Native American Myths and Beliefs

by Tom Lowenstein

  Other dangerous creatures of the primordial world were rendered harmless by the brave intervention of humans. For example, the Arikara Paw -nee of the Plains tell a story of a man-eating buffalo that terrorized the first inhabitants of the Earth until it was overcome. These first people, who came out of the Earth, hunted and ate many different kinds of animal, but they had not yet encountered the buffalo. Eventually, on their travels, they came across a lake, from which emerged a buffalo-like horned monster which they called Cut-Nose. Both Cut-Nose and the buffaloes that sprang from its body were ferocious, pursuing the people and killing many of them. For a while, the people held them in check by creating deep canyons, but the buffaloes always managed to circumvent these obstacles and slaughter their victims at will.

  The slaughter was finally halted when people learned to defend themselves. A young man, alarmed by overhearing the beasts planning a massacre, fled to the hills. Here, he encountered a stranger who instructed him in the use of the bow and arrow and told him to pass this knowledge on to his people. The next time that the marauding buffaloes emerged from the Earth, the people conducted a furious assault on them with the weapons they had made. They succeeded in killing many of the animals and put the rest to flight. Ever since that time, buffaloes have been the hunted rather than the hunters.

  Sacred and Terrifying Creatures

  Many Native American cultures have myths of primeval monsters that conduct a reign of terror before being overcome. Yet the horrifying, grotesque nature of certain monsters does not preclude them from being venerated as spiritual beings.

  In North America, there are dangerous and unpleasant creatures aplenty, such as poisonous reptiles, spiders or mosquitoes. However, Native myths rarely bemoan their existence, but rather assign them a role in the drama of humans, animals and spirit beings.

  The terrifying monsters of Native American mythology are of two basic types. First, there are giant, or otherwise only slightly altered, versions of familiar species. Secondly, there are fantastic beings that bear only a remote resemblance to humans or animals. Tales concerning the first type of monster are generally straightforward. Many archaic stories introduce primeval versions of well-known animals that are more threatening than their modern counterparts—telling, for example, of carnivorous ravens, deer and caribou, or of predators with enhanced powers. Thus one Alaskan Inuit myth describes a ten-legged polar bear. Such stories customarily follow an established pattern: the animal’s career of predation is followed either by its destruction or by its transformation into a familiar form.

  A common myth is that of the giant bird; on the Northwest Coast and in Alaska, numerous legends tell of eagles so huge that they carry off whales to feed their young. Similarly, a Southeastern myth concerns a giant turkey that once preyed on humans. At a meeting called to discuss how to destroy the bird, the people chose a black snake and a puppy to lead the attack. When the turkey next alighted, the snake rushed forward and tried to whip it but missed. The puppy then ran at the monster from behind and knocked it over, whereupon the men closed in and clubbed it to death. From then on, turkeys were easy to hunt and kill.

  Fantastic creatures are particularly prevalent in Alaskan Inuit mythology. This tradition venerates several kinds of monstrous or grotesque figures as spirit beings. Some Inuit myths are about subterranean or submarine spirit “people” who either help humans by providing them with animals to hunt or punish those who transgress against sacred laws by ensuring that game animals suddenly become scarce. One such group of spirits was under the control of a hybrid being, half-man and half-wolf, whose constant companion was a grotesque, dwarfish creature with immense ears designed to listen to human activity above ground. Success in hunting involved enlisting the cooperation of these spirits. Similarly, whale hunting among the Inuit was associated with a myth in which a Trickster raven harpooned a nameless whale-like sea beast; after it had expired, the beast’s body changed into the land inhabited by the whale hunters. As a result of this transformation, the Inuit regarded both the beast and their homeland as sacred.

  A Tlingit headdress representing the sea monster gonaquadet, a transforming spirit that brings fortune to some fishermen and hunters, and death to others.

  The fearsome Thunderbird is depicted here in a Kwakiutl ceremonial costume. The dancer wearing this imposing garb would appear with a loud screeching and flapping of wings.

