Hiawatha and Mudjekeewis

Out of childhood into manhoodNow had grown my Hiawatha,Skilled in all the craft of hunters,Learned in all the lore of old men,In all youthful sports and pastimes,In all manly arts and labors.

Swift of foot was Hiawatha;He could shoot an arrow from him,And run forward with such fleetness,That the arrow fell behind him!Strong of arm was Hiawatha;He could shoot ten arrows upward,Shoot them with such strength and swiftness,That the tenth had left the bow-stringEre the first to earth had fallen!

He had mittens, Minjekahwun,Magic mittens made of deer-skin;When upon his hands he wore them,He could smite the rocks asunder,He could grind them into powder.He had moccasins enchanted,Magic moccasins of deer-skin;When he bound them round his ankles,When upon his feet he tied them,At each stride a mile he measured!

Much he questioned old NokomisOf his father Mudjekeewis;Learned from her the fatal secretOf the beauty of his mother,Of the falsehood of his father;And his heart was hot within him,Like a living coal his heart was.

Then he said to old Nokomis,“I will go to Mudjekeewis,See how fares it with my father,At the doorways of the West-Wind,At the portals of the Sunset!”

From his lodge went Hiawatha,Dressed for travel, armed for hunting;Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leggings,Richly wrought with quills and wampum;On his head his eagle-feathers,Round his waist his belt of wampum,In his hand his bow of ash-wood,Strung with sinews of the reindeer;In his quiver oaken arrows,Tipped with jasper, winged with feathers;With his mittens, Minjekahwun,With his moccasins enchanted.

Warning said the old Nokomis,“Go not forth, O Hiawatha!To the kingdom of the West-Wind,To the realms of Mudjekeewis,Lest he harm you with his magic,Lest he kill you with his cunning!”

But the fearless HiawathaHeeded not her woman’s warning;Forth he strode into the forest,At each stride a mile he measured;Lurid seemed the sky above him,Lurid seemed the earth beneath him,Hot and close the air around him,Filled with smoke and fiery vapors,As of burning woods and prairies,For his heart was hot within him,Like a living coal his heart was.

So he journeyed westward, westward,Left the fleetest deer behind him,Left the antelope and bison;Crossed the rushing Esconaba,Crossed the mighty Mississippi,Passed the Mountains of the Prairie,Passed the land of Crows and Foxes,Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet,Came unto the Rocky Mountains,To the kingdom of the West-Wind,Where upon the gusty summitsSat the ancient Mudjekeewis,Ruler of the winds of heaven.

Filled with awe was HiawathaAt the aspect of his father.On the air about him wildlyTossed and streamed his cloudy tresses,Gleamed like drifting snow his tresses,Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet,Like the star with fiery tresses.

Filled with joy was MudjekeewisWhen he looked on Hiawatha,Saw his youth rise up before himIn the face of Hiawatha,Saw the beauty of WenonahFrom the grave rise up before him.

“Welcome!” said he, “Hiawatha,To the kingdom of the West-WindLong have I been waiting for youYouth is lovely, age is lonely,Youth is fiery, age is frosty;You bring back the days departed,You bring back my youth of passion,And the beautiful Wenonah!”

Many days they talked together,Questioned, listened, waited, answered;Much the mighty MudjekeewisBoasted of his ancient prowess,Of his perilous adventures,His indomitable courage,His invulnerable body.

Patiently sat Hiawatha,Listening to his father’s boasting;With a smile he sat and listened,Uttered neither threat nor menace,Neither word nor look betrayed him,But his heart was hot within him,Like a living coal his heart was.

Then he said, “O Mudjekeewis,Is there nothing that can harm you?Nothing that you are afraid of?”And the mighty Mudjekeewis,Grand and gracious in his boasting,Answered, saying, “There is nothing,Nothing but the black rock yonder,Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek!”

And he looked at HiawathaWith a wise look and benignant,With a countenance paternal,Looked with pride upon the beautyOf his tall and graceful figure,Saying, “O my Hiawatha!Is there anything can harm you?Anything you are afraid of?”

But the wary HiawathaPaused awhile, as if uncertain,Held his peace, as if resolving,And then answered, “There is nothing,Nothing but the bulrush yonder,Nothing but the great Apukwa!”

And as Mudjekeewis, rising,Stretched his hand to pluck the bulrush,Hiawatha cried in terror,Cried in well-dissembled terror,“Kago! kago! do not touch it!”“Ah, kaween!” said Mudjekeewis,“No indeed, I will not touch it!”

