After a while Raven decided to follow her. He found that his tail was tied, and to get free he had to resume his true form. As he flew over the girl, he cried out, “Once more I cheat you,” then caw-cawed and glided away. The girl got home safely and told her mother that her rich husband was Raven, who had come to them covered with lime, which the rain had melted.
Raven was always cheating the people, so they finally took his beak away from him. After a time he went up the river and made a raft, which he loaded with moss. Floating down to the camps on it, he told the people that his head was sore where his beak had been torn off, and that he was lying in the moss to cool it. Then he went back upriver and made several more rafts. When the people saw these floating down toward them, they thought that a large group of warriors was coming to help Raven regain his beak. They held a council and decided to send a young girl to take the beak to an old woman who lived alone at some distance from the camp.
Raven, who had concealed himself among them and heard the council’s plans, waited until the girl came back. Then he went to the old woman and told her that the girl wanted her to return the beak to him. Suspecting nothing, the old woman gave him his beak. He put it on and flew away, cawing with pleasure at his success. The warriors who had been on the rafts proved to be nothing but the tufts or hummocks of bog moss which are commonly known as têtes de femmes.
—Retold from an account in the
Journal of American Folk-Lore, 1900.
THE BLUEBIRD AND COYOTE
[PIMA]
The bluebird was once a very ugly color. But there was a lake where no river flowed in or out, and the bird bathed in it four times every morning for four mornings. Every morning it sang:
There’s a blue water, it lies there.
I went in.
I am all blue.
On the fourth morning it shed all its feathers and came out of the lake in its bare skin, but on the fifth morning it came out with blue feathers.
All this while Coyote had been watching the bird. He wanted to jump in and get it, but he was afraid of the water. On that fifth morning he said, “How is it that all your ugly color has come out and now you are blue and gay and beautiful? You’re more beautiful than anything that flies in the air. I want to be blue too.”
Coyote was at that time a bright green. “I went in four times,” said the bird, and taught Coyote the song. So Coyote went in four times, and the fifth time he came out as blue as the little bird.
That made him feel very proud. As he walked along, he looked on every side to see if anyone was noticing how fine and blue he was. He looked to see if his shadow was blue too, and so he was not watching the road. Presently he ran into a stump so hard that it threw him down in the dirt, and he became dust-colored all over. And to this day all coyotes are the color of dirt.
—A story reported by Frank Russell in 1908.
ADVENTURES OF GREAT RABBIT
[ALGONQUIAN]
Among the Micmac and Passamaquoddy of the Northeast coast it is Mahtigwess the Rabbit who is a powerful trickster. Rabbit has m’téoulin, great magical powers.
Wildcat is mean and ferocious. He has a short tail and big, long, sharp fangs, and his favorite food is rabbit. One day when Wildcat was hungry, he said to himself: “I’m going to catch and eat Mahtigwess, Great Rabbit, himself. He’s plump and smart, and nothing less will do for my dinner.” So we went hunting for Great Rabbit.
Now, Great Rabbit can sense what others are thinking from a long way off, so he already knew that Wildcat was after him. He made up his mind that he would use his magic power against Wildcat’s strength. He picked up a handful of wood chips, threw them ahead of himself, and jumped after them, and because Great Rabbit is m’téoulin, every jump was a mile. Jumping that far, of course, he left very few tracks to follow.
Wildcat swore a mighty oath that he would catch Great Rabbit, that he would find him even if Mahtigwess had fled to the end of the world. At that time Wildcat had a beautiful long tail, and he swore by it: “Let my tail fall off—may I have just a little stump for a tail—if I fail to catch Great Rabbit!”
After a mile he found Rabbit’s tracks. After another mile he found some more tracks. Wildcat was not altogether without magic either, and he was persevering. So mile by mile, he kept on Rabbit’s trail.
In fact, Wildcat was drawing closer and closer. It grew dark and Great Rabbit grew tired. He was on a wide, empty plain of snow, and there was nothing to hide behind except a little spruce tree. He stomped on the snow and made himself a seat and bed of spruce boughs.
