Passamaquoddy

Kʾchi Joe Benoit mʾdeaulin Kʾchi kʾnokwchil pohégunul.

Old Joe Benoit, a friend of mine, Was full of all unholy skill and power. He quarrelled with a man who like himself, Was wizard and a guileful, crafty foe. A giant turtle’s form Joe Benoit took; The other changed himself into a snake; The twain then met and fought in combat dire Within the waters of a little lake Which since that time has ever borne the name Of Neʿseyik, which means “the muddy lake,” Because their strife had stirred up all the soil And weeds, and roiled the waters of that pool. Joe Benoit slew his foe, the giant snake.

Old Lacote was a wizard made a trap, A deadfall trap for bear off in the woods. When he had set the trap all fast and firm, He crawled within to test the prop-stick stout. But by the magic arts of wizard foe Through old Sabatis’ guile who owed him hate, The prop-stick fell and let the great bear-trap Drop full upon old Lacote’s head and back. His son was there and dragged the old man forth. But Lacote knew to whom he owed ill-luck.

When I was fifteen years I saw a man Who had become a demon of the wood, A Miʿkumwess with power to change his size And art to sink into the rocky soil Up to his ankle-joints or knees as though ’twere sand. I saw myself the tracks where he had sunk Into a soil all full of rocks and roots.

My father was a wizard and had power To call unto his partner miles away. I’ve often heard him singing in the night All low and weird, and when the morning dawned, He’d tell me what his partner’s luck had been. I never knew his magic skill to fail.

My brother told me, many years ago, Some wizards had a quarrel, and they slew One of their number, took his corpse away And ate it on the isle of Grand Manan, Sitting upon a ledge above the sea.

Two men were hunting on an inland lake When suddenly they heard a fearful whoop As of a man in agony, who ran Adown the lake along the farther shore. They went out in their barque and there they saw Him come right up to where their shanty lay. Returning to the shore they begged him then: “Pray stay and eat,” but he, with accents wild, Cried: “Nay, I may not stop in this warm place. I must away, away unto the North, Where ice and snow shall cool my bounding blood.” This man was a Kiwaʿkw, a demon ghoul, Ice-giant—of that race which loves to prey Upon the tender flesh of man and babe. P.