Flying with the Eagle, Racing the Great Bear

by Joseph Bruchac

  All through that day, they kept the Nyagwahe in sight, drawing closer bit by bit. When the sun began to set, Swift Runner stopped to make camp. He took off the third pair of moccasins, whose soles were worn away to nothing, and put on the last pair.

  “Tomorrow,” he said to his small dog, “we will catch the monster and kill it.” He reached for his pouch of cornmeal and maple sugar, but when he opened it, he found it filled with worms. The magic of the Nyagwahe had done this. Swift Runner poured out the pouch and said in a loud voice, “You have spoiled our food, but it will not stop me. I am on your trail. You cannot escape me.”

  That night, once again, he was awakened by the growling of his dog. A dark figure stood just outside the circle of light. It looked smaller than the night before, and the glow of its eyes was weak.

  “I am Nyagwahe,” the dark figure said. “Why do you pursue me?”

  “You cannot escape me,” Swift Runner said. “I am on your trail. You killed my people. You threatened the Great Peace. I will not rest until I catch you.”

  “Hear me,” said the Nyagwahe. “I see your power is greater than mine. Do not kill me. When you catch me, take my great teeth. They are my power, and you can use them for healing. Spare my life and I will go far to the north and never again bother the People of the Longhouse.”

  “You cannot escape me,” Swift Runner said. “I am on your trail.”

  The dark figure faded back into the darkness, and Swift Runner sat for a long time, looking into the night.

  At the first light of day, the boy and his dog took the trail. They had not gone far when they saw the Nyagwahe ahead of them. Its sides puffed in and out as it ran. The trail was beside a big lake with many alder trees close to the water. As the great bear ran past, the leaves were torn from the trees. Fast as the bear went, the boy and his dog came closer, bit by bit. At last, when the sun was in the middle of the sky, the giant bear could run no longer. It fell heavily to the earth, panting so hard that it stirred up clouds of dust.

  Swift Runner unslung his grandfather’s bow and notched an arrow to the sinewy string.

  “Shoot for my heart,” said the Nyagwahe. “Aim well. If you cannot kill me with one arrow, I will take your life.”

  “No,” Swift Runner said. “I have listened to the stories of my elders. Your only weak spot is the sole of your foot. Hold up your foot and I will kill you.”

  The great bear shook with fear. “You have defeated me,” it pleaded. “Spare my life and I will leave forever.”

  “You must give me your great teeth,” Swift Runner said. “Then you must leave and never bother the People of the Longhouse again.”

  “I shall do as you say,” said the Nyagwahe. “Take my great teeth.”

  Swift Runner lowered his bow. He stepped forward and pulled out the great bear’s teeth. It rose to its feet and walked to the north, growing smaller as it went. It went over the hill and was gone.

  Carrying the teeth of the Nyagwahe over his shoulder, Swift Runner turned back to the west, his dog at his side. He walked for three moons before he reached the place where the bones of his people were piled in front of the monster’s empty cave. He collected those bones and walked around them four times. “Now,” he said, “I must do something to make my people wake up.” He went to a big hickory tree and began to push it over so that it would fall on the pile of bones.

  “My people,” he shouted, “get up quickly or this tree will land on you.”

  The bones of the people who had been killed all came together and jumped up, alive again and covered with flesh. They were filled with joy and gathered around Swift Runner.

  “Great one,” they said, “who are you?”

  “I am Swift Runner,” he said.

  “How can that be?” one of the men said. “Swift Runner is a skinny little boy. You are a tall, strong man.”

  Swift Runner looked at himself and saw that it was so. He was taller than the tallest man, and his little dog was bigger than a wolf.

  “I am Swift Runner,” he said. “I was that boy and I am the man you see before you.”

  Then Swift Runner led his people back to the village. He carried with him the teeth of the Nyagwahe, and those who saw what he carried rejoiced. The trails were safe again, and the Great Peace would not be broken. Swift Runner went to his grandmother’s lodge and embraced her.

