And he smote it in his anger,With his fist, the heart of Nahma,Felt the mighty King of FishesShudder through each nerve and fibre,Heard the water gurgle round himAs he leaped and staggered through it,Sick at heart, and faint and weary.
Crosswise then did HiawathaDrag his birch-canoe for safety,Lest from out the jaws of Nahma,In the turmoil and confusion,Forth he might be hurled and perish.And the squirrel, Adjidaumo,Frisked and chatted very gayly,Toiled and tugged with HiawathaTill the labor was completed.
Then said Hiawatha to him,"O my little friend, the squirrel,Bravely have you toiled to help me;Take the thanks of Hiawatha,And the name which now he gives you;For hereafter and foreverBoys shall call you Adjidaumo,Tail-in-air the boys shall call you!"
And again the sturgeon, Nahma,Gasped and quivered in the water,Then was still, and drifted landwardTill he grated on the pebbles,Till the listening HiawathaHeard him grate upon the margin,Felt him strand upon the pebbles,Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes,Lay there dead upon the margin.
Then he heard a clang and flapping,As of many wings assembling,Heard a screaming and confusion,As of birds of prey contending,Saw a gleam of light above him,Shining through the ribs of Nahma,Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls,Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering,Gazing at him through the opening,Heard them saying to each other,"'T is our brother, Hiawatha!"
And he shouted from below them,Cried exulting from the caverns:"O ye sea-gulls! O my brothers!I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma;Make the rifts a little larger,With your claws the openings widen,Set me free from this dark prison,And henceforward and foreverMen shall speak of your achievements,Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls,Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers!"
And the wild and clamorous sea-gullsToiled with beak and claws together,Made the rifts and openings widerIn the mighty ribs of Nahma,And from peril and from prison,From the body of the sturgeon,From the peril of the water,They released my Hiawatha.
He was standing near his wigwam,On the margin of the water,And he called to old Nokomis,Called and beckoned to Nokomis,Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma,Lying lifeless on the pebbles,With the sea-gulls feeding on him.
"I have slain the Mishe-Nahma,Slain the King of Fishes!" said he'"Look! the sea-gulls feed upon him,Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea-gulls;Drive them not away, Nokomis,They have saved me from great perilIn the body of the sturgeon,Wait until their meal is ended,Till their craws are full with feasting,Till they homeward fly, at sunset,To their nests among the marshes;Then bring all your pots and kettles,And make oil for us in Winter."
And she waited till the sun set,Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun,Rose above the tranquil water,Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls,From their banquet rose with clamor,And across the fiery sunsetWinged their way to far-off islands,To their nests among the rushes.
To his sleep went Hiawatha,And Nokomis to her labor,Toiling patient in the moonlight,Till the sun and moon changed places,Till the sky was red with sunrise,And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls,Came back from the reedy islands,Clamorous for their morning banquet.
Three whole days and nights alternateOld Nokomis and the sea-gullsStripped the oily flesh of Nahma,Till the waves washed through the rib-bones,Till the sea-gulls came no longer,And upon the sands lay nothingBut the skeleton of Nahma.
IX
Hiawatha and the Pearl-Feather
On the shores of Gitche Gumee,Of the shining Big-Sea-Water,Stood Nokomis, the old woman,Pointing with her finger westward,O'er the water pointing westward,To the purple clouds of sunset.
Fiercely the red sun descendingBurned his way along the heavens,Set the sky on fire behind him,As war-parties, when retreating,Burn the prairies on their war-trail;And the moon, the Night-sun, eastward,Suddenly starting from his ambush,Followed fast those bloody footprints,Followed in that fiery war-trail,With its glare upon his features.
And Nokomis, the old woman,Pointing with her finger westward,Spake these words to Hiawatha:"Yonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather,Megissogwon, the Magician,Manito of Wealth and Wampum,Guarded by his fiery serpents,Guarded by the black pitch-water.You can see his fiery serpents,The Kenabeek, the great serpents,Coiling, playing in the water;You can see the black pitch-waterStretching far away beyond them,To the purple clouds of sunset!
"He it was who slew my father,By his wicked wiles and cunning,When he from the moon descended,When he came on earth to seek me.He, the mightiest of Magicians,Sends the fever from the marshes,Sends the pestilential vapors,Sends the poisonous exhalations,Sends the white fog from the fen-lands,Sends disease and death among us!
"Take your bow, O Hiawatha,Take your arrows, jasper-headed,Take your war-club, Puggawaugun,And your mittens, Minjekahwun,And your birch-canoe for sailing,And the oil of Mishe-Nahma,So to smear its sides, that swiftlyYou may pass the black pitch-water;Slay this merciless magician,Save the people from the feverThat he breathes across the fen-lands,And avenge my father's murder!"
Straightway then my HiawathaArmed himself with all his war-gear,Launched his birch-canoe for sailing;With his palm its sides he patted,Said with glee, "Cheemaun, my darling,O my Birch-canoe! leap forward,Where you see the fiery serpents,Where you see the black pitch-water!"
Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting,And the noble HiawathaSang his war-song wild and woful,And above him the war-eagle,The Keneu, the great war-eagle,Master of all fowls with feathers,Screamed and hurtled through the heavens.
Soon he reached the fiery serpents,The Kenabeek, the great serpents,Lying huge upon the water,Sparkling, rippling in the water,Lying coiled across the passage,With their blazing crests uplifted,Breathing fiery fogs and vapors,So that none could pass beyond them.
But the fearless HiawathaCried aloud, and spake in this wise,"Let me pass my way, Kenabeek,Let me go upon my journey!"And they answered, hissing fiercely,With their fiery breath made answer:"Back, go back! O Shaugodaya!Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!"
Then the angry HiawathaRaised his mighty bow of ash-tree,Seized his arrows, jasper-headed,Shot them fast among the serpents;Every twanging of the bow-stringWas a war-cry and a death-cry,Every whizzing of an arrowWas a death-song of Kenabeek.
Weltering in the bloody water,Dead lay all the fiery serpents,And among them HiawathaHarmless sailed, and cried exulting:"Onward, O Cheemaun, my darling!Onward to the black pitch-water!"
Then he took the oil of Nahma,And the bows and sides anointed,Smeared them well with oil, that swiftlyHe might pass the black pitch-water.
All night long he sailed upon it,Sailed upon that sluggish water,Covered with its mould of ages,Black with rotting water-rushes,Rank with flags and leaves of lilies,Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal,Lighted by the shimmering moonlight,And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined,Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled,In their weary night-encampments.
All the air was white with moonlight,All the water black with shadow,And around him the Suggema,The mosquito, sang his war-song,And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee,Waved their torches to mislead him;And the bull-frog, the Dahinda,Thrust his head into the moonlight,Fixed his yellow eyes upon him,Sobbed and sank beneath the surface;And anon a thousand whistles,Answered over all the fen-lands,And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,Far off on the reedy margin,Heralded the hero's coming.