Chapter VII: How the Indians Lost Their Power

[_Penobscot_]

_Uskichinwi pilskwessis muiso Ktatnok
Naya kamach okiwachitahasin._[67]

All of the olden time!
Once as an Indian girl
Was gathering blue-berries,
On Mount Katahdin’s side,
She felt a strange loneliness,
And said unto herself:
“I would that I were wed
Unto some brave great man!”
And, seeing the great mount
In glory rising high
E’en as ’twere to heaven
(White the red sunlight shone
Upon the very head),
She said: “A man indeed,
Like great Katahdin there!
High rising over all,
That were the man for me.”
This she was heard to say
Ere she went further on
Up to the mountain top--
Three years then passed away
Ere she was seen again,
And then when she returned
’Twas with a charming child,
The fairest in the land;
Only one thing was strange:
His eyebrows were of stone.

She had been wed in truth,
To Mount Katahdin’s self;
The Spirit of the Mount
Had ta’en her to himself,
And when she greatly longed
To see her folk again,
He said: “Then go in peace.”
But one thing he forbade
With terrible command:
That she should ever tell
To any mortal soul
Who ’twas had married her.

The boy had wondrous gifts;
The sages of the tribe
Said he was soon to be
A mighty sorcerer;
For when he did but point
His finger at the moose,
Or anything which ran,
At once it would drop dead,
Killed by his magic will;
And, when in a canoe
He pointed at the ducks,
The wild fowl swam no more,
And all the water round
Was full of floating game
Which all might gather in,
As freely as they would.
And so it came to pass
That through that wondrous Boy
The mother and her tribe
Had ever food enough.

Now this is all the truth,
And ’twas a wondrous thing,
As ever yet was told.
Katahdin the great lord
Of the Wabanaki;
The children of the Light,
Or of the Break of Day;
Had wed him to the girl
That she might have a child
Who should raise up the tribe,
And make them great once more
Even a mighty race,
The Lords of all the land.
And so to her he said:
“Declare unto thy folk
That they shall never ask
Of thee, who was the sire
Of this brave lad, our son;
They’ll know it all right well
If they but see his face,
And thou shalt not be teased
By questions and by talk
From fools who fain would know
The by-ways of a god.”

And so she made it known
That none should question her,
And gave them all their food,
And bade them let her be!

And truly this was like
The casting oil on fire,
And men and women all
Were raging to inquire
About the mystery,
And ask the wife herself
Who might her husband be?
Though everybody knew
In all the country round.
And though it had been said
That life and death and all
Hung on her telling naught.

Though what were life or death
To any woman born,
Likewise to many a man,
Compared unto the joy
Of learning that which is
None of their business--
And tattling it abroad?

And so they pressed her sore,
Still teasing her to tell,
And giving her no rest
As fools are wont to do.
Until one day, enraged,
She thought: “This passes strength
And I’ll bear it no more.
Truly my lord was right,
These people are too vile,
Too petty and too mean,
For subjects to my son,
He ne’er shall lead them on
To glorious victory!
They are not of the kind
To make a mighty race:
With them it shall be o’er!”

And as they still kept on
Tormenting, teasing her.
She spoke and said: “Ye fools!
Who fain would kill yourselves
By your own folly, ye
Mud-wasps who sting the hands
Which fain would pluck you forth
When drowning in the pool.
Why will ye trouble me
To tell you what ye know?
When ye keep asking me
‘Who my boy’s father was?’
Can ye not plainly see
Katahdin in his brows?
Now it shall be indeed
To your great woe and pain,
And abject misery,
That ever ye did ask
Of what concerned you not.
So now from this day forth,
Ye all may feed yourselves;
For now my boy no more
Will lend his help to you.”

So she arose and went
Her way into the woods
And up the mountain side,
Leading her little son;
And from that day and hour
Was seen on earth no more.

And since that time our tribe
With all the Indian folk
Who once might have become
A great and glorious race,
Have dwindled down into
A very little folk.
For when our minds grow small
And gossip is our god,
We must diminish too.
Truly it had been wise
For them of olden time,
And for us too, indeed,
Could they have held their tongues. L.

FOOTNOTES:

[67] Long ago an Indian girl was walking on Katahdin and she felt very lonesome.