Breathed upon the neighbouring forest,
Made its great boughs chafe together,
Till in flame they burst and kindled;
And erect upon the mountains,
Gitche Manito, the mighty,
Smoked the calumet, the Peace-pipe,
As a signal to the nations.”Some of the legends of the Indian tribes are of a very picturesque, and even
poetical character, as may be seen in Mr. Schoolcraft’s “Algic Researches.”
Take, as an example, the graceful tradition of the Red Swan.
Three brothers went out to the chase, excited by a wager to see who would carry
home the first game. But the binding and limiting condition was, that each was
to shoot no other animal than those he was in the habit of killing.
They set out in different directions. Odjebwa, the youngest, had not gone far
before he saw a bear, an animal which by the agreement he had no right to kill.
He followed him close, however, and drove an arrow through him, which
brought him to the ground. Although contrary to the bet, he immediately began
to skin him, when suddenly something red tinged all the air around him. He
rubbed his eyes, thinking he was perhaps deceived, but without effect, for the red
hue continued. At length he heard a strange noise in the distance. It first
resembled a human voice; but after following it up for some time, he reached the
shores of a lake, and then discovered the object he was in search of. Far out on
the shining waters sat a most beautiful Red Swan, whose plumage glittered in the
sunshine; and ever and anon he made the noise which had before attracted
Odjebwa’s attention. He was within longbow range, and pulling the arrow from
the bow-string up to his ear, he took deliberate aim, and shot. The arrow took no
effect, and he shot again and again until his quiver was empty. Still the swan
remained statelily circling round and round, stretching its long neck, and dipping
its bill into the water, indifferent to the missiles aimed at it. Odjebwa ran home,
secured all his own and his brother’s arrows, and these too, ineffectually shot
away: then stood and gazed at the beautiful bird.
While thus standing, he remembered a saying of his brother’s, that in their
deceased father’s medicine-bag were three magic arrows. Off he started, his
anxiety to kill the swan overcoming every scruple. At any other time he would
have deemed it a sacrilege to open his father’s medicine-bag, but now he hastily
violated it, seized the three magic arrows and ran back. The swan was still