Part XIX: The Ghosts
- Never stoops the soaring vulture
- On his quarry in the desert,
- On the sick or wounded bison,
- But another vulture, watching
- From his high aerial look-out,
- Sees the downward plunge, and follows;
- And a third pursues the second,
- Coming from the invisible ether,
- First a speck, and then a vulture,
- Till the air is dark with pinions.
- So disasters come not singly;
- But as if they watched and waited,
- Scanning one another's motions,
- When the first descends, the others
- Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise
- Round their victim, sick and wounded,
- First a shadow, then a sorrow,
- Till the air is dark with anguish.
- Now, o'er all the dreary North-land,
- Mighty Peboan, the Winter,
- Breathing on the lakes and rivers,
- Into stone had changed their waters.
- From his hair he shook the snow-flakes,
- Till the plains were strewn with whiteness,
- One uninterrupted level,
- As if, stooping, the Creator
- With his hand had smoothed them over.
- Through the forest, wide and wailing,
- Roamed the hunter on his snow-shoes;
- In the village worked the women,
- Pounded maize, or dressed the deer-skin;
- And the young men played together
- On the ice the noisy ball-play,
- On the plain the dance of snow-shoes.
- One dark evening, after sundown,
- In her wigwam Laughing Water
- Sat with old Nokomis, waiting
- For the steps of Hiawatha
- Homeward from the hunt returning.
- On their faces gleamed the firelight,
- Painting them with streaks of crimson,
- In the eyes of old Nokomis
- Glimmered like the watery moonlight,
- In the eyes of Laughing Water
- Glistened like the sun in water;
- And behind them crouched their shadows
- In the corners of the wigwam,
- And the smoke In wreaths above them
- Climbed and crowded through the smoke-flue.
- Then the curtain of the doorway
- From without was slowly lifted;
- Brighter glowed the fire a moment,
- And a moment swerved the smoke-wreath,
- As two women entered softly,
- Passed the doorway uninvited,
- Without word of salutation,
- Without sign of recognition,
- Sat down in the farthest corner,
- Crouching low among the shadows.
- From their aspect and their garments,
- Strangers seemed they in the village;
- Very pale and haggard were they,
- As they sat there sad and silent,
- Trembling, cowering with the shadows.
- Was it the wind above the smoke-flue,
- Muttering down into the wigwam?
- Was it the owl, the Koko-koho,
- Hooting from the dismal forest?
- Sure a voice said in the silence:
- "These are corpses clad in garments,
- These are ghosts that come to haunt you,
- From the kingdom of Ponemah,
- From the land of the Hereafter!"
- Homeward now came Hiawatha
- From his hunting in the forest,
- With the snow upon his tresses,
- And the red deer on his shoulders.
- At the feet of Laughing Water
- Down he threw his lifeless burden;
- Nobler, handsomer she thought him,
- Than when first he came to woo her,
- First threw down the deer before her,
- As a token of his wishes,
- As a promise of the future.
- Then he turned and saw the strangers,
- Cowering, crouching with the shadows;
- Said within himself, "Who are they?
- What strange guests has Minnehaha?"
- But he questioned not the strangers,
- Only spake to bid them welcome
- To his lodge, his food, his fireside.
- When the evening meal was ready,
- And the deer had been divided,
- Both the pallid guests, the strangers,
- Springing from among the shadows,
- Seized upon the choicest portions,
- Seized the white fat of the roebuck,
- Set apart for Laughing Water,
- For the wife of Hiawatha;
- Without asking, without thanking,
- Eagerly devoured the morsels,
- Flitted back among the shadows
- In the corner of the wigwam.
- Not a word spake Hiawatha,
- Not a motion made Nokomis,
- Not a gesture Laughing Water;
- Not a change came o'er their features;
- Only Minnehaha softly
- Whispered, saying, "They are famished;
- Let them do what best delights them;
- Let them eat, for they are famished."
