and comparison of
them all, that their entire value is to be ascertained.

Certain incidents in this tale deserve special attention. The young men
go to a land of evil sorcerers, of _boo-oin_. When one is required
to run a race he conquers because he is really the Lightning. When Thor
visits Utgard Loki, there is also a race, in which Hugi wins, because
he is _Thought_ disguised as a man. Glooskap has a canoe, which is
sometimes immensely large, but which at other times shrinks to a very
small size. In the Edda, Odin is said to have had made for him by the
dwarfs a boat, Skidbladnir, which, like Glooskap's bark, expanded or
diminished. Sigurd, in the New Edda, is obliged to kill a dragon, and
it is very remarkable that he does it by a special previous
preparation. That is to say, he digs a little ditch, and when the
dragon crawls over it the hero pierces him with his sword. In this
story the Indian lays a log over the dragon's hole, to enable him to
chop his head off. The dragon, or horned snake, is an old-time
tradition in America, or pre-Columbian.]




_How a Certain Wicked Witch sought to cajole the Great and Good
Glooskap, and of her Punishment._

(Micmac.)


_N'karnayoo_, of old time. Once it came to pass that Glooskap met
with an evil witch, and she had made herself like unto a fair young
girl, and believed that he could not know who she was. And she asked
him to take her with him in his canoe. So they sailed out over a summer
sea: and as they went the witch sought to beguile him with sweet words;
but he answered naught, for he wist well what kind of passenger he had
on board. And as they went on she played her cajoleries, but he
remained grim as a bear. Then she, being angry, showed it, and there
arose a great storm. The wind howled over the waves as they rose and
fell, like white wolves jumping while they run, the first lightnings
flashed, and the sky grew dark as night. The Master was angered that so
mean a creature dared to play him such tricks, and, paddling the canoe
to the beach, he leaped ashore. Then giving the bark, with the witch in
it, a push out to sea, he cried to her, "Sail thou with the devil! But
never be in human form again, O she-beast!"

Then she, being frightened, said, "Master, what wilt thou that I
become?" And he replied, "Whatever thou wilt; that grace alone I give
thee." And in despair she plunged into the waters, and became a
_keegunibe_, a ferocious fish, which has upon its back a great
fin, which it shows like a sail when swimming through the water. So the
canoe and the witch became one in the evil fish, and the Indians to
this day when they see it, cry, "See the witch, who was punished by the
great Master!"

Now of sinful men, evil beasts, foul sorcerers, witches, and giants,
there were in those days many who sought to do great harm to Glooskap;
but of them all there did not escape any; verily, no, not one.
[Footnote: A Micmac story, from the Rand manuscript. I believe that the
fish here spoken of is a shark.]




_Of other Men who went to Glooskap for Gifts_.

(Micmac.)


_N'karnayoo: wood-enit-atokhagen Glooskap_. Of the old times: this
is a story of Glooskap. Now there went forth many men unto Glooskap,
hearing that they could win the desires of their hearts; and all got
what they asked for, in any case; but as for having what they wanted,
that depended on the wisdom with which they wished or acted.

The good Glooskap liked it not that when he had told any one evenly and
plainly what to do, that man should then act otherwise, or double with
him. And it came to pass that a certain fool, of the kind who can do
nothing unless it be in his own way, made a long journey to the Master.
And his trials were indeed many. For he came to an exceeding high
mountain in a dark and lonely land, where he heard no sound. And the
ascent thereof was like a smooth pole, and the descent on the other
side far worse, for it hung over the bottom. Yet it was worse beyond,
for there the road lay between the heads of two huge serpents, almost
touching each other, who darted their terrible tongues at those who
went between. And yet again the path passed under the Wall of Death.
Now this wall hung like an awful cloud over a plain, rising and falling
at times, yet no man knew when. And when it fell it struck the ground,
and that so as to crush all that was beneath it.

But the young man escaped all these trials, and came to the island of
the Great Master. And when he had dwelt there a certain time, and was
asked what he would have, he replied, "If my lord will, let him give me
a medicine which will cure all disease." More than this he asked not.
So the Master gave him a certain small package, and said, "Herein is
that which thou seekest; but I charge thee that thou lettest not thine
eyes behold it until thou shalt reach thy home." So he thanked the
Master, and left.

But he was not far away ere he desired to open the package and test the
medicine, and, yet more, the truth of the Master. And he said to
himself, "Truly, if this be but a deceit it was shrewdly devised to bid
me not open it till I returned. For he knew well that once so far I
would make no second journey to him. Tush! if the medicine avail aught
it cannot change in aught." So he opened it, when that which was
therein fell to the ground, and spread itself like water everywhere,
and then dried away like a mist. And when he returned and told his
tale, men mocked him.

Then again there were three brothers, who, having adventured, made
known their wishes. Now the first was very tall, far above all his
fellows, and vain of his comeliness. For he was of those who put bark
or fur into their moccasins, that they may be looked up to by the
little folk and be loved by the squaws; and his hair was plastered to
stand up on high, and on the summit of it was a very long turkey-tail
feather. And this man asked to become taller than any Indian in all the
land. [Footnote: This story has been told to me in three different
forms. I have here given it with great care in what I conceive to be
the original. In one version it is the pine, in another the cedar-tree.]

And the second wished that he might ever remain where he was to behold
the land and the beauty of it, and to do naught else.

And the third wished to live to an exceeding old age, and ever to be in
good health.

