The Story of Hiawatha Part 7

"No, my child," said Nokomis, "it is nothing but the wind of night that blows amid the pine trees."

"Look!" said Minnehaha, as the Fever drew still closer to her bed. "I see my father standing in his doorway. I see him beckoning to me from his wigwam!"

"Ah no, my child," said Nokomis sadly; "it is nothing but the smoke of our fire curling upward to the smoke-flue."

"Oh," said Minnehaha, "I see the eyes of Death glaring at me in the darkness! I feel his icy fingers clasping mine! Hiawatha! Hiawatha!"

The wretched Hiawatha, miles away in the dark forest, heard Minnehaha cry to him and he hurried homeward with a sinking heart, but before he reached his wigwam he heard the voice of Nokomis wailing through the night. What a sight met his eyes as he burst into his dreary lodge!

Nokomis was rocking sadly to and fro, moaning and weeping; and Minnehaha lay, cold and dead, upon her bed of branches!

Hiawatha gave such a cry of sorrow that the forest shuddered and groaned, and even the stars in heaven trembled. Then he sat down at the feet of Minnehaha, and covered his face with both his hands. Seven days and nights he sat there without moving or speaking, and he did not know whether it was night or day.

At last he rose and wrapped Minnehaha in her softest robes of ermine, and they made a grave for her in the snow beneath the hemlock trees.

Four nights they kindled a fire on her grave, so that her soul might have cheerful light upon its journey to the Blessed Islands, and Hiawatha watched from the doorway of his wigwam to see that the fire was burning brightly so she might never be left in darkness, and he said: "Farewell, my Minnehaha! My heart is buried with you, and before long my task here will be finished and I will join you in the Blessed Islands.

Soon I shall follow in your footsteps to the Land of Hereafter!"

XXI

THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT

IN a lodge built close beside a frozen river sat an old man, whose hair was whiter than the whitest snow, and he shook and trembled as he sat there, hearing nothing but the gale that raged outside and seeing nothing but the flakes of snow that leaped and whirled about his chilly wigwam. All the coals of his fire were covered with white ashes and the fire itself was dying away unheeded, when a bright youth with red blood in his cheeks walked lightly through the open doorway. On his head was a crown of fresh and sweet-smelling gra.s.ses; his lips were curved in a beautiful smile, and he carried in his hand a bunch of flowers that filled the lodge with the fragrance of the wildwood.

"Ah, my son," said the old man, "it does my old eyes good to gaze upon you! Take a seat beside my fire, and we will pa.s.s the night together!

Tell me of your travels and your strange adventures, and let me tell you of all the wonderful deeds that I have done."

The old man drew a peace-pipe from his pouch, filled it with willow-bark and handed it to the beautiful young stranger, who smoked in silence while he listened to the old man's words.

"When I blow my breath about me," said the old man, "the water becomes as hard as stone and the rivers cannot move."

"When I breathe upon the meadows and the woodlands," answered the young stranger with a sunny smile, "the flowers rise like magic, and the rivers, with a song, go rushing on again."

"When I shake my long white hair," said the old man scowling, "the land is buried with snow and the leaves all fade away and fall to earth. When I raise my voice the ground becomes like flint, the wild fowl fly away and the wild beasts of the forest hide for fear."

"When I shake my flowing ringlets," said the young man with a light laugh, "the warm rain falls on the hills and fields, and the wild geese and the heron come back to the marshes. Homeward flies the swallow, and the robin and the bluebird sing for joy. Wherever I go the woodlands ring with music, and the meadows become blue with violets."

While they were speaking, the great sun leaped up above the horizon and shot his beams of orange gold through the doorway of the wigwam. The air became warm and pleasant, and in the light of morning the young stranger saw the icy face of the old man and knew that he had spent the night with Peboan, the winter. From the old man's eyes the tears were running in two streams, the water was dripping from his hair, and his body shrank until it vanished into the ground. And on the hearth-stone where the old man's fire had been smoking, blossomed the earliest flower of springtime.

Thus did the young stranger, Spring, come back again and drive away the icy chill of that dreadful winter of famine and death. To the northward pa.s.sed the wild swans, calling to one another, and the bluebirds and the pigeons and the robins sang in the thicket, until the grieving Hiawatha heard their voices and went forth from his gloomy wigwam to gaze up into the warm, blue sky.

From his wanderings in the east returned Iagoo, the great boaster, full of stories more wonderful than any that he had ever told, and the people laughed as they listened to him, saying: "Cold and famine have not harmed Iagoo; he is just the same as ever, and has seen more wonders in his travels than the Great Manito himself."

"I have seen a water greater than the Big-Sea-Water," cried Iagoo, "much greater! And over it came a huge canoe, with large white wings that carried it along!"

"It can't be true!" cried all the Indians, laughing at Iagoo; "we don't believe one word of what you say."

"From the canoe," went on Iagoo, "came thunder and lightning, and a hundred warriors landed on the beach. Their faces were painted white, and there was hair upon their chins."