  Another sacred monster was the great horned snake of the Mississippi Valley. Excavations of many burial sites and temple mounds along the river (see page 48) have uncovered evidence of a cult devoted to a horned or plumed serpent. A story narrated by the Cheyenne gives one account of the origin of this fearsome yet sacred being. Two young men who were journeying together came across two immense eggs lying on the prairie. One of them refused to touch the eggs, but the other, overcome with hunger, built a fire and cooked them. The men set off again, but the one who had eaten began to feel sick. Presently his legs grew heavy, and he noticed that the skin on them had become dark and scaly. They continued their journey, but the man was becoming more like a snake and was gradually reduced to crawling and then dragging his body. He felt a powerful urge to swim, and when they stopped by a lake, he spent all night splashing and writhing in the water. By this time, only his head and arms were still those of a human. He heard the spirits calling him to the Mississippi River, and he asked his friend to help him get there.

  After enduring many hardships, the two companions finally reached the great river as night was falling. Exhausted, the friend of the snake-man immediately fell asleep. When he awoke in the morning, he heard a voice calling to him from the river. Glancing towards the water, he saw that his friend had been transformed into a great snake with blue skin and two horns protruding from its head. “This is where I belong, my friend,” said the snake-man. “My body will lie along the riverbed for all eternity.” Saying this, the serpent told his friend to instruct the people in how he should be venerated: “Everyone who comes to the river should bring with them fine meat and good tobacco and drop these offerings in midstream. If they observe this courtesy, I will give them my blessing.” Thereafter, whenever Cheyenne people crossed the Mississippi they followed these rules and so gained the benefit of the river serpent’s favor.

  The Child-Eating Ogress of Oregon

  A story about a monster that devours children is told by the Wasco people from the Columbia River region in Oregon. Like many such tales, it combines serious and comic elements. While evoking childhood terrors of the unseen and the unknown, at the same time it presents the object of fear as stupid and clumsy. The story’s central character is the Atatalia, a hideous ogress whose gargantuan body is covered in spots and stripes.

  A brother and sister were out gathering flints, when the little girl became scared: “Hurry,” she said, “or the Atatalia might get us!” But no sooner had she spoken than she looked around and saw the Atatalia. The children ran as fast as their legs could carry them, but the ogress caught them and put them in her great basket, which she tied securely shut. She then set off for home to feed her own children on these two tasty morsels.

  In the basket, the boy’s foot began to itch painfully from where the girl was sitting on it. “Sister,” he said, “you’re hurting my foot where I have an itch.” The Atatalia misheard this for something that sounded very similar in the Wasco language, and asked, alarmed,“What is the matter? Are my children burning up?” Immediately, the girl saw a way to frighten the monster and gain their release, so she responded: “Your children are burning up, for sure!” Terrified, the monster woman hung up her basket on the branch of an oak tree and started to run home. As soon as she had gone, the children took a flint, cut the strings of the basket cover and clambered out. Filling the basket with stones and dirt, they hung it up again and ran to the river.

  When the Atatalia came back from her fruitless journey, she took down the basket without checking, put it on her back and returned home once more, where she discovered that the c
hildren had escaped. She immediately set out again to recapture them.

  The boy, who had magical powers, placed five rivers as obstacles in the monster’s path. The Atatalia jumped the first river with ease, but enjoyed it so much that she repeated her leap five times, and she did the same at the next four. Finally, she spied the children ahead of her and breathed in to drag them backwards. But as soon as she breathed out again, the children flew off ahead of her.

  When they came to the Columbia River, the children jumped into a canoe. They implored the fish to eat the Atatalia and the cliffs to crush her. When the monster reached the river, she waded in and tried in vain to suck the canoe towards her. Then the fish began to nibble her body, and the rocks came crashing down on her. At length, the stupid ogress gave up and waded off to nurse her wounds, leaving the children to make good their escape.