Now the three, when they came to the island, had found there three
wigwams, and in two of these were dwellers, not spoken of in other
traditions. In one lived _Cool-puj-ot_, a very strange man. For he
has no bones, and cannot move himself, but every spring and autumn he
is _rolled over with handspikes_ by the order of Glooskap, and
this is what his name means in the Micmac tongue. And in the autumn he
is turned towards the west, but in the spring towards the east, and
this is a figure of speech denoting the revolving seasons of the year.
With his breath he can sweep down whole armies, and with his looks
alone he can work great wonders, and all this means this weather,--
frost, snow, ice, and sunshine. [Footnote: Mr. Rand (manuscript, p.
471) says that all of this explanation was given _verbatim_ by a
Micmac named Stephen Flood, who was a "very intelligent and reliable
Indian." Cool-puj-ot is almost identical with Shawandasee, the guardian
of the South. "He is represented as an affluent, plethoric old man, who
has grown unwieldy from repletion, and seldom moves. He keeps his eyes
steadfastly fixed on the north. When he sighs in autumn, we have those
balmy southern airs, which communicate warmth and delight over the
northern hemisphere, and make the Indian summer." The "affluence" and
"grown unwieldy from repletion," in this account, are probably due to
Schoolcraft's florid style. (_Hiawatha Legends_.) Shawandasee is
identical with Svasud of the Edda. (Vafthrudnisnal, 27.)]

And in the other wigwam dwelt _Cuhkw_ (M.), which means
Earthquake. And this mighty man can pass along under the ground, and
make all things shake and tremble by his power.

Now when Glooskap had heard what these visitors wished for, he called
Earthquake, and bid him take them all three and put them with their
feet in the ground. And he did so, when they at once became three
trees: as one tradition declares, pines; and another, cedars.

So that he that would be tall became exceeding tall, for his head rose
above the forest; and even the turkey-feather at the top thereof is not
forgotten, since to this day it is seen waving in the wind. And he who
will listen in a pine-wood may hear the tree murmuring all day long in
the Indian tongue of the olden time,--

  "Ee nil Etuchi nek m'kilaskitopp
  Ee nil Etuche wiski nek n'kil ooskedjin."
  [Footnote: Passamaquoddy.]

  Oh, I am such a great man!
  Oh, I am such a great Indian!

And the second, who would remain in the land, remains there; for while
his roots are in the ground he cannot depart from it.

And the third, who would live long in health, unless men have cut him
down, is standing as of yore. [Footnote: In another version of this
tale, Glooskap transformed him into an old gnarled and twisted cedar,
with limbs growing out rough and ugly all the way from the bottom.
"There," he said to the cedar-tree, "I cannot say how long you will
live; only the Great Spirit above can tell that; but you will not be
disturbed for a good while, as no one can have any object in cutting
you down. You are yourself unfit for any earthly purpose, and the land
around you is useless for cultivation. I think you will stand there for
a long while." (Rand manuscript.)

It should be added that in one version we are told that the seeds from
these cedars or pines were blown by the wind, and so spread forth all
over the earth. The planting of the cedar by Earthquake possibly
indicates the storms by which seeds are blown afar.]




_Of Glooskap and the Three Other Seekers_.

(Micmac.)


Of old time. Now when it was noised abroad that whoever besought
Glooskap could obtain the desire of his heart, there were three men who
said among themselves, "Let us seek the Master." So they left their
home in the early spring when the bluebird first sang, and walked till
the fall frosts, and then into winter, and ever on till the next
midsummer. And having come to a small path in a great forest, they
followed it, till they came out by a very beautiful river; so fair a
sight they had never seen, and so went onward till it grew to be a
great lake. And so they kept to the path which, when untrodden, was
marked by blazed trees, the bark having been removed, in Indian
fashion, on the side of the trunk which is _opposite_ the place
where the wigwam or village lies towards which it turns. So the mark
can be seen as the traveler goes towards the goal, but not while
leaving it.

[Illustration: GLOOSKAP TURNING A MAN INTO A CEDAR-TREE]

Then after a time they came to a long point of land running out into
the lake, and, having ascended a high hill, they saw in the distance a
smoke, which guided them to a large, well-built wigwam. And, entering,
they found seated on the right side a handsome, healthy man of middle
age, and by the other a woman so decrepit that she seemed to be a
hundred years old. Opposite the door, and on the left side, was a mat,
which seemed to show that a third person had there a seat.

And the man made them welcome, and spoke as if he were _weleda'asit
kesegvou_ (M.)--well pleased to see them, but did not ask them
whence they came or whither they were going, as is wont among Indians
when strangers come to their homes or are met in travel. Erelong they
heard the sound of a paddle, and then the noise of a canoe being drawn
ashore. And there came in a youth of fine form and features and well
clad, bearing weapons as if from hunting who addressed the old woman as
_Kejoo_, or mother, and told her that he had brought game. And
with sore ado--for she was feeble--the old dame tottered out and
brought in four beavers; but she was so much troubled to cut them up
that the elder, saying to the younger man _Uoh-keen_! (M.), "My
brother," bade him do the work. And they supped on beaver. So they
remained for a week, resting themselves, for they were sadly worn with
their wearisome journey, and also utterly ragged. And then a wondrous
thing came to pass, which first taught them that they were in an
enchanted land. For one morning the elder man bade the younger wash
their mother's face. And as he did this all her wrinkles vanished, and
she became young and very beautiful; in all their lives the travelers
had never seen so lovely a woman. Her hair, which had been white and
scanty, now hung to her feet, dark and glossy as a blackbird's breast.
Then, having been clad in fine array, she showed a tall, lithe, and
graceful form at its best.