  “Grandson,” she said, “you are now the man I knew you would grow up to be. Remember to use your power to help the people.”

  So it was that Swift Runner ran with the great bear and won the race. Throughout his long life, he used the teeth of the Nyagwahe to heal the sick, and he worked always to keep the Great Peace.

  Da neho. I am finished.

  Granny Squannit and the Bad Young Man

  Wampanoag

  Long ago, Tooquahmi Squannit lived in a cave near the sand dunes at Cummaquid. Granny Squannit was an old, old woman. She was short and strong, and she wore her long black hair over her face so that only her mouth could be seen. She avoided other people most of the time and knew a great deal about medicine. Even though Granny Squannit lived away from the village at Nauset, she always seemed to know all of the things that were going on with the people. She was especially interested in the children. If a child misbehaved, she might appear suddenly in front of that child to frighten him. It was said that any child who had seen Granny Squannit was always good after that.

  In those days, when a boy reached a certain age, it was the custom for him to go through a special initiation to prepare himself to become a man. That boy would be blindfolded and taken out deep into the forest by his uncle to a place where he was expected to stay for three moons. He was given nothing to help take care of himself. While he was gone he would have to build his own shelter and gather his own food. The boy was supposed to think deeply about the responsibility of being a man and caring for the people. This vigil in the forest was not an easy thing to do, but every boy who wished to become a man would do it.

  One boy, however, refused to do as his elders suggested. When the time came for him to go alone into the forest, he said no. This boy always thought of himself first and not of others. He would not listen to advice from others. He showed no respect to his elders, even his own grandparents. It seemed as if a bad spirit had gotten into his heart, and there was no way to stop his bad behavior. His father spoke to him, but the boy did not change. His uncle spoke to him, but the boy ignored him. His grandfather spoke to him, but the boy paid no attention. Even the sachem, the old chief of the village, spoke to the boy, but it had no effect. In fact, if that boy was not watched every minute, he would destroy things.

  “Where is our son?” his father asked one day.

  “I do not know,” his mother said, “but I smell something burning.”

  “Ah-ha! He has made a fire behind the lodge and is burning my arrows!”

  The boy was taken to the pauwau, the wise old man who was able to cure diseases of the spirit and see deep into the heart of any sickness. The old man looked into the boy’s face. He tried his strongest medicines, but they did not touch the badness that held on to the boy’s heart. As soon as the pauwau turned his back, the boy grabbed the old man’s wampum belts and ran down and threw them over the cliff into the ocean.

  “There is nothing I can do,” the pauwau said. “He is a bad young man.”

  And so that became the boy’s name among the people: Bad Young Man. From that time on, no one called him by any other name.

  One day, Bad Young Man followed some of the younger children down to the river. As soon as they got there, he began to push them into the water. But as he was doing this, a canoe came up the river. Even though the person in the canoe was not paddling, it cut its way swiftly upstream. And the person in the canoe was Granny Squannit, her long black hair over her face.

  The other chi
ldren climbed up onto the bank and ran, but Bad Young Man stood there in the water, unable to move. Granny Squannit’s canoe came right up to him. Then the old woman reached out her arm and yanked him into the canoe. The canoe turned around and went swiftly down the river. Soon it was close to the ocean, near Cummaquid where the sand dunes rose. Granny Squannit pulled her canoe up onto the sand and then yanked Bad Young Man out of the canoe. She held him so hard by the arm that he could not pull away. She took him straight into her cave and sat him down.

  Bad Young Man wanted to run away, but he could not move. Granny Squannit came to him with a bowl of green soup in her hand. She gave it to Bad Young Man, and even though he did not want to, he drank it all. And he fell asleep.

  When he woke up, four days had passed. He looked around the cave. Where was the old woman who had brought him here? Then he saw Granny Squannit. She was lying across the mouth of the cave and she seemed to be asleep, her long black hair over her face.