  Humans and Animals

  The relationship between humans and animals was fundamental to all aspects of Native American life. For most peoples, survival without animals would have been impossible. Meat, skin, bone, sinew, feather and ivory supplied almost all the essential needs of daily existence.

  Aside from their practical utility, animals also played a vital role in the spiritual life of Native American communities. Animals, after all, had been present at the creation and were thought to embody certain aspects of that mythical time. In some regards, animals were even envied: whereas humans, in order to feed and clothe themselves, had arduously to hunt and gather, animals fed at relative leisure and did not need to make clothing and weapons.

  Importantly, all animals were believed to possess souls. Some—notably, such big-game animals as the buffalo, eagle and bear—had powerful spirits that could help people or harm them according to how they were treated. Animals were therefore revered as holy beings. However, there was no contradiction in the universal Indian view that the sacred and beautiful must also be hunted, killed and eaten.

  It was essential for human beings to gain an intimate knowledge of the animal kingdom. Every Native American growing up in a traditional society acquired, from an early age, an immense store of wisdom about the natural history of the fauna in their locality. This included an understanding of animal behavior, anatomy, feeding patterns, breeding habits and migratory cycles. Combined with this knowledge was a repertory of specialized hunting techniques; to learn these required intense intellectual and physical application. To hunt successfully meant adapting knowledge to specific situations, together with a detailed understanding of topography and environment. The consummate hunter knew where and when to stalk his prey, and at what precise moment to strike in any given weather conditions. Moreover, this body of practical knowledge was underpinned by a rich fund of myth, legend, songs, rituals and local history. Without it, a hunter could not place his actions in context. To hunt, therefore, meant infinitely more than simply killing and eating. Rather, it was an act fraught with complex rules of conduct and spiritual significance.

  To Native Americans, therefore, hunting combined a high degree of flexibility and initiative with a strict observation of social and religious conventions. In some cultures, the male hunter is symbolized by the moon, because, in contrast to the sun, which follows a fixed course, the moon wanders through the sky “like a man, a hunter: going where he wants, seldom in the same place for long.”

  An Alaskan inuit shaman’s mask combining a spirit being’s face with the image of a seal. The seal was one of the principal animals hunted by Arctic and subarctic societies.

  Summoning the Buffalo to Aid the Hunter

  For a major undertaking such as a buffalo hunt, the Plains people undertook spiritual preparations that were as meticulously detailed as the tactics of the chase itself. Apache hunters were typical in their care over the correct hunting and butchering techniques.

  The Apache would begin their preparations for hunting by praying that the guardian spirit of the buffalo would ensure a plentiful supply of animals. The hunters lit a sacred pipe and petitioned the animal’s spirit with the following wish: “There will be many. There will be much meat. We will camp among them.”

  The people would then sing and dance in honor of the buffalo, mimicking the animal’s horns by putting their hands to their heads.

  At times when the herds were scarce, the Apache observed a special hunting ritual, conducted by the community’s shaman. A piece of level ground was prepared, on which the shaman would scatter dung and pollen. As the people prayed, he performed four songs and imitated the bellowing of buffalo.

  At the conclusion of a successful hunt, butchering had to be conducted according to a stringent procedure, lest the animal’s soul be offended and its companions avoid future hunters. First, the hide was cut along the right shoulder. The foreleg and shoulder were then severed. A slice of fatty meat was cut from the back and thrown towards the east as an offering to the animal’s spirit. The remainder of the animal was turned into food and clothing.

  Care and reverence were shown even in dealing with the rest of the carcass. The feet, in particular, were treated with great respect, for fear of incurring the wrath of the spirit and being trampled by the herd’s hooves on the next hunt.

  A painting of a buffalo Dance among Plains peoples by the artist george Catlin (1794–1872).