Then they talked of other matters;First of Hiawatha’s brothers,First of Wabun, of the East-Wind,Of the South-Wind, Shawondasee,Of the North, Kabibonokka;Then of Hiawatha’s mother,Of the beautiful Wenonah,Of her birth upon the meadow,Of her death, as old NokomisHad remembered and related.

And he cried, “O Mudjekeewis,It was you who killed Wenonah,Took her young life and her beauty,Broke the Lily of the Prairie,Trampled it beneath your footsteps;You confess it! you confess it!”And the mighty MudjekeewisTossed upon the wind his tresses,Bowed his hoary head in anguish,With a silent nod assented.

Then up started Hiawatha,And with threatening look and gestureLaid his hand upon the black rock,On the fatal Wawbeek laid it,With his mittens, Minjekahwun,Rent the jutting crag asunder,Smote and crushed it into fragments,Hurled them madly at his father,The remorseful Mudjekeewis,For his heart was hot within him,Like a living coal his heart was.

But the ruler of the West-WindBlew the fragments backward from him,With the breathing of his nostrils,With the tempest of his anger,Blew them back at his assailant;Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa,Dragged it with its roots and fibresFrom the margin of the meadow,From its ooze the giant bulrush;Long and loud laughed Hiawatha!

Then began the deadly conflict,Hand to hand among the mountains;From his eyry screamed the eagle,The Keneu, the great war-eagle,Sat upon the crags around them,Wheeling flapped his wings above them.

Like a tall tree in the tempestBent and lashed the giant bulrush;And in masses huge and heavyCrashing fell the fatal Wawbeek;Till the earth shook with the tumultAnd confusion of the battle,And the air was full of shoutings,And the thunder of the mountains,Starting, answered, “Baim-wawa!”

Back retreated Mudjekeewis,Rushing westward o’er the mountains,Stumbling westward down the mountains,Three whole days retreated fighting,Still pursued by HiawathaTo the doorways of the West-Wind,To the portals of the Sunset,To the earth’s remotest border,Where into the empty spacesSinks the sun, as a flamingoDrops into her nest at nightfallIn the melancholy marshes.

“Hold!” at length cried Mudjekeewis,“Hold, my son, my Hiawatha!’T is impossible to kill me,For you cannot kill the immortalI have put you to this trial,But to know and prove your courage;Now receive the prize of valor!

“Go back to your home and people,Live among them, toil among them,Cleanse the earth from all that harms it,Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers,Slay all monsters and magicians,All the Wendigoes, the giants,All the serpents, the Kenabeeks,As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa,Slew the Great Bear of the mountains.

“And at last when Death draws near you,When the awful eyes of PaugukGlare upon you in the darkness,I will share my kingdom with you,Ruler shall you be thenceforwardOf the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin.”

Thus was fought that famous battleIn the dreadful days of Shah-shah,In the days long since departed,In the kingdom of the West-Wind.Still the hunter sees its tracesScattered far o’er hill and valley;Sees the giant bulrush growingBy the ponds and water-courses,Sees the masses of the WawbeekLying still in every valley.

Homeward now went Hiawatha;Pleasant was the landscape round him,Pleasant was the air above him,For the bitterness of angerHad departed wholly from him,From his brain the thought of vengeance,From his heart the burning fever.

Only once his pace he slackened,Only once he paused or halted,Paused to purchase heads of arrowsOf the ancient Arrow-maker,In the land of the Dacotahs,Where the Falls of MinnehahaFlash and gleam among the oak-trees,Laugh and leap into the valley.

There the ancient Arrow-makerMade his arrow-heads of sandstone,Arrow-heads of chalcedony,Arrow-heads of flint and jasper,Smoothed and sharpened at the edges,Hard and polished, keen and costly.

With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter,Wayward as the Minnehaha,With her moods of shade and sunshine,Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate,Feet as rapid as the river,Tresses flowing like the water,And as musical a laughter:And he named her from the river,From the water-fall he named her,Minnehaha, Laughing Water.

Was it then for heads of arrows,Arrow-heads of chalcedony,Arrow-heads of flint and jasper,That my Hiawatha haltedIn the land of the Dacotahs?

Was it not to see the maiden,See the face of Laughing WaterPeeping from behind the curtain,Hear the rustling of her garmentsFrom behind the waving curtain,As one sees the MinnehahaGleaming, glancing through the branches,As one hears the Laughing WaterFrom behind its screen of branches?

Who shall say what thoughts and visionsFill the fiery brains of young men?Who shall say what dreams of beautyFilled the heart of Hiawatha?All he told to old Nokomis,When he reached the lodge at sunset,Was the meeting with his father,Was his fight with Mudjekeewis;Not a word he said of arrows,Not a word of Laughing Water.