When Wildcat came to that spot, he found a fine, big wigwam and stuck his head through the door. Sitting inside was an old, gray-haired chief, solemn and mighty. The only strange thing about him was that he had two long ears standing up at each side of his head.
“Great Chief,” said Wildcat, “have you by any chance seen a biggish rabbit running like mad?”
“Rabbits? Why of course, there are hundreds, thousands of rabbits hereabouts, but what’s the hurry? It’s late and you must be tired. If you want to hunt rabbits, start in the morning after a good night’s sleep. I’m a lonely man and enjoy the company of a respected personage like you. Stay overnight; I have a fine rabbit stew cooking here.”
Wildcat was flattered. “Big Chief, I am honored,” he said. He ate a whole kettle full of tasty rabbit stew and then fell asleep before the roaring fire.
Wildcat awoke early because he was freezing. He found himself alone in the midst of a huge snowfield. Nothing was there, no wigwam, no fire, no old chief; all he could see were a few little spruce boughs. It had been a dream, an illusion created by Great Rabbit’s magic. Even the stew had been an illusion, and Wildcat was ravenous.
Shivering in the icy wind, Wildcat howled: “Rabbit has tricked me again, but I’ll get even with him. By my tail, I swear I’ll catch, kill, and eat him!”
Again Great Rabbit traveled with his mile-wide jumps, and again Wildcat followed closely. At nightfall Rabbit said to himself: “Time to rest and conjure something up.” This time he trampled down a large area and spread many pine boughs around.
When Wildcat arrived, he found a large village full of busy people, though of what tribe he couldn’t tell. He also saw a big wooden church painted white, the kind the French Jesuits were putting up among some tribes. Wildcat went up to a young man who was about to enter the church. “Friend, have you seen a biggish rabbit hereabouts, running away?”
“Quiet,” said the young man, “we’re having a prayer meeting. Wait until the sermon is over.” The young man went into the church, and Wildcat followed him. There were lots of people sitting and listening to a gray-haired preacher. The only strange thing was the two long ears sticking up at each side of the priest’s cap. He was preaching a very, very long sermon about the wickedness of ferocious wild beasts who tear up victims with their big, sharp fangs and then devour them. “Such savage fiends will be punished for their sins,” said this preacher over and over.
Wildcat didn’t like the long sermon, but he had to wait all the same. When the preaching was over at last, he went up to the priest with the long ears and asked: “Sir, have you seen a very sacred, biggish rabbit hereabouts?”
“Rabbits!” exclaimed the preacher. “We have a wet, foggy cedar swamp nearby with thousands of rabbits.”
“I don’t mean just any rabbit; I’m speaking of Great Rabbit.”
“Of him I know nothing, friend. But over there in that big wigwam lives the wise old chief, the Sagamore. Go and ask him; he knows everything.”
Wildcat went to the wigwam and found the Sagamore, an imposing figure, gray-haired like the preacher, with long white locks sticking up on each side of his head. “Young man,” said the Sagamore gravely, “what can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for the biggish Great Rabbit.”
“Ah! Him! He’s hard to find and hard to catch. Tonight it’s too late, but tomorrow I’ll help you. Sit down, dear man. My daughters will give you a
fine supper.”
The Sagamore’s daughters were beautiful. They brought Wildcat many large wooden bowls of the choicest food, and he ate it all up, because by now he was very hungry. The warmth of the fire and his full stomach made him drowsy, and the Sagamore’s daughters brought him a thick white bearskin to sleep on. “You people really know how to treat a guest,” said Wildcat as he fell asleep.
When he awoke, he found himself in a dismal, wet, foggy cedar swamp. Nothing was there except mud and icy slush and a lot of rabbit tracks. There was no village, no church, no wigwam, no Sagamore, no beautiful daughters. They had all been a mirage conjured up by Great Rabbit. The fine food had been a mirage too, and Wildcat’s stomach was growling. He was ankle-deep in the freezing swamp. The fog was so thick he could hardly see anything. Enraged, he vowed to find and kill Great Rabbit even if he should die in the attempt. He swore by his tail, his teeth, his claws—by everything dear to him. Then he hastened on.
