Passamaquoddy

Piʾchce uskichinwi otenesis Pakichiotote pemtanikek.

Long, long ago, Far, far away in the mountains An Indian village stood, Little known to other men; All lived therein at their ease, The men did well in their hunting The women worked at home, And all went well—save in one thing And that one thing was this: That the town lay by a brook And except in the stream there was not A single drop of water In all the country round Save in the puddles of rain. No one of all these Indians Had ever found a spring, Yet they all were very fond Of a drink of good, clear water And that in their brook was good. So over it they grew dainty And were very proud of it.

But after a time they saw That the brook was running low, Not only in summer time, But in autumn after the rains; And as the water fell Their spirits, too, sank low; But day by day it grew less, Until its bed was as dry As a dead bone is, which lies In the ashes of a fire.

Now they had sometime heard That, far away in the hills Where none of them had been, There was another village Upon this very stream; But what kind of people dwelt Therein, no one could say; So, thinking that these folk Knew something about the drought, They sent a man to look Into the thing. Three days Onward and upward he went, Till on the third he came Unto the village where He found a solid dam Built over the rivulet So that no water could pass, But all was kept in a pond.

Then, asking the village folk Why they had done this evil, Since ’twas of no use to them, They said: “Go ask our chief, It was he who ordered it.”

And when the messenger came To see the Sagamore, Behold, there lay before him, Lazily in the mud, A creature who was more Of monster than of man— Though truly in human form— For he was immense in size, In measure like a giant, Fat, bloated, at all points Most brutal to behold; His great, round, yellow eyes Stuck from his head as knots Or knobsticks from a pine. His mouth with stringy lips Went well from ear to ear; His feet were broad and flat, With toes immensely long— He was marvellous to behold!

And unto him the man Set forth his just complaint, To which the brute at first Made no reply beyond A most uncivil grunt And a croak, but he said at last In a loud, bellowing voice, Such as we sometimes hear At night from pond or pool: “Do as you choose, “Do as you choose, “Do as you choose! “What do I care? “What do I care? “What do I care? “If you want water, “If you want water, “If you want water, “Go somewhere else.”

Then the messenger told How his people were pining Near dead of their thirst, Which seemed hugely to please The monster, who grinned for joy, Till at last he rose to his feet. And, making a single spring Of many rods to the dam, Took an arrow and bored a hole So that a little water Just trickled out, and then cried: “Up and begone, “Up and begone, “Up and begone!” Then the messenger returned In sorrow to his people, Bringing them little joy, And for a very few days There was a little water, Then it stopped and they suffered again.

Now these good Indians, who Were the honestest fellows alive, Best natured in all the world, And never harmed any one Except their enemies, Were in a pickle indeed; For sad it is to have Nothing but water to drink; But to want even that When one is raging with thirst Is worse than waiting for dinner When we have no dinner to wait for. Now this the Lord Kulóskap, Who was merciful in heart And knew all that was passing In the hearts of his Indian children, Observed, and pitying them Came to them all at once; For he ever came as the wind And no man e’er wist how.

Now, just before he came, These honest Indians Had in a council resolved To send their boldest man Though ’twere to certain death, Even unto the village Where dwelt the evil chief Who built the cursèd dam Which kept the water with which They slaked their thirst when they Could get it—that is to say, Whenever the water was running. And when he got there, the brave Was either to obtain That the water-dam be cut, Or, failing, do something desperate— They knew not exactly what; But it was expected by all That if he were refused He would paint the village with care Of a deep vermilion hue, Leaving on every lodge Blood, and in this intent, Should, armed at every point, Go with his tomahawk, His axe and scalping-knife Singing his death-song, too, As he went on his way; And they were all agog.

Now the Master was greatly pleased When he observed all this, For nothing delighted him more Than plucky, desperate deeds; So he resolved that he Would see to this thing himself.

Therefore he came to them— The people of the town Which was then so high and dry— Looking so terribly fierce That in all the land there was none Who was half so horrible; For he seemed to be ten feet high, With a hundred wonderful plumes, Feathers of red and black, From his scalp-lock uprising; His face fresh-painted like blood, Green rings around his eyes, While a very large clam-shell hung From either ear, and behind, A great spread eagle, which Was awful to behold, Flapped wings at every step; So that the hearts of all Beat as he entered the village, For as simple Indians, they Accounted that this must be Either Lox, the Wolverine, Or Michihant the Devil Himself in person, who Had turned to Indian form. And the squaws declared that they Had ne’er seen aught so fine, Such a lovely, lovable man!

Then the Master having heard The whole of their terrible tale, Bade them cheer up, for he Would soon set all to rights. So without delay he went Straight up the bed of the brook, And coming to the town Sat down, and bade a boy Bring him some water to drink; To which the boy replied That not a drop could be had In that town unless ’twere given Out by the chief himself.

“Then go to your Sagamore,” Said the Master, “and bid him hurry, Or verily I will know The reason why I wait.” And when the boy had gone There was no reply before An hour, when the boy returned, During which time the Master Sat on a log and smoked. Then at last the messenger Came with a little cup Which was only just half full Of water, extremely foul. Then the Master rose and said: “Now I will go to your chief, And I think that he soon will give Far better water than this!”

And having come to the chief He said, “Now give me to drink And that of the best, at once, Thou villainous Thing of Mud!”

Then the Sagamore in a rage Bellowed: “Begone and find Thy water where thou canst;” When Kulóskap thrust his spear At once into the beast, Into his belly, lo! Gushed forth a mighty stream, For it was all the water Which should have run in the brook— He had taken it all to himself!

Then the Master, rising high As any giant pine, Caught the monster in his hand, And crumpled in his back With a mighty grip—and lo! It was the Bull-Frog! Then He hurled him with contempt Into the stream to follow The current ever on.

And ever since that time The Bull-Frog’s back has borne Those crumpled wrinkles which Are in the lower part: These are the print-marks made By the Master’s awful squeeze.

Kulóskap then returned Unto the town, but there Found not a living soul, For a marvellous thing had come To pass while he was gone; A thing which shall be heard In every Indian’s speech Through all the ages, as ’Tis told by all to-day.

For as these people were, As I said, good simple folk, They had talked together, just As boys do at their play, When they are hungry, thus: “What would you like to have?” When another will reply: “Truly, I’d like to eat A good hot venison steak, With maple sugar and bear’s oil;” “Nay, give me for my part Some succotash and honey.” Even so these villagers said: “Suppose you really had All the cold sparkling water There is in the world, what then Would you do with it?” One replied, “I would live in the soft smooth mud, And always be wet and cool.”

To which another said, That he would plunge from the rocks And dive in the deep cold stream, Aye drinking as he dived.

And the third said: “I would be washed Up and down with the rippling waves, Living at will on land, Or in the water;” Then The fourth said: “None of you Know how to wish, and I Will teach you how. I’d live In water all the time. And forever swim in it!”

Now it chanced that these things were said In the hour when, while it passes Over the world, all the wishes Which are uttered by men are granted. And so it was with these Indians; For the first became a leech, The second a spotted frog, The third a crab which is washed Up and down with the tide, And the fourth a fish which swims A-drinking ever more.

Ere this, there had been in the world None of the creatures which dwell In the water, but now they were there Of every kind. And the river Came rushing and roaring on, And they all went headlong down Into the endless ocean, To be washed into many lands, And places all over the world, Forever and ever more.