The Story of Hiawatha Part 15

On the morrow, as the day dawned, Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, Gathered all his black marauders, Crows and blackbirds, jays, and ravens, Clamorous on the dusky tree-tops, And descended, fast and fearless, On the fields of Hiawatha, On the grave of the Mondamin.

"We will drag Mondamin," said they, "From the grave where he is buried, Spite of all the magic circles Laughing Water draws around it, Spite of all the sacred footprints Minnehaha stamps upon it!"

But the wary Hiawatha, Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful, Had o'erheard the scornful laughter When they mocked him from the tree-tops.

"Kaw!" he said, "my friends the ravens!

Kahgahgee, my King of Ravens!

I will teach you all a lesson That shall not be soon forgotten!"

He had risen before the daybreak, He had spread o'er all the cornfields Snares to catch the black marauders, And was lying now in ambush In the neighboring grove of pine-trees, Waiting for the crows and blackbirds, Waiting for the jays and ravens.

Soon they came with caw and clamor, Rush of wings and cry of voices, To their work of devastation, Settling down upon the cornfields, Delving deep with beak and talon, For the body of Mondamin.

And with all their craft and cunning, All their skill in wiles of warfare, They perceived no danger near them, Till their claws became entangled, Till they found themselves imprisoned In the snares of Hiawatha.

From his place of ambush came he, Striding terrible among them, And so awful was his aspect That the bravest quailed with terror, Without mercy he destroyed them Right and left, by tens and twenties, And their wretched, lifeless bodies Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows Round the consecrated cornfields, As a signal of his vengeance, As a warning to marauders.

Only Kahgahgee, the leader.

Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, He alone was spared among them As a hostage for his people.

With his prisoner-string he bound him, Led him captive to his wigwam, Tied him fast with cords of elm-bark To the ridge-pole of his wigwam.

"Kahgahgee, my raven!" said he, "You the leader of the robbers, You the plotter of this mischief, The contriver of this outrage, I will keep you, I will hold you, As a hostage for your people, As a pledge of good behavior!"

And he left him, grim and sulky, Sitting in the morning sunshine On the summit of the wigwam, Croaking fiercely his displeasure, Flapping his great sable pinions, Vainly struggling for his freedom, Vainly calling on his people!

Summer pa.s.sed, and Shawondasee Breathed his sighs o'er all the landscape, From the South-land sent his ardors, Wafted kisses warm and tender; And the maize-field grew and ripened, Till it stood in all the splendor Of its garments green and yellow, Of its ta.s.sels and its plumage, And the maize-ears full and shining Gleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure.

Then Nokomis, the old woman, Spake, and said to Minnehaha: "'Tis the Moon when leaves are falling: All the wild-rice has been gathered, And the maize is ripe and ready; Let us gather in the harvest, Let us wrestle with Mondamin, Strip him of his plumes and ta.s.sels, Of his garments green and yellow!"

And the merry Laughing Water Went rejoicing from the wigwam, With Nokomis, old and wrinkled, And they called the women round them, Called the young men and the maidens, To the harvest of the cornfields, To the husking of the maize-ear.

On the border of the forest, Underneath the fragrant pine-trees, Sat the old men and the warriors Smoking in the pleasant shadow.

In uninterrupted silence Looked they at the gamesome labor Of the young men and the women; Listened to their noisy talking, To their laughter and their singing, Heard them chattering like the magpies, Heard them laughing like the blue-jays, Heard them singing like the robins.

And whene'er some lucky maiden Found a red ear in the husking, Found a maize-ear red as blood is, "Nushka!" cried they all together, "Nushka! you shall have a sweetheart, You shall have a handsome husband!"

"Ugh!" the old men all responded From their seats beneath the pine-trees.

And whene'er a youth or maiden Found a crooked ear in husking, Found a maize-ear in the husking, Blighted, mildewed, or misshapen, Then they laughed and sang together, Crept and limped about the cornfields Mimicked in their gait and gestures Some old man, bent almost double, Singing singly or together: "Wagemin, the thief of cornfields!

Paimosaid, the skulking robber!"

Till the cornfields rang with laughter, Till from Hiawatha's wigwam Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, Screamed and quivered in his anger, And from all the neighboring tree-tops Cawed and croaked the black marauders.