That night Wildcat came to a big longhouse. Inside, it was like a great hall, and it was full of people. On a high seat sat the chief, who wore two long white feathers at each side of his head. This venerable leader also had beautiful daughters who fed all comers, for Wildcat had stumbled into the midst of a great feast.
Exhausted and panting, he gasped, “Has any one seen the bi-big-biggish G-G-Great Ra-Rab-Rabbit?”
“Later, friend,” said the chief with the two white feathers. “We are feasting, dancing, singing. You seem exhausted, poor man! Sit down; catch your breath. Rest. Eat.”
Wildcat sat down. The people were having a singing contest, and the chief on his high seat pointed at Wildcat and said, “Our guest here looks like a fine singer. Perhaps he will honor us with a song.”
Wildcat was flattered. He arose and sang:
Rabbits!
How I hate them!
How I despise them!
How I laugh at them!
How I kill them!
How I scalp them!
How I eat them!
“A truly wonderful song,” said the chief. “I must reward you for it. Here’s what I give you.” And with that the chief jumped up from his high seat, jumped over Wildcat’s head, struck him a blow with his tomahawk, kept on jumping with mile-long leaps—and all was gone. The longhouse, the hall, the people, the daughters: none remained. Once more Wildcat found himself alone in the middle of nowhere, worse off than ever, for he had a gash in his scalp where Great Rabbit had hit him with the tomahawk. His feet were sore, his stomach empty. He could hardly crawl. But he was more infuriated than ever. “I’ll kill him!” he growled, “I’ll give my life! And the tricks are over; he won’t fool me again!”
That night Wildcat came to two beautiful wigwams. In the first was a young woman, obviously a chief’s daughter. In the other was someone whom Wildcat took for her father, an elderly, gray-haired, gentle-looking man with two scalp locks sticking up at the sides of his head.
“Come in, come in, poor man,” said the gray-haired host. “You’re wounded! My daughter will wash and cure that cut. And we must build up your strength. I have a fine broth here and a pitcher full of wine, the drink Frenchmen make. It has great restorative powers.”
But Wildcat was suspicious. “If this is Great Rabbit in disguise again, he won’t fool me,” he promised himself.
“Dear sir,” said Wildcat, “I hesitate to mention it, but the two scalp locks sticking up at the sides of your head look very much like rabbit’s ears.
“Rabbit’s ears? How funny!” said the old man. “Know, friend, that in our tribe we all wear our scalp locks this way.”
“Ah,” said Wildcat, “but your nose is split exactly like a rabbit’s nose.”
“Don’t remind me, friend. Some weeks ago I was hammering wampum beads, and the stone I was using to pound them on broke in half. A sharp piece flew up and split my nose—a great misfortune, because it does disfigure me.”
“It does indeed. A pity. But why are your soles so yellow, like a rabbit’s soles?”
“Oh, that’s nothing. I prepared some tobacco yesterday, and the juice stained my palms yellow.”
Then Wildcat said to himself: “This man is no rabbit.”
The old man called his daughter, who washed Wildcat’s wound, put a healing salve into it, and bathed his face. Then the old man gave him a wonderfully strengthening broth and a large pitcher of sweet wine.
“This wine is really good,” said Wildcat, “the first I ever tasted.”
“Yes, these white people, these Frenchmen, are very clever at making good things to drink.”
When Wildcat awoke, he found, of course, that he had been tricked again. The food he had eaten was rabbit pellets, the wine was stale water in a half-wilted pitcher plant. Now it was only his great hatred that kept Wildcat going, but go he did, like a streak, on Rabbit’s tail.
Mahtigwess, Great Rabbit, had only enough m’téoulin, enough magic power, left for one more trick. So he said to himself: “This time I’d better make it good!”
Great Rabbit came to a big lake and threw a chip of wood into the water. Immediately it turned into a towering ship, the kind white men build, with tall sides, three masts, white sails, and colored flags. That ship was pierced on each side with three rows of heavy cannon.
When Wildcat arrived at this lake, he saw the big ship with its crew. On deck was the captain, a gray-haired man with a large, gold-trimmed, cocked hat that had fluffy white plumes right and left.