  If I am very quiet, he thought, I can sneak out and get away from her.

  Carefully, quietly, he crawled toward the entrance of the cave. Carefully, quietly, he stepped over the old woman as she slept. But as he was about to leave, he became curious. No one had ever seen Granny Squannit’s face. Bad Young Man turned back, leaned over, and pushed the hair away from the old woman’s face so he could see what she really looked like. There, staring up at him was—not two eyes, but one! One huge, wide-open eye was there in the center of Granny Squannit’s face. It seemed as if that eye were looking straight into the center of his spirit. The boy shouted and fell back against the wall of the cave.

  Granny Squannit stood up. She could see that the badness had been frightened out of the boy. She pushed the hair in front of her face and took him by the arm, gently this time, to lead him back into the cave. She took out a deerskin pouch, placed roots and other medicine plants into it, and sewed it shut. Then she gave it to the boy.

  “Wear this about your neck,” Granny Squannit said. “It will remind you to keep goodness in your heart.”

  The boy did as she said. He returned to his people and was a bad young man no longer. Before long, he gained a new name. He became known as High Eagle. High Eagle respected his elders and did things with other people in mind. He continued to do good things and gained more respect, until one day High Eagle became Grand Sachem of his people.

  The Southeast

  Perhaps more than those of people in any other section of North America, the lives of the Native peoples of the Southeast were disrupted by the coming of the Europeans. The Cherokee and Creek peoples were among the five nations that became known as the Five Civilized Tribes for their outward adoption of European ways. Despite the removal of most of the Cherokee and Creek peoples to Oklahoma, their cultures have shown great resilience. Farther to the west, at the southeastern edge of the plains, the Caddo and Osage peoples also found themselves forced to relocate to Oklahoma.

  As a result of these forced migrations, the Native peoples of the Southeast, including those who have managed to remain in their original homelands, are often overlooked. This is a great shame, for they have not disappeared and—as the following stories show—they still have much to teach us all.

  The ecological balance of things is important in Native American traditions. If people behave correctly, nature will provide all that is needed. The Cherokee legend “How the Game Animals Were Set Free,” one story exemplifying this belief, is both humorous and instructive. Learning in Native American cultures is usually through experience. Instead of being told how to behave, a child is allowed to make mistakes and then learn from the consequences.

  On the other hand, that kind of freedom also permits a child to discover his or her own power. In the Caddo tale “The Wild Boy,” the twins become powerful beings through their quest. As is the case in many Native stories, a wise parent lets the natural world teach the lesson through experience.

  The highest ideal in these cultures, and in most of the cultures of Native North America, is not to achieve personal wealth but to gain the knowledge and the power that will enable individuals to serve their people. A high degree of individual freedom carries with it an equally large responsibility to the community. In the Creek story “The Underwater Lodge,” Blue Fox fails to discharge properly his duty to his father. He risks his life in the domain of the fearful tie-snakes until he understands the meaning of freedom and responsibility.

  The Osage also believed in living in harmony with nature. They were among the tallest of the people of the southeastern plains, yet they saw that they were small compared with the land around them and the greatness of Wah-Kon-Tah, the Great Mystery. So they called themselves the Little Ones.

  The Osage divided themselves into two groups, the Honga (the People of the Earth) and the Tzi-sho (the People of the Sky). Each of the many Osage clans was guided by the nonhuman beings around it—a plant, an animal, or even a star. “The Wisdom of the Willow Tree” is one such story of how a new symbol of wisdom and strength was given to a young man of the Earth People.

  How the Game Animals Were Set Free

  Cherokee

  Long ago, at the foot of Looking-Glass Mountain, there lived a hunter named Kanati and his two sons, First Boy and Inage Utasuhi’. Inage Utasuhi’, whose name meant “The Boy Who Grew Up Wild,” was always getting himself and his brother into trouble.

