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IX
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 descending
Burned 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-water
Stretching 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 swiftly
You may pass the black pitch-water;
Slay this
merciless magician,
Save the people from the fever
That he breathes across the fen-lands,
And
avenge my father's murder!"
Straightway then my
Hiawatha
Armed 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 Hiawatha
Sang 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
Hiawatha
Cried 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 Hiawatha
Raised his mighty bow of
ash-tree,
Seized his arrows, jasper-headed,
Shot
them fast among the serpents;
Every twanging of the
bow-string
Was a war-cry and a death-cry,
Every
whizzing of an arrow
Was a death-song of Kenabeek.
Weltering in the bloody water,
Dead lay all the
fiery serpents,
And among them Hiawatha
Harmless
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 swiftly
He 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.
Westward thus fared Hiawatha,
Toward the realm of
Megissogwon,
Toward the land of the Pearl-Feather,
Till the level moon stared at him
In his face
stared pale and haggard,
Till the sun was hot behind
him,
Till it burned upon his shoulders,
And
before him on the upland
He could see the Shining
Wigwam
Of the Manito of Wampum,
Of the mightiest
of Magicians.
Then once more Cheemaun he patted,
To his birch-canoe said, "Onward!"
And it stirred in
all its fibres,
And with one great bound of triumph
Leaped across the water-lilies,
Leaped through
tangled flags and rushes,
And upon the beach beyond
them
Dry-shod landed Hiawatha.
Straight he took
his bow of ash-tree,
On the sand one end he rested,
With his knee he pressed the middle,
Stretched
the faithful bow-string tighter,
Took an arrow,
jasperheaded,
Shot it at the Shining Wigwam,
Sent it singing as a herald,
As a bearer of his
message,
Of his challenge loud and lofty:
"Come
forth from your lodge, Pearl-Feather!
Hiawatha waits
your coming!"
Straightway from the Shining Wigwam
Came the mighty Megissogwon,
Tall of stature, broad
of shoulder,
Dark and terrible in aspect,
Clad
from head to foot in wampum,
Armed with all his
warlike weapons,
Painted like the sky of morning,
Streaked with crimson, blue, and yellow,
Crested
with great eagle-feathers,
Streaming upward,
streaming outward.
"Well I know you, Hiawatha!"
Cried he in a voice of thunder,
In a tone of loud
derision.
"Hasten back, O Shaugodaya!
Hasten
back among the women,
Back to old Nokomis,
Faint-heart!
I will slay you as you stand there,
As of old I slew her father!"
But my Hiawatha
answered,
Nothing daunted, fearing nothing:
"Big
words do not smite like war-clubs,
Boastful breath
is not a bow-string,
Taunts are not so sharp as
arrows,
Deeds are better things than words are,
Actions mightier than boastings!"
Then began the
greatest battle
That the sun had ever looked on,
That the war-birds ever witnessed.
All a Summer's
day it lasted,
From the sunrise to the sunset;
For the shafts of Hiawatha
Harmless hit the shirt of
wampum,
Harmless fell the blows he dealt it
With
his mittens, Minjekahwun,
Harmless fell the heavy
war-club;
It could dash the rocks asunder,
But
it could not break the meshes
Of that magic shirt of
wampum.
Till at sunset Hiawatha,
Leaning on his
bow of ash-tree,
Wounded, weary, and desponding,
With his mighty war-club broken,
With his mittens
torn and tattered,
And three useless arrows only,
Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree,
From whose
branches trailed the mosses,
And whose trunk was
coated over
With the Dead-man's Moccasin-leather,
With the fungus white and yellow.
Suddenly from
the boughs above him
Sang the Mama, the woodpecker:
"Aim your arrows, Hiawatha,
At the head of
Megissogwon,
Strike the tuft of hair upon it,
At
their roots the long black tresses;
There alone can
he be wounded!"
Winged with feathers, tipped with
jasper,
Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow,
Just as
Megissogwon, stooping,
Raised a heavy stone to throw
it.
Full upon the crown it struck him,
At the
roots of his long tresses,
And he reeled and
staggered forward,
Plunging like a wounded bison,
Yes, like Pezhekee, the bison,
When the snow is
on the prairie.
Swifter flew the second arrow,
In
the pathway of the other,
Piercing deeper than the
other,
Wounding sorer than the other;
And the
knees of Megissogwon
Shook like windy reeds beneath
him,
Bent and trembled like the rushes.
But the
third and latest arrow
Swiftest flew, and wounded
sorest,
And the mighty Megissogwon
Saw the fiery
eyes of Pauguk,
Saw the eyes of Death glare at him,
Heard his voice call in the darkness;
At the
feet of Hiawatha
Lifeless lay the great
Pearl-Feather,
Lay the mightiest of Magicians.
Then the grateful Hiawatha
Called the Mama, the
woodpecker,
From his perch among the branches
Of
the melancholy pine-tree,
And, in honor of his
service,
Stained with blood the tuft of feathers
On the little head of Mama;
Even to this day he
wears it,
Wears the tuft of crimson feathers,
As
a symbol of his service.
Then he stripped the shirt
of wampum
From the back of Megissogwon,
As a
trophy of the battle,
As a signal of his conquest.
On the shore he left the body,
Half on land and
half in water,
In the sand his feet were buried,
And his face was in the water.
And above him,
wheeled and clamored
The Keneu, the great war-eagle,
Sailing round in narrower circles,
Hovering
nearer, nearer, nearer.
From the wigwam Hiawatha
Bore the wealth of Megissogwon,
All his wealth of
skins and wampum,
Furs of bison and of beaver,
Furs of sable and of ermine,
Wampum belts and
strings and pouches,
Quivers wrought with beads of
wampum,
Filled with arrows, silver-headed.
Homeward then he sailed exulting,
Homeward through
the black pitch-water,
Homeward through the
weltering serpents,
With the trophies of the battle,
With a shout and song of triumph.
On the shore
stood old Nokomis,
On the shore stood Chibiabos,
And the very strong man, Kwasind,
Waiting for the
hero's coming,
Listening to his songs of triumph.
And the people of the village
Welcomed him with
songs and dances,
Made a joyous feast, and shouted:
'Honor be to Hiawatha!
He has slain the great
Pearl-Feather,
Slain the mightiest of Magicians,
Him, who sent the fiery fever,
Sent the white fog
from the fen-lands,
Sent disease and death among
us!"
Ever dear to Hiawatha
Was the memory of
Mama!
And in token of his friendship,
As a mark
of his remembrance,
He adorned and decked his
pipe-stem
With the crimson tuft of feathers,
With the blood-red crest of Mama.
But the wealth of
Megissogwon,
All the trophies of the battle,
He
divided with his people,
Shared it equally among
them.
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