"Pishnekuh!" cried Pau-Puk-Keewis,"Pishnekuh! my brothers!" said he,"Change me to a brant with plumage,With a shining neck and feathers,Make me large, and make me larger,Ten times larger than the others."
Straightway to a brant they changed him,With two huge and dusky pinions,With a bosom smooth and rounded,With a bill like two great paddles,Made him larger than the others,Ten times larger than the largest,Just as, shouting from the forest,On the shore stood Hiawatha.
Up they rose with cry and clamor,With a whir and beat of pinions,Rose up from the reedy Islands,From the water-flags and lilies.And they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis:"In your flying, look not downward,Take good heed and look not downward,Lest some strange mischance should happen,Lest some great mishap befall you!"
Fast and far they fled to northward,Fast and far through mist and sunshine,Fed among the moors and fen-lands,Slept among the reeds and rushes.
On the morrow as they journeyed,Buoyed and lifted by the South-wind,Wafted onward by the South-wind,Blowing fresh and strong behind them,Rose a sound of human voices,Rose a clamor from beneath them,From the lodges of a village,From the people miles beneath them.
For the people of the villageSaw the flock of brant with wonder,Saw the wings of Pau-Puk-KeewisFlapping far up in the ether,Broader than two doorway curtains.
Pau-Puk-Keewis heard the shouting,Knew the voice of Hiawatha,Knew the outcry of Iagoo,And, forgetful of the warning,Drew his neck in, and looked downward,And the wind that blew behind himCaught his mighty fan of feathers,Sent him wheeling, whirling downward!
All in vain did Pau-Puk-KeewisStruggle to regain his balance!Whirling round and round and downward,He beheld in turn the villageAnd in turn the flock above him,Saw the village coming nearer,And the flock receding farther,Heard the voices growing louder,Heard the shouting and the laughter;Saw no more the flocks above him,Only saw the earth beneath him;Dead out of the empty heaven,Dead among the shouting people,With a heavy sound and sullen,Fell the brant with broken pinions.
But his soul, his ghost, his shadow,Still survived as Pau-Puk-Keewis,Took again the form and featuresOf the handsome Yenadizze,And again went rushing onward,Followed fast by Hiawatha,Crying: "Not so wide the world is,Not so long and rough the way Is,But my wrath shall overtake you,But my vengeance shall attain you!"
And so near he came, so near him,That his hand was stretched to seize him,His right hand to seize and hold him,When the cunning Pau-Puk-KeewisWhirled and spun about in circles,Fanned the air into a whirlwind,Danced the dust and leaves about him,And amid the whirling eddiesSprang into a hollow oak-tree,Changed himself into a serpent,Gliding out through root and rubbish.
With his right hand HiawathaSmote amain the hollow oak-tree,Rent it into shreds and splinters,Left it lying there in fragments.But in vain; for Pau-Puk-Keewis,Once again in human figure,Full in sight ran on before him,Sped away in gust and whirlwind,On the shores of Gitche Gumee,Westward by the Big-Sea-Water,Came unto the rocky headlands,To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone,Looking over lake and landscape.
And the Old Man of the Mountain,He the Manito of Mountains,Opened wide his rocky doorways,Opened wide his deep abysses,Giving Pau-Puk-Keewis shelterIn his caverns dark and dreary,Bidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcomeTo his gloomy lodge of sandstone.
There without stood Hiawatha,Found the doorways closed against him,With his mittens, Minjekahwun,Smote great caverns in the sandstone,Cried aloud in tones of thunder,"Open! I am Hiawatha!"But the Old Man of the MountainOpened not, and made no answerFrom the silent crags of sandstone,From the gloomy rock abysses.
Then he raised his hands to heaven,Called imploring on the tempest,Called Waywassimo, the lightning,And the thunder, Annemeekee;And they came with night and darkness,Sweeping down the Big-Sea-WaterFrom the distant Thunder Mountains;And the trembling Pau-Puk-KeewisHeard the footsteps of the thunder,Saw the red eyes of the lightning,Was afraid, and crouched and trembled.
Then Waywassimo, the lightning,Smote the doorways of the caverns,With his war-club smote the doorways,Smote the jutting crags of sandstone,And the thunder, Annemeekee,Shouted down into the caverns,Saying, "Where is Pau-Puk-Keewis!"And the crags fell, and beneath themDead among the rocky ruinsLay the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis,Lay the handsome Yenadizze,Slain in his own human figure.
Ended were his wild adventures,Ended were his tricks and gambols,Ended all his craft and cunning,Ended all his mischief-making,All his gambling and his dancing,All his wooing of the maidens.
Then the noble HiawathaTook his soul, his ghost, his shadow,Spake and said: "O Pau-Puk-Keewis,Never more in human figureShall you search for new adventures'Never more with jest and laughterDance the dust and leaves in whirlwinds;But above there in the heavensYou shall soar and sail in circles;I will change you to an eagle,To Keneu, the great war-eagle,Chief of all the fowls with feathers,Chief of Hiawatha's chickens."
And the name of Pau-Puk-KeewisLingers still among the people,Lingers still among the singers,And among the story-tellers;And in Winter, when the snow-flakesWhirl in eddies round the lodges,When the wind in gusty tumultO'er the smoke-flue pipes and whistles,"There," they cry, "comes Pau-Puk-Keewis,He is dancing through the village,He is gathering in his harvest!"
XVIII
The Death of Kwasind
Far and wide among the nationsSpread the name and fame of Kwasind;No man dared to strive with Kwasind,No man could compete with Kwasind.But the mischievous Puk-Wudjies,They the envious Little People,They the fairies and the pygmies,Plotted and conspired against him.
"If this hateful Kwasind," said they,"If this great, outrageous fellowGoes on thus a little longer,Tearing everything he touches,Rending everything to pieces,Filling all the world with wonder,What becomes of the Puk-Wudjies?Who will care for the Puk-Wudjies?He will tread us down like mushrooms,Drive us all into the water,Give our bodies to be eatenBy the wicked Nee-ba-naw-baigs,By the Spirits of the water!"
So the angry Little PeopleAll conspired against the Strong Man,All conspired to murder Kwasind,Yes, to rid the world of Kwasind,The audacious, overbearing,Heartless, haughty, dangerous Kwasind!
Now this wondrous strength of KwasindIn his crown alone was seated;In his crown too was his weakness;There alone could he be wounded,Nowhere else could weapon pierce him,Nowhere else could weapon harm him.