Indian Legend of the White Owl

From the National Intelligencer.

It was in the country of the Winnebagoes, and there was a great scarcity of game. An Indian hunter, while returning from an unsuccessful expedition, at the sunset hour, chanced to discover in the top of a tree a large white owl. He knew that the flesh of this bird was not palpable to the taste, but as he thought of his wife and children, who had been without food for several days, he concluded to bend his bow and kill the bird. Hardly had he come to this conclusion, before he was astonished to hear the owl speaking to him in the following strain: "You know it is against the laws of your nation to kill any of my tribe, and why should you do wrong because you happen to be a little hungry? I know that your wife and children are also hungry, but that is not a good reason for depriving me of life. I too have a wife and several children, and their home is in the hollow of an old tree. When I left them a little while ago, they were quite as hungry as you are, and I am now trying to obtain for their enjoyment a red squirrel or a young opossum. Unlike you, I have to hunt for my game only at night, and if you will go away and not injure me, I may have it in my power to do you a kindness at some future time."

The Indian hunter was convinced, and he unbent his bow. He returned to his wigwam, and after he told his wife what had happened to him, she told him she was not sorry for she had been particularly fortunate in gathering berries. And then the Indian and his family were contented, and geese soon afterward became abundant in the land.

Many season had passed away, and the powerful nation of the Iroquois were making war upon the Winnebagoes. The hunter already mentioned had become a successful warrior and chief. He was a mark for his enemies, and the bravest among them started upon the war-path for the express purpose of effecting his destruction. They hunted him as they would the panther, but he always avoided their arrows. Many days of fatigue he had now endured, and, believing that his enemies had given up the chase, he stopped on a certain evening to rest himself, and enjoy a repast of roots, after this comfortless supper was ended, he wrapped himself in his skins and thought that he would lie down and enjoy a little sleep. He did son, and the only sounds which broke the stillness of the air were caused by the falling of the dew from the leaves, and the whistling of the whippoorwill. It was now past midnight and the Winnebago was yet undisturbed. A whoop is heard in the forest, but so remote from his grassy couch as not to be heard by the unconscious sleeper. But what can this shooting mean? A party of Iroquois warriors have fallen upon the trail of their enemy, and are in hot pursuit. But still the Winnebago warrior is in the midst of a pleasant dream. On come his enemies, and his death is inevitable. The shouting of the Iroquois is now distinct and clear, but in the twinkling of an eye it is swallowed up in a much louder and dismal shriek, which startled the Winnebago to his feet. He is astonished, and wonders whence comes the noise. He looks upwards, and lo! perched upon one of the branches of the tree under which he had been resting, the form of a large white owl. It rolls its large yellow eyes upon him and tells him that an enemy is upon his trail, and that he must flee for his life. And this is the way in which the white owl manifested his gratitude to the Winnebago hunter for his kindness in sparing its own life many years before. And since that time the owl has ever been considered a very good and a very wise bird; and when it perches above the wigwam of the red man it is always safe from harm.

July 3, 1849. Fredonia Censor 29(18): 1.

Legend of Flying Pigeon and the Whip-poor-will

The aboriginal tradition concerning the origin of the well known inhabitant of our forests, whose plaintive cry has induced its cognomen of whip poor will is highly imaginative, and worthy of the ancient mythologists.

Ranchewaine, or the Flying Pigeon of Wisconsin, loved Wai-o-naisa a young chief. The father and kinsmen of the maiden were opposed to her wedding with Wai-o-naisa.

In the beautiful islands of the river, near the home of the Indian maiden, the lovers had frequent stolen interviews.

The young Chief was forced to go out on a war scout against the Sioux. The maiden, disconsolate during his absence, was accustomed to swim nightly to the loved islands, and there wandering among scenes hallowed by his remembrance, call[ing] plaintively on the name of her lover. One night some of her father's people heard her voice, and pursued the sounds. — Whilst fleeing from them, just as her weary limbs were about to fail her, the kind Maniton changed her into a bird, which has ever since borne the name of her lover, and flits continually from bush to bush, repeating in melancholy notes, Wai-o-naisa!

April 9, 1841. An Indian legend. Macon Georgia Telegraph 15(27): 2. From the Philadelphia North American.