And the travelers said to themselves, "Truly this man is a great
magician!" They all walked forth to see the place. Never was sunshine
so pleasantly tempered by a soft breeze; for all in that land was fair,
and it grew fairer day by day to all who dwelt there. Tall trees with
rich foliage and fragrant flowers, but without lower limbs or
underbrush, grew as in a grove, wide as a forest, yet so far apart that
the eye could pierce the distance in every direction.

Now when they felt for the first time that they were in a new life and
a magic land, he that was host asked them whence they came and what
they sought. So they said that they sought Glooskap. And the host
replied, "Lo, I am he!" And they were awed by his presence, for a great
glory and majesty now sat upon him. As the woman had changed, so had
he, for all in that place was wonderful.

Then the first, telling what he wanted, said, "I am a wicked man, and I
have a bad temper. I am prone to wrath and reviling, yet I would fain
be pious, meek, and holy."

And the next said, "I am very poor, and my life is hard. I toil, but
can barely make my living. I would fain be rich."

Now the third replied, "I am of low estate, being despised and hated by
all my people, and I wish to be loved and respected." And to all these
the Master made answer, "So shall it be!"

And taking his medicine-bag (_Upsakumoode_, M.) he gave unto each
a small box, and bade them keep it closed until they should be once
more at home. [Footnote: In this version (Rand manuscript) there is a
fourth Indian introduced,--he who would fain be tall and long-lived,
and is changed to a tree. As it is precisely the same tale as that of
the three who became cypresses or pines, I have not repeated it.] And
on returning to the wigwam he also, gave to each of them new garments;
in all their lives they had never seen or heard of such rich apparel or
such ornaments as they now had. Then when it was time to depart, as
they knew not the way to their home, he arose and went with them. Now
they had been more than a year in coming. But he, having put on his
belt, went forth, and they followed, till in the forenoon he led them
to the top of a high mountain, from which in the distance they beheld
yet another, the blue outline of which could just be seen above the
horizon. And having been told that their way was unto it, they thought
it would be a week's journey to reach it. But they went on, and in the
middle of the afternoon of the same day they were there, on the summit
of the second mountain. And looking from this afar, all was familiar to
them--hill and river, and wood and lakes; all was in their memory. "And
there," said the Master, pointing unto it,--"there is your own village!"
So he left them alone, and they went on their way, and before the sun had
set were safe at home.

Yet when they came no one knew them, because of the great change in
their appearance and their fine attire, the like of which had never
been seen by man in those days. But having made themselves known to
their friends, all that were there of old and young gathered together
to gaze upon and hear what they had to say. And they were amazed.

Then each of them, having opened his box, found therein an unguent,
rich and fragrant, and with this they rubbed their bodies completely.
And they were ever after so fragrant from the divine anointing that all
sought to be near them. Happy were they who could but sniff at the
blessed smell which came from them.

Now he who had been despised for his deformity and weakness and
meanness became beautiful and strong and stately as a pine-tree. There
was no man in all the land so graceful or of such good behavior.

And he who had desired abundance had it, in all fullness, his wish. For
the moose and caribou came to him in the forest, the fish leaped into
his nets, all men gave unto him, and he gave unto all freely, to the
end.

And he that had been wicked and of evil mind, hasty and cruel, became
meek and patient, good and gentle, and he made others like himself. And
he had his reward, for there was a blessing upon him as upon all those
who had wished wisely even unto the end of their days. [Footnote: This
beautiful story, in its original simplicity, reminds one of the
tenderest biblical narratives. There is in it nothing reflected or
second-hand; it is a very ancient or truly aboriginal tale. I can but
sincerely regret my utter inability to do justice to it. The pen of a
great master would be required to describe the fairyland freshness and
light of Glooskap's home as it is _felt_ in the original by men
far more familiar with the forest in all its loveliness at all seasons
than any white writer can be. The _naivete_ or simplicity of the
pilgrims is as striking as that of the narrator or poet, to whom fine
clothes--a Homeric trait--are as wonderful as all the deeds of magic
which he describes.

In this and other tales a man is represented as being punished by being
turned into a tree, so that he can never leave a certain spot. This is
a kind of imprisonment. In the Edda the Ash Yggdrasil is the prison of
Iduna.

  "She ill brooked
  her descent
  under the hoar tree's
  trunk confined."

  (_Hrofnagaldr Odins_, 7.)

It is to keep a man or a woman in a certain place, as prisoner, that
the characters described in the Indian and Norse myths are put into
trees.

This was related to Mr. Rand by Benjamin Brooks, a Micmac.]




_Of Glooskap and the Sinful Serpent._

(Passamaquoddy.)


Of old time it befell that Glooskap had an enemy, an evil man, a sinful
beast, a great sorcerer. And this man, after trying many things, made
himself a great serpent, hoping so to slay the Master.