“Rabbit!” cried Wildcat, “I know you! You’re no French captain; you’re Great Rabbit. I know you, Mahtigwess! I am the mighty Wildcat, and I’m coming to scalp and kill you now!”
And with that, Wildcat jumped into the lake and swam toward the ship. Then the captain, who indeed was Mahtigwess, the Great Rabbit, ordered his men to fire their muskets and the three rows of heavy cannon. Bullets went whistling by Wildcat; cannonballs flew toward him; the whole world was spitting thunder and fire.
Wildcat had never before faced white men’s firearms; they were entirely new to him. It didn’t matter that ship, cannon, muskets, cannonballs, bullets, fire, noise, and smoke were merely illusions conjured up by Rabbit. To Wildcat they were real, and he was scared to death. He swam back to shore and ran away. And if he hasn’t died, he is running still.
And yes, as Wildcat had sworn by his tail to catch and kill Rabbit, his tail fell off, and ever since then this kind of big wildcat has a short, stumpy tail and is called a bobcat.
—Based on an account by Charles G. Leland, 1884.
[WHITE MOUNTAIN APACHE]
Long ago when all the animals talked like people, Turkey overheard a boy begging his sister for food. “What does your little brother want?” he asked the girl. “He’s hungry, but we have nothing to eat,” she said.
When Turkey heard this, he shook himself all over. Many kinds of fruits and wild food dropped out of his body, and the brother and sister ate these up. Turkey shook himself again, and a variety of corn that is very large dropped out of his feathers. He shook himself a third time, and yellow corn dropped out. And when he shook himself for the fourth time, white corn dropped out.
Bear came over, and Turkey told him, “I’m helping to feed my sister and my brother, over there.” Bear said, “You can shake only four times to make food come out of you, but I have every kind of food on me, from my feet to my head.”
Bear shook himself, and out of his fur dropped juniper berries. He shook himself again, and out dropped a cactus that is good to eat. Then he shook out acorns, then another kind of cactus, then Gambel oak acorns, then blue oak acorns, then piñon nuts, then a species of sumac, then manzanita berries, then wild mulberries, then saguaro fruit.
Turkey said to the boy and girl, “I have four kinds of corn seeds here for you, and this is a good place to plant them.” The sister and brother cut digging sticks and made holes with them. In the holes they planted all their corn seeds. The next day the corn had already come up and was about a foot and a half high. The girl s
aid, “We still have some squash seeds here,” so they planted them too.
The boy and girl asked Turkey for more corn seed. “The corn is coming up nicely,” they said, “so we want to make another farm and plant more corn there.” Turkey gave them the seed, and they left him to look after their first fields while they started off to make the other farm.
When they came back, they heard Turkey hollering at the corn field. They ran down there and saw him dragging one wing along the ground on the side toward them. There were snakes on the other side of him, and he pretended to have a broken wing to lure the snakes away and shield the boy and girl. The squash plants had young squash on them, and the corn had grown tall and formed ears and tassels. The tassels had pollen in them, and the snakes had come to gather the pollen out of the corn plants. Turkey told the boy and girl to stay away from the corn for four days, when the snakes would be finished. At the end of the four days, the corn was ripe. Turkey told them, “This will be the only time when the corn will come up in four days. From now on it will take quite a while.” And it does.
By now the brother and sister had planted corn three times, and they gave seeds to other people. Then Slim Coyote came and asked for some. “The corn you planted is growing well, and the ears are coming out on it,” he said. “I’d like to have some seeds to plant for myself.”
Coyote would have to do lots of work if he wanted to raise his corn, but that wasn’t his plan. “These other people here plant their corn, and after it’s grown, they have to cook it. Me, I’m not going to do it that way. Ill cook my corn first and then plant it, so I won’t have to bother to cook it when it’s ripe.” Here’s where Coyote made a big mistake. He cooked his corn, ate some, and planted quite a patch of the rest. He felt pretty good about it. “Now I’ve done well for myself. You people have to cook your corn after you plant it, but mine will be already cooked,” he said.
AMERICAN INDIAN MYTHS AND LEGENDS Page 41