"Ugh!" the old men all responded, From their seats beneath the pine-trees!

XIV

PICTURE-WRITING

IN those days said Hiawatha, "Lo! how all things fade and perish!

From the memory of the old men Fade away the great traditions, The achievements of the warriors, The adventures of the hunters, All the wisdom of the Medas, All the craft of the Wabenos, All the marvelous dreams and visions Of the Jossakeeds, the Prophets!

"Great men die and are forgotten, Wise men speak; their words of wisdom Perish in the ears that hear them, Do not reach the generations That, as yet unborn, are waiting In the great, mysterious darkness Of the speechless days that shall be!

"On the grave-posts of our fathers Are no signs, no figures painted; Who are in those graves we know not, Only know they are our fathers.

Of what kith they are and kindred, From what old, ancestral Totem, Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver, They descended, this we know not, Only know they are our fathers.

"Face to face we speak together, But we cannot speak when absent, Cannot send our voices from us To the friends that dwell afar off; Cannot send a secret message, But the bearer learns our secret, May pervert it, may betray it, May reveal it unto others."

Thus said Hiawatha, walking In the solitary forest, Pondering, musing in the forest, On the welfare of his people.

From his pouch he took his colors, Took his paints of different colors, On the smooth bark of a birch-tree Painted many shapes and figures, Wonderful and mystic figures,

[Ill.u.s.tration: "AND EACH FIGURE HAD A MEANING"--_Page 236_]

And each figure had a meaning, Each some word or thought suggested.

Gitche Manito the Mighty, He, the Master of Life, was painted As an egg, with points projecting To the four winds of the heavens.

Everywhere is the Great Spirit, Was the meaning of this symbol.

Mitche Manito the Mighty, He the dreadful Spirit of Evil, As a serpent was depicted, As Kenabeek, the great serpent.

Very crafty, very cunning, Is the creeping Spirit of Evil, Was the meaning of this symbol.

Life and Death he drew as circles, Life was white, but Death was darkened; Sun and moon and stars he painted, Man and beast, and fish and reptile, Forests, mountains, lakes, and rivers.

For the earth he drew a straight line, For the sky a bow above it; White the s.p.a.ce between for day-time, Filled with little stars for night-time; On the left a point for sunrise, On the right a point for sunset, On the top a point for noontide, And for rain and cloudy weather Waving lines descending from it.

Footprints pointing towards a wigwam Were a sign of invitation, Were a sign of guests a.s.sembling: b.l.o.o.d.y hands with palms uplifted Were a symbol of destruction, Were a hostile sign and symbol.

All these things did Hiawatha Show unto his wondering people, And interpreted their meaning, And he said: "Behold, your graveposts Have no mark, no sign, nor symbol.

Go and paint them all with figures; Each one with its household symbol, With its own ancestral Totem, So that those who follow after May distinguish them and know them."

And they painted on the graveposts Of the graves yet unforgotten, Each his own ancestral Totem, Each the symbol of his household; Figures of the Bear and Reindeer, Of the Turtle, Crane, and Beaver, Each inverted as a token That the owner was departed, That the chief who bore the symbol Lay beneath in dust and ashes.

And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, The Wabenos, the Magicians, And the Medicine-men, the Medas, Painted upon bark and deer-skin Figures for the songs they chanted, For each song a separate symbol, Figures mystical and awful, Figures strange and brightly colored; And each figure had its meaning, Each some magic song suggested.

The Great Spirit, the Creator, Flashing light through all the heaven; The Great Serpent, the Kenabeek, With his b.l.o.o.d.y crest erected, Creeping, looking into heaven; In the sky the sun, that listens, And the moon eclipsed and dying; Owl and eagle, crane and hen-hawk, And the cormorant, bird of magic; Headless men, that walk the heavens, Bodies lying pierced with arrows, b.l.o.o.d.y hands of death uplifted, Flags on graves, and great war-captains Grasping both the earth and heaven!

Such as these the shapes they painted On the birch-bark and the deer-skin; Songs of war and songs of hunting, Songs of medicine and of magic, All were written in these figures, For each figure had its meaning, Each its separate song recorded.

Nor forgotten was the Love-Song, The most subtle of all medicines, The most potent spell of magic, Dangerous more than war or hunting!