Of old time Glooskap met a boy whose name was _'Nmmokswess_, the
Sable. [Footnote: Evidently no other than Marten, or the Abistanooch of
the Micmac mythology.] And the boy had a flute: whoever played on it
could entice unto him all the animals. And once, when the Master was
afar, the boy broke the flute, and in his great sorrow he would not
return home, but wandered away into the wilderness. Now Glooskap knew
in his heart that the flute was broken: he who is a magician knows at
once of a great evil. And coming home, he asked of the grandmother
where the boy was, and she could only weep. Then the Master said,
"Though I roam forever, yet will I find the boy." So he went forth, and
he tracked him in the snow for three days; and on the third night he
heard some one singing in a hollow; and it was a magic song, that which
the _m'teoulin_ sings when he is in dire need and death is near.
And making a circle round about the place, Glooskap looked down and saw
a wigwam, and heard the voice more distinctly as he drew nearer; and it
was the voice of the boy, and he was singing a song against all of the
snake kind. And he was wandering about the wigwam, seeking a straight
stick.

Then Glooskap understood all the thing, and how the boy had been
enticed into the wilderness by the evil arts of At-o-sis, the Snake,
and that the Great Serpent was in the wigwam, and had sent him out to
seek a straight stick. Then Glooskap, singing again softly, bade him
get a very crooked one, and told what more to do. So the boy got an
exceedingly crooked one; and when he entered, the Snake, seeing it,
said, "Why hast thou got such a bad stick?" And the boy, answering,
said, "Truly, it is very crooked, but that which is crookedest may be
made straightest, and I know a charm whereby this can be done; for I
will but heat this stick in the fire, and, then I will make it quite
straight, as you shall see." Now At-o-sis was very anxious to behold
this wonderful thing, and he looked closely; but the boy, as soon as
the end of the stick was red-hot, thrust it into his eyes and blinded
him, and ran forth. Yet the Snake followed him; but when he was without
the wigwam he met the Master, who slew him out of hand. [Footnote: This
curious legend is suggestive of Ulysses and the Cyclops. The enemies of
Glooskap are all cannibals; the boy is sent out for a straight stick to
serve as a spit to roast him on. It is not impossible that the Snake,
in some perfect version of the tale, has but a single eye since many of
the evil creatures of red Indian mythology are half stone lengthwise.
But the whole story is full of strange hints. It was told me by Tomah
Josephs, at Campobello, N. B.]

Of old times. This is an end of the story.




_The Tale of Glooskap as told by another Indian. Showing how the Toad
and Porcupine lost their Noses._

(Micmac.)


In the old time. Far before men knew themselves, in the light before
the sun, Glooskap and his brother were as yet unborn; they waited for
the day to appear. Then they talked together, and the youngest said,
"Why should I wait? I will go into the world and begin my life at
once." Then the elder said, "Not so, for this were a great evil." But
the younger gave no heed to any wisdom: in his wickedness he broke
through his mother's side, he rent the wall; his beginning of life was
his mother's death.

Now, in after years, the younger brother would learn in what lay the
secret of the elder's death. And Glooskap, being crafty, told the truth
and yet lied; for his name was the Liar, yet did he never lie for evil
or aught to harm. So he told his brother that the blow of a ball, or
handful of the down of feathers, would take away his life; and this was
true, for it would stun him, but it would not prevent his returning to
life. Then Glooskap asked the younger for his own secret. And he, being
determined to give the elder no time, answered truly and fearlessly, "I
can only be slain by the stroke of a cat-tail or bulrush."

And then the younger, having gathered the down of bird's feathers,
struck the elder, so that he fell dead, and therein he told the truth.
But he soon recovered, and in that was his deceit. Howbeit it was well
for the world and well for him that he then gathered bulrushes and
smote his younger brother, so that he died. But the plant never grew
that could harm the Master, wherefore he is alive to this day.

Who was his mother? The female Turtle was his mother.

The Master was the Lord of Men and Beasts. Beasts and Men, one as the
other, he ruled them all Great was his army, his tribe was All. In it
the Great Golden Eagle was a chief; he married a female Caribou. The
Turtle was Glooskap's uncle; he married a daughter of the Golden Eagle
and Caribou. Of all these things there are many and long traditions.
Our people tell them in the winter by the fire: the old people know
them; the young forget them and the wisdom which is in them.

When the Turtle married, the Master bade him make a feast, and wished
that the banquet should be a mighty one. To do this he gave him great
power. He bade him go down to a point of rocks by the sea, where many
whales were always to be found. He bade him bring one; he gave him
power to do so, but he set a mark, or an appointed space, and bade him
not go an inch beyond it. So the Turtle went down to the sea; he caught
a great whale, he bore it to camp; it seemed to him easy to do this.
But like all men there was in him vain curiosity; the falsehood of
disobedience was in him, and to try the Master he went beyond the mark;
and as he did this he lost his magic strength; he became as a man; even
as a common mortal his nerves weakened, and he fell, crushed flat
beneath the weight of the great fish.

Then men ran to Glooskap, saying that Turtle was dead. But the Master
answered, "Cut up the Whale; he who is now dead will revive." So they
cut it up; (and when the feast was ready) Turtle came in yawning, and
stretching out his leg he cried, "How tired I am! Truly, I must have
overslept myself." Now from this time all men greatly feared Glooskap,
for they saw that he was a spirit.

It came to pass that the Turtle waxed mighty in his own conceit, and
thought that he could take Glooskap's place and reign in his stead. So
he held a council of all the animals to find out how he could be slain.
The Lord of Men and Beasts laughed at this. Little did he care for
them!