- Many a daylight dawned and darkened,
- Many a night shook off the daylight
- As the pine shakes off the snow-flakes
- From the midnight of its branches;
- Day by day the guests unmoving
- Sat there silent in the wigwam;
- But by night, in storm or starlight,
- Forth they went into the forest,
- Bringing fire-wood to the wigwam,
- Bringing pine-cones for the burning,
- Always sad and always silent.
- And whenever Hiawatha
- Came from fishing or from hunting,
- When the evening meal was ready,
- And the food had been divided,
- Gliding from their darksome corner,
- Came the pallid guests, the strangers,
- Seized upon the choicest portions
- Set aside for Laughing Water,
- And without rebuke or question
- Flitted back among the shadows.
- Never once had Hiawatha
- By a word or look reproved them;
- Never once had old Nokomis
- Made a gesture of impatience;
- Never once had Laughing Water
- Shown resentment at the outrage.
- All had they endured in silence,
- That the rights of guest and stranger,
- That the virtue of free-giving,
- By a look might not be lessened,
- By a word might not be broken.
- Once at midnight Hiawatha,
- Ever wakeful, ever watchful,
- In the wigwam, dimly lighted
- By the brands that still were burning,
- By the glimmering, flickering firelight
- Heard a sighing, oft repeated,
- From his couch rose Hiawatha,
- From his shaggy hides of bison,
- Pushed aside the deer-skin curtain,
- Saw the pallid guests, the shadows,
- Sitting upright on their couches,
- Weeping in the silent midnight.
- And he said: "O guests! why is it
- That your hearts are so afflicted,
- That you sob so in the midnight?
- Has perchance the old Nokomis,
- Has my wife, my Minnehaha,
- Wronged or grieved you by unkindness,
- Failed in hospitable duties?"
- Then the shadows ceased from weeping,
- Ceased from sobbing and lamenting,
- And they said, with gentle voices:
- "We are ghosts of the departed,
- Souls of those who once were with you.
- From the realms of Chibiabos
- Hither have we come to try you,
- Hither have we come to warn you.
- "Cries of grief and lamentation
- Reach us in the Blessed Islands;
- Cries of anguish from the living,
- Calling back their friends departed,
- Sadden us with useless sorrow.
- Therefore have we come to try you;
- No one knows us, no one heeds us.
- We are but a burden to you,
- And we see that the departed
- Have no place among the living.
- "Think of this, O Hiawatha!
- Speak of it to all the people,
- That henceforward and forever
- They no more with lamentations
- Sadden the souls of the departed
- In the Islands of the Blessed.
- "Do not lay such heavy burdens
- In the graves of those you bury,
- Not such weight of furs and wampum,
- Not such weight of pots and kettles,
- For the spirits faint beneath them.
- Only give them food to carry,
- Only give them fire to light them.
- "Four days is the spirit's journey
- To the land of ghosts and shadows,
- Four its lonely night encampments;
- Four times must their fires be lighted.
- Therefore, when the dead are buried,
- Let a fire, as night approaches,
- Four times on the grave be kindled,
- That the soul upon its journey
- May not lack the cheerful firelight,
- May not grope about in darkness.
- "Farewell, noble Hiawatha!
- We have put you to the trial,
- To the proof have put your patience,
- By the insult of our presence,
- By the outrage of our actions.
- We have found you great and noble.
- Fail not in the greater trial,
- Faint not In the harder struggle."
- When they ceased, a sudden darkness
- Fell and filled the silent wigwam.
- Hiawatha heard a rustle
- As of garments trailing by him,
- Heard the curtain of the doorway
- Lifted by a hand he saw not,
- Felt the cold breath of the night air,
- For a moment saw the starlight;
- But he saw the ghosts no longer,
- Saw no more the wandering spirits
- From the kingdom of Ponemah,
- From the land of the Hereafter.
B A C K | F O R W A R D
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