"Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus,"Wayha-way!" the mystic chorus.
Friends of mine are all the serpents!Hear me shake my skin of hen-hawk!Mahng, the white loon, I can kill him;I can shoot your heart and kill it!I can blow you strong, my brother,I can heal you, Hiawatha !"
"Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus,"Wayhaway!" the mystic chorus.
"I myself, myself! the prophet!When I speak the wigwam trembles,Shakes the Sacred Lodge with terror,Hands unseen begin to shake it!When I walk, the sky I tread onBends and makes a noise beneath me!I can blow you strong, my brother!Rise and speak, O Hiawatha!"
"Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus,"Way-ha-way!" the mystic chorus.
Then they shook their medicine-pouchesO'er the head of Hiawatha,Danced their medicine-dance around him;And upstarting wild and haggard,Like a man from dreams awakened,He was healed of all his madness.As the clouds are swept from heaven,Straightway from his brain departedAll his moody melancholy;As the ice is swept from rivers,Straightway from his heart departedAll his sorrow and affliction.
Then they summoned ChibiabosFrom his grave beneath the waters,From the sands of Gitche GumeeSummoned Hiawatha's brother.And so mighty was the magicOf that cry and invocation,That he heard it as he lay thereUnderneath the Big-Sea-Water;From the sand he rose and listened,Heard the music and the singing,Came, obedient to the summons,To the doorway of the wigwam,But to enter they forbade him.
Through a chink a coal they gave him,Through the door a burning fire-brand;Ruler in the Land of Spirits,Ruler o'er the dead, they made him,Telling him a fire to kindleFor all those that died thereafter,Camp-fires for their night encampmentsOn their solitary journeyTo the kingdom of Ponemah,To the land of the Hereafter.
From the village of his childhood,From the homes of those who knew him,Passing silent through the forest,Like a smoke-wreath wafted sideways,Slowly vanished Chibiabos!Where he passed, the branches moved not,Where he trod, the grasses bent not,And the fallen leaves of last yearMade no sound beneath his footstep.
Four whole days he journeyed onwardDown the pathway of the dead men;On the dead-man's strawberry feasted,Crossed the melancholy river,On the swinging log he crossed it,Came unto the Lake of Silver,In the Stone Canoe was carriedTo the Islands of the Blessed,To the land of ghosts and shadows.
On that journey, moving slowly,Many weary spirits saw he,Panting under heavy burdens,Laden with war-clubs, bows and arrows,Robes of fur, and pots and kettles,And with food that friends had givenFor that solitary journey.
"Ay! why do the living," said they,"Lay such heavy burdens on us!Better were it to go naked,Better were it to go fasting,Than to bear such heavy burdensOn our long and weary journey!"Forth then issued Hiawatha,Wandered eastward, wandered westward,Teaching men the use of simplesAnd the antidotes for poisons,And the cure of all diseases.Thus was first made known to mortalsAll the mystery of Medamin,All the sacred art of healing.
XVI
Pau-Puk-Keewis
You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis,He, the handsome Yenadizze,Whom the people called the Storm-Fool,Vexed the village with disturbance;You shall hear of all his mischief,And his flight from Hiawatha,And his wondrous transmigrations,And the end of his adventures.
On the shores of Gitche Gumee,On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo,By the shining Big-Sea-WaterStood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Keewis.It was he who in his frenzyWhirled these drifting sands together,On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo,When, among the guests assembled,He so merrily and madlyDanced at Hiawatha's wedding,Danced the Beggar's Dance to please them.
Now, in search of new adventures,From his lodge went Pau-Puk-Keewis,Came with speed into the village,Found the young men all assembledIn the lodge of old Iagoo,Listening to his monstrous stories,To his wonderful adventures.
He was telling them the storyOf Ojeeg, the Summer-Maker,How he made a hole in heaven,How he climbed up into heaven,And let out the summer-weather,The perpetual, pleasant Summer;How the Otter first essayed it;How the Beaver, Lynx, and BadgerTried in turn the great achievement,From the summit of the mountainSmote their fists against the heavens,Smote against the sky their foreheads,Cracked the sky, but could not break it;How the Wolverine, uprising,Made him ready for the encounter,Bent his knees down, like a squirrel,Drew his arms back, like a cricket.
"Once he leaped," said old Iagoo,"Once he leaped, and lo! above himBent the sky, as ice in riversWhen the waters rise beneath it;Twice he leaped, and lo! above himCracked the sky, as ice in riversWhen the freshet is at highest!Thrice he leaped, and lo! above himBroke the shattered sky asunder,And he disappeared within it,And Ojeeg, the Fisher Weasel,With a bound went in behind him!"
"Hark you!" shouted Pau-Puk-KeewisAs he entered at the doorway;"I am tired of all this talking,Tired of old Iagoo's stories,Tired of Hiawatha's wisdom.Here is something to amuse you,Better than this endless talking."
Then from out his pouch of wolf-skinForth he drew, with solemn manner,All the game of Bowl and Counters,Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces.White on one side were they painted,And vermilion on the other;Two Kenabeeks or great serpents,Two Ininewug or wedge-men,One great war-club, Pugamaugun,And one slender fish, the Keego,Four round pieces, Ozawabeeks,And three Sheshebwug or ducklings.All were made of bone and painted,All except the Ozawabeeks;These were brass, on one side burnished,And were black upon the other.
In a wooden bowl he placed them,Shook and jostled them together,Threw them on the ground before him,Thus exclaiming and explaining:"Red side up are all the pieces,And one great Kenabeek standingOn the bright side of a brass piece,On a burnished Ozawabeek;Thirteen tens and eight are counted."
Then again he shook the pieces,Shook and jostled them together,Threw them on the ground before him,Still exclaiming and explaining:"White are both the great Kenabeeks,White the Ininewug, the wedge-men,Red are all the other pieces;Five tens and an eight are counted."
Thus he taught the game of hazard,Thus displayed it and explained it,Running through its various chances,Various changes, various meanings:Twenty curious eyes stared at him,Full of eagerness stared at him.
"Many games," said old Iagoo,"Many games of skill and hazardHave I seen in different nations,Have I played in different countries.He who plays with old IagooMust have very nimble fingers;Though you think yourself so skilful,I can beat you, Pau-Puk-Keewis,I can even give you lessonsIn your game of Bowl and Counters!"
So they sat and played together,All the old men and the young men,Played for dresses, weapons, wampum,Played till midnight, played till morning,Played until the Yenadizze,Till the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis,Of their treasures had despoiled them,Of the best of all their dresses,Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine,Belts of wampum, crests of feathers,Warlike weapons, pipes and pouches.Twenty eyes glared wildly at him,Like the eyes of wolves glared at him.
Said the lucky Pau-Puk-Keewis:"In my wigwam I am lonely,In my wanderings and adventuresI have need of a companion,Fain would have a Meshinauwa,An attendant and pipe-bearer.I will venture all these winnings,All these garments heaped about me,All this wampum, all these feathers,On a single throw will ventureAll against the young man yonder!"`T was a youth of sixteen summers,`T was a nephew of Iagoo;Face-in-a-Mist, the people called him.