And knowing all that was in their hearts, he put on the shape of an old
squaw and went into the council-house. And he sat down by two witches:
one was the Porcupine, the other the Toad; as women they sat there. Of
them the Master asked humbly how they expected to kill him. And the
Toad answered savagely, "What is that to thee, and what hast thou to do
with this thing?" "Truly," he replied, "I meant no harm," and saying
this he softly touched the tips of their noses, and rising went his
way. But the two, witches, looking one at the other, saw presently that
their noses were both gone, and they screamed aloud in terror, but
their faces were none the less flat. And so it came that the Toad and
the Porcupine both lost their noses and have none to this day.

Glooskap had two dogs. One was the Loon (Kwemoo), the other the Wolf
(Malsum). Of old all animals were as men; the Master gave them the
shapes which they now bear. But the Wolf and the Loon loved Glooskap so
greatly that since he left them they howl and wail. He who hears their
cries over the still sound and lonely lake, by the streams where no
dwellers are, or afar at night in the forests and hollows, hears them
sorrowing for the Master.

I am indebted for this legend to Mr. Edward Jack, of Fredericton, N. B.
"I give it to you," he writes, "just as it came from an Indian's lips,
as he sat before the fire in my room this evening, smoking his tobacco
mixed with willow bark. He has an endless store of Indian lore." It may
be observed that this story gives a far more ingenious reason for
Glooskap's telling his brother what would be his bane than appears in
the other version. For he tells him what would indeed deprive him of
life, but not forever.

No one can compare the story of Glooskap with that of Manobozho-Hiawatha
and the like, as given by Schoolcraft or Cusick, and not decide that the
latter seems to be a second-hand version of the former. In one we have
the _root_ of the bulrush,--not the light, feathery rush itself. In
this story, as in that of Balder and Loki, it is the very apparent
harmlessness of the bane which points the incident. Manobozho's father
_says_ that a black rock will kill him; but it does not, although
he flies before it. Glooskap declares that a handful of down will cause
his death. The _double entendre_ of the swoon is entirely wanting
in the Western tale, as is the apparent harmlessness of the medium of
death. In the Edda the mistletoe, the softest, and apparently the least
injurious, of plants, kills Balder; in the Wabanaki tale it is a ball of
down or a rush. The Chippewas change it, like savages, to a substantial
root and a black rock, thereby manifesting an insensibility to the point
of the original, which is that the most trifling thing may be the cause
of the most terrible events.




_How Glooskap changed Certain Saucy Indians into Rattlesnakes_

(Passamaquoddy.)


You know At-o-sis, the Snake? Well, the worst of all is Rattlesnake.
Long time ago the Rattlesnakes were saucy Indians. They were very
saucy. They had too much face. They could not be put down by much, and
they got up for very little.

When the great Flood was coming Glooskap told them about it. They said
they did not care. He told them the water would come over their heads.
They said that would be very wet. He told them to be good and quiet,
and pray. Then those Indians hurrahed. He said, "A great Flood is
coming." Then they gave three cheers for the great Flood. He said, "The
Flood will come and drown you all." Then these Indians hurrahed again,
and got their rattles, made of turtle-shells, in the old fashion,
fastened together, filled with pebbles, and rattled them and had a
grand dance. Afterwards, when the white men brought cows and oxen into
the country, they made rattles of horns.

Yes, they had a great dance. The rain began to fall, but they danced.
The thunder roared, and they shook their rattles and yelled at it. Then
Glooskap was angry. He did not drown them in the Flood, however, but he
changed them into rattlesnakes. Nowadays, when they see a man coming,
they lift up their heads and move them about. That's the way snakes
dance. And they shake the rattles in their tails just as Indians shake
their rattles when they dance. How do you like such music?

A Passamaquoddy tale related by an old woman to Mrs. W. Wallace Brown.
These Indians still keep up a very curious snake-dance.




_How Glooskap bound Wuchowsen, the Great Wind-Bird, and made all the
Waters in all the World Stagnant._

(Passamaquoddy.)


The Indians believe in a great bird called by them _Wochowsen_ or
_Wuchowsen_, meaning Wind-Blow or the Wind-Blower, who lives far
to the North, and sits upon a great rock at the end of the sky. And it
is because whenever he moves his wings the wind blows they of old times
called him that.

When Glooskap was among men he often went out in his canoe with bow and
arrows to kill sea-fowl. At one time it was every day very windy; it
grew worse; at last it blew a tempest, and he could not go out at all.
Then he said, "Wuchowsen, the Great Bird, has done this!"

He went to find him; it was long ere he reached his abode. He found
sitting on a high rock a large white Bird.

"Grandfather," said Glooskap, "you take no compassion on your
_Koosesek_, your grandchildren. You have caused this wind and
storm; it is too much. Be easier with your wings!"

The Giant Bird replied, "I have been here since ancient times; in the
earliest days, ere aught else spoke, I first moved my wings; mine was
the first voice,--and I will ever move my wings as I will."

Then Glooskap rose in his might; he rose to the clouds; he took the
Great Bird-giant Wuchowsen as though he were a duck, and tied both his
wings, and threw him down into a chasm between deep rocks, and left him
lying there.

The Indians could now go out in their canoes all day long, for there
was a dead calm for many weeks and months. And with that all the waters
became stagnant. They were so thick that Glooskap could not paddle his
canoe. Then he thought of the Great Bird, and went to see him.