"What lies you tell us!" shouted all the people. "Do not think that we believe you!" Hiawatha only did not join in the roar of laughter that Iagoo's words called forth from all the men and women and children who were listening.

"What he tells is true," said Hiawatha, "I have seen it all in a dream.

I have seen the great canoe of the white-faced people come sailing from the Land of Sunrise. I have seen these people moving swiftly westward under the guidance of the Great Manito, until the fires of their wigwams smoked in all the valleys, while their canoes rushed over all the lakes and rivers. Let us welcome them," said Hiawatha; "let us give them of our best and call them brothers, for the Great Manito has sent them and they come to do his bidding.

"Then I had another vision," Hiawatha went on sadly. "I saw our people fighting with one another, forgetful of the warning of the Great Manito.

And the forests where we hunted, and the rivers where we fished and trapped the beaver, knew our faces and our voices no more; for our people were scattered like the autumn leaves, until no Indians were left upon the earth." And when his voice died away, the Indians all sat in silence and looked at one another with a sudden fear.

XXII

HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE

ON the sh.o.r.e of the Big-Sea-Water, in the sunny morning, Hiawatha stood in the doorway of his wigwam, gazing out over the shining lake. The sky was bright and blue above him, the pebbles sparkled on the beaches, and the still water reflected the great pine-trees of the forest. Every trace of sorrow was gone from Hiawatha's face, and with a smile of joy he lifted his open hands toward the blazing sun to shade his eyes. He was watching something that floated far out on the water--some image which he could not plainly see, but which was drawing nearer and nearer to the village. At last he saw that it was a birch canoe, with paddles flashing as they rose and fell; and in it came the white-faced people from the Land of Sunrise, led by a bearded chief in a black robe, who wore a cross upon his breast.

The canoe grated on the pebbles, and Hiawatha, with his hands stretched outward as a sign of friendship, called to them in welcome.

"The sun is fair to look upon, O strangers," cried out Hiawatha. "Our town waits for you in peace, and the doors of all our wigwams stand open to receive you. Our tobacco never was so sweet and pleasant, and our waving cornfields never seemed so beautiful to behold as this morning, when you visit us from far-off lands." And the chief of the strange people, the bearded man in the black robe, answered, stammering a little, for the language of the Indians was strange to him: "May the peace of Christ be with you and your people, Hiawatha!"

Then the n.o.ble-hearted Hiawatha led them to his wigwam, where he seated them on skins of bison and ermine, while Nokomis brought them water in cups of birch-bark and food in bowls of polished ba.s.swood; and when they were done with eating, peace-pipes were filled with willow-bark and lighted for them to smoke.

All the warriors, and old men, and the magicians of the village came to welcome the great strangers, and they sat around the doorway of Hiawatha's wigwam in a large circle, smoking their pipes and waiting for the strangers to come forth and to speak to them. The black-robed chief went out of the wigwam and greeted all the Indians, while they said to him: "O Brother, it is well that you have come so far to see us!"

Then the bearded man in the black robe commenced to speak, showing them the cross that he wore upon his breast, and he told them about Christ and the Virgin Mary and how the wicked tribe, the Jews, had taken Christ and crucified him long ago, and the Indians smoked on in silence, listening to his words.

"It is well," they said when he had finished; "we will think upon your words of wisdom. We are pleased."

Then they rose and went home to their wigwams, where they told the young men and women all about the strangers who had been sent by the Great Manito; and in Hiawatha's lodge the strangers, weary from their journey and the summer heat, stretched themselves upon the robes of ermine and went fast asleep.

Slowly a coolness fell upon the air, and the rays of sunset gilded every thicket of the forest, when Hiawatha rose from his seat and whispered to Nokomis, saying: "O Nokomis, I am going on a long journey to the Land of Sunset and the home of the North-west wind. See that no harm comes to these guests, whom I leave here in your care. See that fear and danger or want of food and shelter never come near them in the lodge of Hiawatha."

Forth went Hiawatha into the village, and he bade farewell to all the warriors and to all the young men, saying to them: "My people, I am going on a distant journey, and many winters will have pa.s.sed before I come once more among you. Listen to the truth my guests will tell you, for the Great Manito has sent them, and I leave them in your care. And now, farewell!" cried Hiawatha.

On the sh.o.r.e of the Big-Sea-Water for the last time Hiawatha launched his birch canoe, pushed it out from among the rushes and whispered to it, "Westward! Westward!" It darted forward like an arrow, and the rays of the setting sun shot a long and fiery pathway over the smooth waters of the lake.

Down this path of light sailed Hiawatha in his birch canoe right into the flaming sunset, and the Indians on the sh.o.r.e saw him moving on and on until he became a tiny speck against the splendor of the clouds. With a final lift and fall his canoe rose upon a sunbeam, and as it disappeared within the crimson sky the Indians all cried out: "Farewell, farewell, O Hiawatha!" And the trees in the forest, the waves on the edges of the lake and every living creature that ran or swam or flew took up the cry: "Farewell, Hiawatha!" For Hiawatha had disappeared forever in the kingdom of the North-west wind and the Islands of the Blessed.

THE SONG OF HIAWATHA