Thus the Love-Song was recorded, Symbol and interpretation.

First a human figure standing, Painted in the brightest scarlet; 'Tis the lover, the musician, And the meaning is, "My painting Makes me powerful over others."

Then the figure seated, singing, Playing on a drum of magic, And the interpretation, "Listen!

'Tis my voice you hear, my singing!"

Then the same red figure seated In the shelter of a wigwam, And the meaning of the symbol, "I will come and sit beside you In the mystery of my pa.s.sion!"

Then two figures, man and woman, Standing hand in hand together With their hands so clasped together That they seem in one united, And the words thus represented Are, "I see your heart within you, And your cheeks are red with blushes!"

Next the maiden on an island, In the centre of an island; And the song this shape suggested Was, "Though you were at a distance, Were upon some far-off island, Such the spell I cast upon you, Such the magic power of pa.s.sion, I could straightway draw you to me!"

Then the figure of the maiden Sleeping, and the lover near her, Whispering to her in her slumbers, Saying, "Though you were far from me In the land of Sleep and Silence, Still the voice of love would reach you!"

And the last of all the figures Was a heart within a circle, Drawn within a magic circle; And the image had this meaning: "Naked lies your heart before me, To your naked heart I whisper!"

Thus it was that Hiawatha, In his wisdom, taught the people All the mysteries of painting, All the art of Picture-Writing, On the smooth bark of the birch-tree, On the white skin of the reindeer, On the grave-posts of the village.

XV

HIAWATHA'S LAMENTATION

IN those days the Evil Spirits, All the Manitos of mischief, Fearing Hiawatha's wisdom, And his love for Chibiabos, Jealous of their faithful friendship, And their n.o.ble words and actions, Made at length a league against them, To molest them and destroy them.

Hiawatha, wise and wary, Often said to Chibiabos, "O my brother! do not leave me, Lest the Evil Spirits harm you!"

Chibiabos, young and heedless, Laughing shook his coal-black tresses, Answered ever sweet and childlike, "Do not fear for me, O brother!

Harm and evil come not near me!"

Once when Peboan, the Winter, Roofed with ice the Big-Sea-Water, When the snow-flakes, whirling downward, Hissed among the withered oak-leaves, Changed the pine-trees into wigwams, Covered all the earth with silence,-- Armed with arrows, shod with snow-shoes, Heeding not his brother's warning, Fearing not the Evil Spirits, Forth to hunt the deer with antlers All alone went Chibiabos.

Right across the Big-Sea-Water Sprang with speed the deer before him.

With the wind and snow he followed, O'er the treacherous ice he followed, Wild with all the fierce commotion And the rapture of the hunting.

But beneath, the Evil Spirits Lay in ambush, waiting for him, Broke the treacherous ice beneath him, Dragged him downward to the bottom, Buried in the sand his body, Unktahee, the G.o.d of water, He, the G.o.d of the Dacotahs, Drowned him in the deep abysses Of the lake of Gitche Gumee.

From the headlands Hiawatha Sent forth such a wail of anguish, Such a fearful lamentation, That the bison paused to listen, And the wolves howled from the prairies, And the thunder in the distance Woke and answered "Baim-wawa!"

Then his face with black he painted, With his robe his head he covered, In his wigwam sat lamenting, Seven long weeks he sat lamenting, Uttering still this moan of sorrow:-- "He is dead, the sweet musician!

He, the sweetest of all singers!

He has gone from us forever, He has moved a little nearer To the Master of all music, To the Master of all singing!

O my brother, Chibiabos!"

And the melancholy fir-trees Waved their dark green fans above him, Waved their purple cones above him, Sighing with him to console him, Mingling with his lamentation Their complaining, their lamenting.

Came the Spring, and all the forest Looked in vain for Chibiabos; Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha, Sighed the rushes in the meadow.

From the tree-tops sang the bluebird, Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, "Chibiabos! Chibiabos!

He is dead, the sweet musician!"

From the wigwam sang the robin, Sang the Opechee, the robin, "Chibiabos! Chibiabos!

He is dead, the sweetest singer!"

And at night, through all the forest Went the whippoorwill complaining, Wailing went the Wawonaissa, "Chibiabos! Chibiabos!