As he had left him he found him, for Wuchowsen is immortal. So, raising
him, he put him on his rock again, and untied one of his wings. Since
then the winds have never been so terrible as in the old time. The
reader will find the main incident of this story repeated in
"Tumilkoontaoo, the Broken Wing," from the Micmac, in which there is no
mention of Glooskap. This of _Wuchowsen_ is from the Passamaquoddy
manuscript collection by Louis Mitchell. It is unquestionably the
original. Glooskap, as the greatest magician, most appropriately
subdues the giant eagle of the North, the terrible god of the storm.

No one who knows the Edda will deny that Wuchowsen, or the Wind-blower,
as he appears in the Passamaquoddy tale, is far more like the same bird
of the Norsemen than the grotesque Thunder Bird of the Western tribes.
He is distinctly spoken of by the Indians of Maine as a giant and a
bird in one, sitting on a high cliff at the end of the sky, the wind--not
thunder--coming from his pinions:--

  "Tell me ninthly,
  Since thou art called wise,
  Whence the wind comes,
  That over ocean passes,
  Itself invisible to man.

  "Hraesvelg he is called
  Who at the end of heaven sits,
  A Jotun (giant) in eagle's plumage:
  From his wings comes,
  It is said, the wind.
  That over all men passes."

  (The Lay of Vafthrudnir. The Edda, trans. by B. Thorpe.)




_How Glooskcap conquered the Great Bull-Frog, and in what Manner all
the Pollywogs, Crabs, Leeches, and other Water Creatures were
created._

(Passamaquoddy and Micmac.)


_N'karnayoo_, of old times, there was an Indian village far away
among the mountains, little known to other men. And the dwellers
therein were very comfortable: the men hunted every day, the women did
the work at home, and all went well in all things save in this. The
town was by a brook, and except in it there was not a drop of water in
all the country round, unless in a few rain-puddles. No one there had
ever found even a spring.

Now these Indians were very fond of good water. The brook was of a
superior quality, and they became dainty over it.

But after a time they began to observe that the brook was beginning to
run low, and that not in the summer time, but in autumn, even after the
rains. And day by day it diminished, until its bed was as dry as a dead
bone in the ashes of a warm fire.

Now it was said that far away up in the land where none had ever been
there was on this very stream another Indian village; but what manner
of men dwelt therein no one knew. And thinking that these people of the
upper country might be in some way concerned in the drought, they sent
one of their number to go and see into the matter.

And after he had traveled three days he came to the place; and there he
found that a dam had been raised across the rivulet, so that no water
could pass, for it was all kept in a pond. Then asking them why they
had made this mischief, since the dam was of no use to them, they bade
him go and see their chief, by whose order this had been built.

And when he came to him, lo, there lay lazily in the mud a creature who
was more of a monster than a man, though he had a human form. For he
was immense to measure, like a giant, fat, bloated, and brutal to
behold. His great yellow eyes stuck from his head like pine-knots, his
mouth went almost from ear to ear, and he had broad, skinny feet with
long toes, exceeding marvelous.

The messenger complained to this monster, who at first said nothing,
and then croaked, and finally replied in a loud bellow,--

  "Do as you choose,
  Do as you choose,
  Do as you choose.

  "What do I care?
  What do I care?
  What do I care?

  "If you want water,
  If you want water,
  If you want water,
  Go somewhere else."

Then the messenger remonstrated, and described the suffering of the
people, who were dying of thirst. And this seemed to please the
monster, who grinned. At last he got up, and, making a single spring to
the dam, took an arrow and bored a hole in it, so that a little water
trickled out, and then he bellowed,--

  "Up and begone!
  Up and begone!
  Up and begone!"

So the man departed, little comforted. He came to his home, and for a
few days there was a little water in the stream; but this soon stopped,
and there was great suffering again.

Now these Indians, who were the honestest fellows in all the world, and
never did harm to any one save their enemies, were in a sorry pickle.
For it is a bad thing to have nothing but water to drink, but to want
that is to be mightily dry. And the great Glooskap, who knew all that
was passing in the hearts of men and beasts, took note of this, and
when he willed it he was among them; for he ever came as the wind
comes, and no man wist how.

And just before he came all of these good fellows had resolved in
council that they would send the boldest man among them to certain
death, even to the village which built the dam that kept the water
which filled the brook that quenched their thirst, whenever it was not
empty. And when there he was either to obtain that they should cut the
dam, or do something desperate, and to this intent he should go armed,
and sing his death-song as he went. And they were all agog.

Then Glooskap, who was much pleased with all this, for he loved a brave
man, came among them looking terribly ferocious; in all the land there
was not one who seemed half so horrible. For he appeared ten feet high,
with a hundred red and black feathers in his scalp-lock, his face
painted like fresh blood with green rings round his eyes, a large
clam-shell hanging from each ear, a spread eagle, very awful to behold,
flapping its wings from the back of his neck, so that as he strode into
the village all hearts quaked. Being but simple Indians, they accounted
that this must be, if not Lox the Great Wolverine, at least Mitche-hant,
the devil himself in person, turned Wabanaki; and they admired
him greatly, and the squaws said they had never seen aught so lovely.

Then Glooskap, having heard the whole story, bade them be of good
cheer, declaring that he would soon set all to rights. And he without
delay departed up the bed of the brook; and coming to the town, sat
down and bade a boy bring him water to drink. To which the boy replied
that no water could be had in that town unless it were given out by the
chief. "Go then to your chief," said the Master, "and bid him hurry,
or, verily, I will know the reason why." And this being told, Glooskap
received no reply for more than an hour, during which time he sat on a
log and smoked his pipe. Then the boy returned with a small cup, and
this not half full, of very dirty water.