  Each day, Kanati, whose name meant “The Lucky Hunter,” would go out to get game for them to eat, and each day he was successful. First Boy and Inage Utasuhi’ would stay behind and play hunting games together.

  “Take us with you,” Inage Utasuhi’ would ask each day, but Kanati refused.

  “You are not yet old enough to hunt. If you are not ready and you try to hunt, then bad things may happen. If you are not serious when you hunt, bad things will happen. When you are ready, I will take you with me.”

  The boys listened at first, but one morning when Kanati left the lodge, Inage Utasuhi’ spoke to his brother. “Let us follow our father and watch what he does. How else can we learn to be men?”

  The two boys set out, following their father but keeping back so he would not see them. Before long, Kanati came to a hollow tree. The boys could not see what he was doing.

  “I will go closer,” said Inage Utasuhi’. Then he changed himself into a small bird and flew to a branch of the hollow tree.

  Kanati reached into the tree and pulled out a bundle covered in deerskin. When he unwrapped it, Inage Utasuhi’ could see that there was something strange inside. It was a long, bent stick with a piece of strong cord made of milkweed fibers fastened from one end of it to the other. Then Kanati placed the deerskin wrappings in the hollow tree and began to walk. As he walked, he plucked the string and it made a humming sound.

  Inage Utasuhi’ flew back to First Boy and turned into a human again.

  “I do not know what our father is doing,” the wild boy said. “But if we wish to learn how to hunt, we must follow him and watch.”

  So the boys continued to follow Kanati. Soon he came to a swampy place where many reeds grew. Before their father went in among the reeds, Inage Utasuhi’ spoke to his brother.

  “Wait here,” he said. “I will go and see what he does.” Then the wild boy changed himself into a downy feather, floated through the wind, and landed unseen on Kanati’s shoulder. In the shape of the downy feather, the wild boy watched closely as Kanati selected and cut the straightest reed. He reached into his pouch and took out a goose feather. He split it with his flint knife and then tied it with sinew to the reed. He cut a notch in one end of the reed and sharpened the other end. Then Kanati took the long, feathered reed and fitted it to the string of the bent stick he carried.

  When Kanati returned from the reeds, the wind blew the downy feather off his shoulder. It floated back and forth in the air as the hunter walked away, and then, as soon as it touched
the ground, turned into Inage Utasuhi’.

  First Boy came out of the bushes where he had been hiding and joined his brother.

  “We are learning a great deal,” the wild boy said. “Let us continue to follow and see what our father does.”

  Before long, Kanati came to the side of Looking-Glass Mountain. There was a cave, blocked by a big stone. Kanati rolled the stone away from the mouth of the cave, and a big deer came running out. Kanati raised the bow and shot his arrow, killing the deer. Then he rolled the stone in front of the cave, picked up his deer, and headed toward home.

  “If we want to be men,” Inage Utasuhi’ said, “we must do as our father did.”

  So the two boys went back and cut saplings to make bows. They made cordage from milkweed fibers and strung their bows. They went into the reeds and cut the straightest ones. Then each of the boys made seven arrows.

  “Now we are ready to hunt,” said Inage Utasuhi’. He led his brother to the cave, and together they rolled away the stone. Immediately a big deer ran out. It came out so fast that the boys were too surprised to shoot. The wild boy struck at it with one of the arrows in his hand, but he only hit the deer’s tail, knocking it straight up. The deer bounded off into the forest with the white of its tail showing above its back.

  “Oho, brother, did you see that?” Inage Utasuhi’ said, laughing. “See if you can do the same.”

  Another deer ran out and First Boy struck at its tail with his arrow. As soon as he knocked the tail, it stood straight up and stayed there as the deer ran away. Both boys laughed. This was great fun. For a long time, they took turns striking at each deer as it ran out, until all the deer had left the cave. Ever since then, all deer have tails that stick straight up when they run.