  Animal Spouses and Guardians

  Almost all Native North American societies have myths concerning human and animal marriages. The human spouse may be male or female, and the animal partner is usually one of the larger mammals or birds. The range of species into which legendary people marry is extensive, including buffalo, deer, brown bear, dog, whale, eagle and gull.

  There are an abundance of Inuit stories that tell of wandering heroes who are married to a succession of animals. In one such tale, the hero weds a polar bear, a brown bear and a whale. After a brief liaison, each animal wife is destroyed, while the husband himself narrowly escapes death. Thus, although these relationships initiate the hero into the spirit world of animals, their violent end shows how they violated the natural order.

  The same ambiguity is present in an Inuit story of the swan maidens. This recounts how a man once approached a lake where some swans, who had shed their clothes and adopted the guise of women, were bathing. Concealing the feathered garments of one of the swan-women, the man took her to his home, where they lived happily together and raised children. One day, however, the woman discovered her swan-skin and fled, taking her children with her. When the man tracked them down, his wife feigned death to escape his wrath. But during the ensuing burial, she rose up from the grave, and he struck her dead. He also killed several of the swans who were in attendance.

  However, when relationships between hu mans and animals were completely harmonious, even death could be overcome and the animals’ souls reborn. A myth of the Thompson Indians of British Columbia tells of one such happy human–animal marriage. A renowned deer hunter harbored a deep love of the animals that he hunted. One day, as he was following some tracks through the forest, he came upon a woman who confessed her love for him and led him to her underground lair in the hills. There, the hunter was welcomed as the woman’s husband by deer in human guise. The following day, they asked him to go hunting; he agreed, and returned with two young deer for them. The deer people were overjoyed and ate the meat he had provided. At the end of the meal, they said to the hunter, “We have saved every bone. Now take them to the water.” He did as he was instructed, and the two deer immediately sprang to life again.

  A clay sculpture by twentieth century New mexico artist helen Cordero shows the importance of the storyteller in Native American life. Among the stories relayed by the storyteller were legends of marriage between a person and an animal. in many stories the animal wife or husband could take the form of a human.

  At length, when the deer woman had given birth to a son, she and her husband agreed that the time had come for them to visit his people. So, she magically condensed some provisions into a small bundle, and they set off. Once
they had arrived in the village where the husband’s people lived, they treated the villagers to a sumptuous feast. Although the hunter and the deer woman stayed for a time among the people, they finally returned to the deer; the man eventually became one of them. However, his son remained in the village, teaching the people how to hunt and to observe the proper rituals that ensured that their prey would always be reborn.

  The Elk Guardian Spirit

  Native American hunters were guided by a rigid code of ethics. Lying or boasting about hunting prowess was forbidden, as was killing more animals than the individual or community required. Anyone transgressing these rules would be punished by the guardian spirit of the animals. A story of the Wasco of the Northwest Coast stresses the importance of observing this code.

  A boy who hunted squirrels and birds was once upbraided by his boastful father: “When I was your age, I hunted elks.” Pointing to a scar on his forehead, he lied, “An elk did this.” In fact, he had gashed it stumbling into a tree. The young man soon became a proficient hunter. He had gained the protection of a she-elk, who told him: “If you serve me, I will be your guardian spirit. But you must not kill too many animals.”

  Nevertheless, his father continued to mock his son’s meager tally of kills. At this, the elk lost patience and had her protégé slaughter five elk herds. But his bloodlust was so great that he turned on his guardian. She ran into a lake and, feigning death, sank below the water as he clung to her.

  At the bottom of the lake, the man came to his senses, and he saw countless elk in the guise of people. A voice called, “Draw him in.” The hunter was drawn to the side of his guardian, who said: “Why did you exceed my command? Do you see all the elk-people that you have killed? Your father lied. Tree bark cut him, not an elk’s horn. I can no longer be your guardian.” Then another voice cried: “Cast him out!” and the young man was sent back to his village. He lay in bed five days and nights and then called for water. “Heat water and wash me. Call my friends so that I may talk to them. And bring five elk-skins.”