So he arose, and said to the boy, "I will go and see your chief, and I
think he will soon give me better water than this." And having come to
the monster, he said, "Give me to drink, and that of the best, at once,
thou Thing of Mud!" But the chief reviled him, and said, "Get thee
hence, to find water where thou canst." Then Glooskap thrust a spear
into his belly, and lo! there gushed forth a mighty river; even all the
water which should have run on while in the rivulet, for he had made it
into himself. And Glooskap, rising high as a giant pine, caught the
chief in his hand and crumpled in his back with a mighty grip. And lo!
it was the Bull-Frog. So he hurled him with contempt into the stream,
to follow the current.

And ever since that time the Bull-Frog's back has crumpled wrinkles in
the lower part, showing the prints of Glooskap's awful squeeze.

Then he returned to the village; but there he found no people,--no, not
one. For a marvelous thing had come to pass during his absence, which
shall be heard in every Indian's speech through all the ages. For the
men, being, as I said, simple, honest folk, did as boys do when they
are hungry, and say unto one another, "What would you like to have, and
what you?" "Truly, I would be pleased with a slice of hot venison
dipped in maple-sugar and bear's oil." "Nay, give me for my share
succotash and honey." Even so these villagers had said, "Suppose
_you_ had all the nice cold, fresh, sparkling, delicious water
there is in the world, what would _you_ do?"

And one said that he would live in the soft mud, and always be wet and
cool.

And another, that he would plunge from the rocks, and take headers,
diving into the deep, cold water, drinking as he dived.

And the third, that he would be washed up and down with the rippling
waves, living on the land, yet ever in the water.

Then the fourth said, "Verily, you know not how to wish, and I will
teach you. I would live in the water all the time, and swim about in it
forever."

Now it chanced that these things were said in the hour which, when it
passes over the world, all the wishes uttered by men are granted. And
so it was with these Indians. For the first became a Leech, the second
a Spotted Frog, the third a Crab, which is washed up and down with the
tide, and the fourth a Fish. Ere this there had been in all the world
none of the creatures which dwell in the water, and now they were
there, and of all kinds. And the river came rushing and roaring on, and
they all went headlong down to the sea, to be washed into many lands
over all the world. [Footnote: This was told by Tomah Josephs. It is
given much more imperfectly in the tale of Kitpooseagunow in the Rand
manuscript, and in the Anglo-Indian "Storey of Glooscap." I have taken
very great pains in this, as in all the tales written down from verbal
narration, to be accurate in details, and to convey as well as I could
the quaint manner and dry humor which characterized the style of the
narrator. Even white men do not tell the same story in the same way to
everybody; and if Tomahquah and others fully expressed their feelings
to me, it was because they had never before met with a white man who
listened to them with such sympathy. It may be observed that the
Indians commonly say that wherever the bull-frog is to be found in
summer there is always water. It is not to be understood, in this tale,
that the bull-frog is supposed to have merely drunk up the river. It is
the river which has become incarnate in him. It is the ice of winter
penetrated by the spear of the sun; that is, Glooskap. Thus, in another
tale, a frozen river tries, as a man, to destroy the hero, but is
melted by him. The conception of _the hour_ when all wishes are
granted, and the abrupt termination of the whole in a grand
transformation scene, are both very striking. There is something like
the former in Rabelais, in his narrative of the golden hatchet; as
regards the latter, it is like the ending of a Christmas pantomime.
Indeed, the entire tale is perfectly adapted to such a "dramatization."

I have been told by an old Passamaquoddy woman that the name of the
monster who swallowed the stream was _Hahk-lee-be-mo_.]




_How the Lord of Men and Beasts strove with the Mighty Wasis, and was
shamefully defeated._

(Penobscot.)


Now it came to pass when Glooskap had conquered all his enemies, even the
_Kewahqu'_, who were giants and sorcerers, and the _m'teoulin_,
who were magicians, and the _Pamola_, who is the evil spirit of the
night air, and all manner of ghosts, witches, devils, cannibals, and
goblins, that he thought upon what he had done, and wondered if his
work was at an end.

And he said this to a certain woman. But she replied, "Not so fast,
Master, for there yet remains One whom no one has ever conquered or got
the better of in any way, and who will remain unconquered to the end of
time."

"And who is he?" inquired the Master.

"It is the mighty _Wasis_," she replied, "and there he sits; and I
warn you that if you meddle with him you will be in sore trouble."

Now _Wasis_ was the Baby. And he sat on the floor sucking a piece
of maple-sugar, greatly contented, troubling no one.

As the Lord of Men and Beasts had never married or had a child, he knew
naught of the way of managing children. Therefore he was quite certain,
as is the wont of such people, that he knew all about it. So he turned
to Baby with a bewitching smile and bade him come to him.

Then Baby smiled again, but did not budge. And the Master spake sweetly
and made his voice like that of the summer bird, but it was of no
avail, for Wasis sat still and sucked his maple-sugar.

Then the Master frowned and spoke terribly, and ordered Wasis to come
crawling to him immediately. And Baby burst out into crying and
yelling, but did not move for all that.

Then, since he could do but one thing more, the Master had recourse to
magic. He used his most awful spells, and sang the songs which raise
the dead and scare the devils. And Wasis sat and looked on admiringly,
and seemed to find it very interesting, but all the same he never moved
an inch.

So Glooskap gave it up in despair, and Wasis, sitting on the floor in
the sunshine, went _goo! goo!_ and crowed.

