And he shouted from below them, Cried exulting from the caverns : "O ye sea-gulls! O my brothers! I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma ; Make the rifts a little larger, With your claws the openings widen, Set me free from this dark prison, And henceforward and forever Men shall speak of your achieve ments,

Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers!"

And the wild and clamorous sea-
gulls

Toiled with beak and claws together,
Made the rifts and openings wider
In the mighty ribs of Nahma,
And from peril and from prison,
From the body of the sturgeon,
From the peril of the water,
Was released my Hiawatha.

He was standing near his wigwam,
On the margin of the water,
And he called to old Nokomis,
Called and beckoned to Nokomis,
Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma,
Lying lifeless on the pebbles,
With the sea-gulls feeding on him.

"I have slain the Mishe-Nahma, Slain the King of Fishes!" said he ; "Look! the sea-gulls feed upon him,

Yes, my friends Kayoshik, the seagulls;

Drive them not away, Nokomis, They have saved me from great peril

In the body of the sturgeon,
Wait until their meal is ended,
Till their craws are full with feast-

ing,

Till they homeward fly, at sunset, To their nests among the marshes ;

Then bring all your pots and kettles And make oil for us in Winter."

And she waited till the sun set, Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun, Rose above the tranquil water, Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls, From theirbanquet rose with clamor, And across the fiery sunset Winged their way to far-off islands, To their nests among the rushes. To his sleep went Hiawatha, And Nokomis to her labor, Toiling patient in the moonlight, Sill the sun and moon changed places,

Till the sky was red with sunrise, And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, Came back from the reedy islands, Clamorous for their morning ban quet.

Three whole days and nights

alternate

Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls
Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma,
Till the waves washed through the
rib-bones,

Till the sea-gulls came no longer,
And upon the sands lay nothing
But the skeleton of Nahma.

IX.

HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER.

ON the shores of Gitche Gumee,
Of the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood Nokomis, the old woman,
Pointing with her finger westward,
O'er the water pointing westward,
To the purple clouds of sunset.

Fiercely the red sun descending
Burned his way along the heavens,
Set the sky on fire behind him,
As war-parties, when retreating,
Burn the prairies on their war trail;
And the moon, the Night-sun, east-
ward,

Suddenly starting from his ambush, Followed fast those bloody footprints,

Followed in that fiery war-trail,
With its glare upon his features.

Megissogwon, the Magician,
Manito of Wealth and Wampum,
Guarded by his fiery serpents,
Guarded by the black pitch-water.
You can see his fiery serpents,
The Kenabeek, the great serpents,
Coiling, playing in the water;
You can see the black pitch-water
Stretching far away beyond them,
To the purple clouds of sunset !
"He it was who slew my father,
By his wicked wiles and cunning,
When he from the moon descended,
When he came on earth to seek me.
He, the mightiest of Magicians,
Sends the fever from the marshes,
Sends the pestilential vapors,
Sends the poisonous exhalations,
Sends the white fog from the fen-
lands.

Sends disease and death among us!
"Take your bow, O Hiawatha,
Take your arrows, jasper-headed,
Take your war-club, Puggawaugun,
And your mittens, Minjekah wun,
And your birch canoe for sailing,
And the oil of Mishe-Nahma,
So to smear its sides, that swiftly
You may pass the black pitch-water;
Slay this merciless magician,
Save the people from the fever
That he breathes across the fen-
lands,

And avenge my father's murder !"
Straightway then my Hiawatha
Armed himself with all his war-
gear,

Launched his birch-canoe for sail

'Back, go back! O Shaugodaya !1 Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart !" Then the angry Hiawatha Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree, Seized his arrows, jasper-headed, Shot them fast among the serpents; Every twanging of the bowstring Was a war-cry and a death-cry, Every whizzing of an arrow Was a death-song of Kenabeek.

Weltering in the bloody water, Dead lay all the fiery serpents, And among them Hiawatha Harmless sailed, and cried exulting: "Onward, O Cheemaun,2 my darling!

Onward to the black pitch-water!” Then he took the oil of Nahma, And the bows and sides anointed, Smeared them well with oil, that swiftly

He might pass the black pitch-water. All night long he sailed upon it, Sailed upon that sluggish water, Covered with its mould of ages, Black with rotting water-rushes, Rank with flags and leaves of lilies, Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal, Lighted by the shimmering moonlight,

From whose branches trailed the mosses,

And whose trunk was coated over With the Dead-man's Moccasinleather,

With the fungus white and yellow. Suddenly from the boughs above him

Sang the Mama, the woodpecker:
"Aim your arrows, Hiawatha,
At the head of Megissogwon,
Strike the tuft of hair upon it,
At their roots the long black tresses;
There alone can he be wounded !"
Winged with feathers, tipped
with jasper,

Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow,
Just as Megissogwon, stooping,
Raised a heavy stone to throw it.
Full upon the crown it struck him,
At the roots of his long tresses,
And he reeled and staggered for-
ward,

Plunging like a wounded bison,
Yes, like Pezhekee, the bison,
When the snow is on the prairie.

Swifter flew the second arrow,
In the pathway of the other,
Piercing deeper than the other,
Wounding sorer than the other,
And the knees of Megissogwon
Shook like windy reeds beneath
him,

Bent and trembled like the rushes.
But the third and latest arrow
Swiftest flew, and wounded sorest,
And the mighty Megissogwon
Saw the fiery eyes of Pauguk,
Saw the eyes of Death glare at him,
Heard his voice call in the darkness;
At the feet of Hiawatha

Lifeless lay the great Pearl-Feather,
Lay the mightiest of Magicians.

Then the grateful Hiawatha Called the Mama, the woodpecker, From his perch among the branches Of the melancholy pine-tree, And in honor of his service,

Then he stripped the shirt of
wampum

From the back of Megissogwon,
As a trophy of the battle,
As a signal of his conquest.
On the shore he left the body,
Half on land and half in water,
In the sand his feet were buried,
And his face was in the water.
And above him, wheeled and clam-
ored

The Keneu, the great war-eagle,
Sailing round in narrower circles,
Hovering nearer, nearer, nearer.

From the wigwam Hiawatha
Bore the wealth of Megissogwon,
All his wealth of skins and wam-
pum,

Furs of bison and of beaver,
Furs of sable and of ermine,
Wampum belts and strings and
pouches,

Quivers wrought with beads of

feathers

On the little head of Mama;
Even to this day he wears it,

Wears the tuft of crimson feathers,
As a symbol of his service.

us !"

death among

Ever dear to Hiawatha Was the memory of Mama! And in token of his friendship, As a mark of his remembrance,