Chapter IX: Lox, the Indian Devil

[_Passamaquoddy_]

_Laks uskiehinwi Wahant
Nekŭm mechikit wesis kchikok._[69]

Lox the Wolverine,
Is of all the beasts of the forest
Crafty and most ferocious,
Cunning and utterly given
To every kind of mischief.
In all the world of the wood
There is none so utterly evil,
And therefore he is called
By right, the Indian Devil.

Now it happened on a time,
That Lox, or the Wolverine,
Who had many a time been killed,
And as often rose from the dead
By his sheer force of will--
The one great gift he had--
Found himself down in luck,
Yea, very deeply down.
Crossing in bitter winter
A wide and dismal region
Very poorly supplied
For travel of any kind,
The cold wind blew like knives,
Snow fell with sleet and frost,
And hail and pelting rain
All in bad company
Came on him all in one.

And yet this evil soul
Was reckless through it all
And jolly, for he had
With every devilish vice
One virtue, as I said,
One saving gift, and that
Was, that of all the beasts
Who in the forest dwelt,
Or devils in Hʿlamkîk
(That is the Indian hell),
He had the hardest heart,
Toughest, as all allowed,
And most unconquerable.
He was the first to fight
And last one to give in
(Indeed, he never did
Give in, nor meant to do),
From which it came that he
Was specially admired
By all the blackguard beasts
Who prowled about the woods;
Wherein they differed little
From many among men.

Now, as of all the rogues,
Rowdies and rascal roughs,
The Wolves are just the worst,
You may right well believe
That ’twas with wondrous joy
Lox heard, as night came on,
Afar a long sad howl,
Betokening the presence
Of a pack of these pleasant folk;
It was music to the ears
Of the Indian Devil, Lox.

So he lifted up his voice
All in the Wolfish tongue;
For he was deeply learned
In many languages;
And soon was in the midst
Of a score of howling beasts
Of lupine land-loafers,
Who danced and rolled and screamed,
Biting each other for joy
At seeing him again--
The Indian Devil, Lox.

And then the eldest wolf
The Sagem or the chief,
Said unto him: “I hope
Thou’lt camp with us to-night;
For truly it is ill
For any gentleman
To be alone where he
Might meet with vulgar beasts!”
And Lox replied as if
He did a favor, all
With condescending air;
And ate their best dried meat,
And took the highest place
Beside their fires, and smoked
The chief’s best _tomawe_,
That is tobacco, from
The chieftain’s choicest pipe;
While all the others grinned
At his tremendous cheek,
To see him put it on--
The Indian Devil, Lox.

And when they laid them down
To sleep, the Sagamore
Said to the younger wolves:
“Be sure and cover up
The stranger with your tails.”
But Lox, who thought it was
A blanket made of fur,
Soon threw the cover off,
And then the chief and all
Admired the plucky guest
Who seemed to have no care
Of cold, or for their care;
And little did he care--
The Indian Devil, Lox.

Then in the early morn
When he would wend his way,
The Sagem of the Wolves
Said to the Wolverine:
“Oh Uncle--thou hast yet
Before thee three long days
All in a land where there
Is neither house nor hearth,
And thou wilt find it hard
To camp without a fire;
Now by good luck I have
An admirable spell
By which thou canst have fires,
And only three--yet they
Will serve thee to the end--
This is the way ’tis done:
Build up a pile of sticks,
And then jump over it,
Even as children do,
And thou wilt see it blaze.
This is a sacred charm
Of great antiquity
A secret ’mong the wolves.
Thou art the very first,
Not of our holy race,
To whom it hath been given;
No Gentile knoweth it.”
And so he bade farewell
To the Indian Devil Lox.

So Lox went trudging on,
Away unto the West;
And, as he went, he thought
Of the great gift of the
Peculiar pious race,
And, wondering to himself
If ’twere not all a flam,
Since ’twas his nature to
Suspect all kinds of deeds,
As he had ne’er done one
Save to some evil end,
And being curious
And very anxious to
Behold some strange new thing,
He said unto himself:
“Tush! I will try it now.”
So piling up some sticks
He bounded over them;
They burst into a blaze.
So all had come to pass
As the Wolf prophesied:
Which greatly did amaze
The Indian Devil Lox.

So having warmed himself
He went his way with joy,
But very soon observed
That it grew cold again.
The wind blew sharp and shrill,
The snow began to fall,
And Lox began to think
How very nice ’twould be,
And pleasant, to be _warm_.
Now ’tis a curious truth
All very wicked men
Have always _one_ weak spot,
So Lox the Wolverine
Without reflection piled
More sticks together; then
Jumped over them at once.
Up leaped a jolly blaze
As if to dance with him;
This was the second fire
And he had still three nights
Of bitter killing cold,
Ere he could reach his home--
The Indian Devil Lox!

And yet this Wolverine
Who was wise in all that’s bad,
Wicked and witty in sin,
Had not indeed gone far
Or out-walked the afternoon,
Before he began to think,
As he shivered and cursed the cold,
Of lighting another fire.
“Ah--hem!” he said, “who knows
But the weather may take a turn
To a thaw, and give us a night
Which _may_ be rather warm!
_Hum! ha!_ Methinks by the look
Of the clouds that the wind may be
South-westerly! I think
I have heard my grandmother say:
That a color such as I see,
Of red in the sky, means something--
I forget what it is--but it may be
A change for the better--or worse!
Well, I’ll take the chance.” Thus saying,
He piled up the sticks again,
And had a third fire--although
The first night had not come.
But he warmed himself and was happy--
The Indian Devil Lox!

Then as it grew dark and darker,
As the coals and sticks grew blacker,
When a fire is dying away,
He came to his camping place,
And then it grew cold in earnest,
A cold to split a flint.
However, Lox the Believing,
Said, “What is good for once
Must surely be good for ever,”
And made up a pile of sticks,
Then gayly jumping over
Awaited the cheerful blaze.
But all in vain, not a sparkle,
Not a hint of anything burning,
Not even a tiny crackle
Came from the silent wood.
But as Lox was persevering,
He hopefully kept on jumping,
Till after some thirty efforts
There arose a little smoke
Which came as if it were angry
At being so frequently called,
And then returned no more.
But Lox to himself repeating
“All smoke has fire behind it,”
Kept bravely at his leaping
Until the Indian Devil
Of madness and desperation
Awoke within his soul,
And he swore by it that he ever
Would keep straight on with his jumping
Till something blazed--or burst!
He himself was almost blazing--
The Indian Devil Lox.

So he kept on a-leaping,
But to him there came no comfort,
Not even the glow of a spark;
And being at last aweary
He fell in a swoon on the wood-pile,
And so he froze to death,
And that was the last that winter,
Which was heard of him in the land.
Yet I think in time he recovered,
For since then, he very often
Has appeared among the people--
Lox, The Indian Devil,
The Indian Devil Lox. L.

FOOTNOTES:

[69] Lox, the Indian Devil, is the worst beast in the woods.

=L’Envoi=

L’ENVOI

O happy sylvan hours and days of yore!
O quaint old speech which echoes in our ears!
From you we learn our country’s early lore,
The forest people’s sorrows, joys and fears.
So pass in peace, ye simple woodland race!
We may no longer hope to bid you live.
In our mad turmoil ye can have no place,
But we have taken what ye have to give. P.

APPENDIX

=The Passamaquoddy Wampum Records=