And to this day when you see a babe well contented, going _goo!
goo!_ and crowing, and no one can tell why, know that it is because
he remembers the time when he overcame the Master who had conquered all
the world. For of all the beings that have ever been since the
beginning, Baby is alone the only invincible one. [Footnote: I am
indebted for this "marchen" to Maria Saksis, a very intelligent
Penobscot woman, a widow of a former governor, whom I met at North
Conway, in the White Mountains, N. H. In her dialect Glooskap is
invariably called _Glus-gah-be_. She told it with that admirable
dry drollery, characteristic of a good story-teller in a race where
there are no bad ones. The exquisite humor and humanity of this little
legend, placed as a pendant to the stupendous successes of the giant
hero, are such as to entitle its Indian author to rank as a genius. I
have frequently asserted that these Wabanaki or Northeastern Algonquin
tales bore to those of the West the apparent relation of originals to
poor copies. Let the reader compare this, which is given as nearly word
for word as was possible from the Indian narrative, with that of
Manobozho-Hiawatha's effort to compete with a baby. The Cherokee
account is that, seeing an infant sucking its own toe, he tried to do
the same, and failed. It is in accounting for the unaccountable crowing
of Baby that the point of the Penobscot story lies. Of this there is no
mention made in the Western tale, which is utterly wanting in any
feeling as to the power of childhood or its charm over the strongest. A
real Indian tale may always be assumed to be ancient when it is told to
set forth an _origin_. This gives the origin of a baby's crowing.]




_How the great Glooskap fought the Giant Sorcerers at Saco, and
turned them into Fish._

(Penobscot.)


_N'karnayoo_, of old times: _Woodenit atok hagen_
_Glusgahbe_. This is a story of Glooskap (P.) There was a father
who had three sons and a daughter: they were _m'teoulin_, or
mighty magicians; they were giants; they ate men, women, and children;
they did everything that was wicked and horrible; and the world grew
tired of them and of all their abominations. Yet when this family was
young, Glooskap had been their friend; he had made the father his
adopted father, the brothers his brothers, the sister his sister.
[Footnote: The Indians make formal adoptions of relatives of every
grade, and in addition to this use all the terms of relationship as
friendly greetings. This is in fact made apparent in all the stories in
this collection.] Yet as they grew older, and he began to hear on every
side of their wickedness, he said: "I will go among them and find if
this be true. And if it be so, they shall die. I will not spare one of
those who oppress and devour men, I do not care who he may be."

This family was at _Samgadihawk_, or Saco, on the sandy field
which is in the Intervale or the summer bed of the Saco River, in the
El-now-e-bit, the White Mountains, between Geh-sit-wah-zuch [Footnote:
_Geh-sit-wah-zuch_, "many mountains" (Pen.). Mount Kearsarge, so
called from the several lesser peaks around it.] and K'tchee penahbesk,
[Footnote: _K'tchee penabesk_, "the great rock," a much more
sensible and appropriate name than that of "Cathedral Rocks," which has
been bestowed upon it; also _chee penabsk_.] and near Oonahgemessuk
weegeet, the Home of the Water Fairies. [Footnote: Also called from a
legend, _Oonahgemessuk k'tubbee_, the Water Fairies' Spring. This
appropriate and beautiful name has been rejected in favor of the
ridiculously rococo term "Diana's Bath." As there is a "Diana's Bath"
at almost every summer watering place in America, North Conway must of
course have one. The absolute antipathy which the majority of Americans
manifest for the aboriginal names, even in a translation, is really
remarkable.] Now the old man, the father of the evil magicians and his
adopted father, had only one eye, and was half gray. [Footnote: This would
directly connect him with the beings which are half stone, like the
Oonahgemessuk, or water-goblins, the dwellers in Katahdin, and the Eskimo
elves. This will be referred to again.] And Glooskap made himself like
him,--there was not between them the difference of a hair; and having
this form, he entered the wigwam and sat down by the old man. And the
brothers, who killed everybody, not sparing one living soul, hearing a
talking, looked in slyly, and seeing the new-comer, so like their father
that they knew not which was which, said, "This is a great magician. But
he shall be tried ere he goes, and that bitterly."

Then the sister took the tail of a whale, and cooked it for the
stranger to eat. But as it lay before him, on the platter and on his
knees, the elder brother entered, and saying rudely, "This is too good
for a beggar like you," took it away to his own wigwam. Then Glooskap
spoke: "That which was given to me was mine; therefore I take it
again." And sitting still he simply _wished_ for it, and it came
flying into the platter where it was before. So he ate it.

Then the brothers said, "Indeed, he is a great magician. But he shall
be tried ere he goes, and that bitterly."

When he had eaten, they brought in a mighty bone, the jaw of a whale,
and the eldest brother, with great ado, and using both his arms and all
his strength, bent it a little. Then he handed it to Glooskap, who with
his thumb and fingers, snapped it like a pipe-stem. And the brothers
said again, "Truly, this is a great magician. But he shall for all that
be tried ere he goes, and that bitterly."

Then they brought a great pipe full of the strongest tobacco; no man
not a magician could have smoked it. And it was passed round: every one
smoked; the brothers blew the smoke through their nostrils. But
Glooskap filled it full, and, lighting it, burnt all the tobacco to
ashes at one pull, and blew all the smoke through his nostrils at one
puff. Then the brothers said again in anger, "This is indee

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