Indian Legend of the White Owl

It was in the country of the Winnebagoes, and there was a great scarcity of game. An Indian hunter, while returning from an unsuccessful expedition, at the sunset hour, chanced to discover in the top of a tree a large white owl. He knew that the flesh of this bird was not palatable to the taste, but as he thought of his wife and children, who had been without food for several days, he concluded to bend his bow and kill the bird. Hardly had he come to this conclusion, before he was astonished to hear the owl speaking to him in the following strain: "You are a very foolish hunter. You know it is against the laws of your nation to kill any of my tribe, and why should you do wrong because you happen to be a little hungry? I know that your wife, and children are also hungry, but that is not a good reason for depriving me of life. I too have a wife and several children, and their home is in the hollow of an old tree. When I left there a little while ago, they were quite as hungry as you are, and I am now trying to obtain for their enjoyment a red squirrel or a young opossum. Unlike you, I have to hunt for my game only at night, and if you will go away and not injure me, I may have in my power to do you a kindness at some future time."

The Indian hunter was convinced, and he unbent his bow. He returned to his wigwam, and after he had told his wife what had happened to him, she told him she was not sorry for she had been particularly fortunate in gathering berries. And then the Indian and his family were contented, and game soon afterwards became abundant in the land.

Many seasons had passed away, and the powerful nation of the Iroquois were making war upon the Winnebagoes. The hunter already mentioned had become a successful warrior and chief. He was a mark for his enemies, and the bravest among them started upon the war-path for the express purpose of effecting his destruction. They hunted him as they would the panther, but he always avoided their arrows. Many days of fatigue had he now endured, and, believing that his enemies had given up he chase, he stopped on a certain evening to rest himself, and enjoy a repast of roots, after this comfortless supper was ended, he wrapped himself in his skins and thought that he would lie down and enjoy a little sleep. He did so, and the only sounds which broke the stillness of the air were caused by the falling of the dew from the leaves, and the whistling of the whippoorwill. It was not past midnight, and the Winnebago was yet undisturbed. A whoop is heard in the forest, but so remote from his grassy couch as not to be heard by the unconscious sleeper. But what can this shouting mean? A party of Iroquois warriors have fallen upon the trail of their enemy, and are in hot pursuit. But still the Winnebago warrior is in the midst of a pleasant dream. On come his enemies, and his death is inevitable. The shouting of the Iroquois is now distinct and clear, but in the twinkling of an eye it is swallowed up in a much louder and dismal shriek, which startled the Winnebago to his feet. He is astonished, and wonders whence comes the noise. He looks upward, and lo! perched upon one of the branches of the tree under which he has been resting, the form of a large white owl. It rolls its large yellow eyes upon him and tells him that an enemy is upon his trail, and that he must flee for his life. And this is the way in which the white owl manifested his gratitude to the Winnebago hunter for his kindness in sparing its own life many years before. And since that time the owl has ever been considered a very good and a very wise bird; and when it perches above the wigwam of the red man it is always safe from harm.

Thus ends the story. Some commentary does seem appropriate.

At this time, the Winnebago tribe territory was in Iowa and Minnesota. It is not likely that the Iroquois of the eastern country (i.e., Ohio River Valley) would battle the Winnebago, a distance westward in the Mississipppi River valley. There are other false precepts in this story — especially in association with the known lore of the snowy owl — if the story is looked at in a critical manner. It is not probable that a snowy owl would be present when the whip-poor-will would be calling in the woods.

This legend might better be associated with the great horned owl, whose habits much better reflect comments given in the tale. Whatever the actuality, this article can none-the-less be appreciated as an interpreted legend written by some unknown, eastern coast scribe.

Tuesday, July 3, 1849. Indian legend of the white owl. Fredonia Censor 29(18): 1 as issued at Fredonia, New York. From the National Intelligencer.

The Origin of the Robin: A Chippewa Story

An old man had an only son, a fine promising lad, who had come to that age which is thought by the Chippewas to be most proper to make the long and final fast, that is to secure through life a guardian spirit, on whom future prosperity or adversity is to depend, and who forms and establishes the character of the faster to great or ignoble deeds.

This old man was ambitious that his son should surpass all others in whatever was deemed most wise and great amongst his tribe. And, to fulfill his wishes, he thought it necessary that his son should fast a much longer time than any of those persons known for their great power or wisdom, whose fame he envied.

He therefore directed him to prepare, with great ceremony, for the important event. After he had been in the sweating lodge and bath several times, he ordered him to lie down upon a clean mat, in the little lodge expressly prepared for him; telling him, at the same tune, to bear himself like a man, and that at the expiration of twelve days he should receive food and the blessing of his father.

The lad carefully observed this injunction, lying with his face covered with perfect composure, awaiting those happy visitations which were to seal his good or ill fortune. His father visited him every morning regularly, to encourage him to perseverance, expatiating at full length on the renown and honour that would attend him "through life if he accomplished the full term prescribed. To the admonitions the boy never answered, but lay without the least sign of unwillingness, till the ninth day, when he addressed his father: "My father, my dreams are ominous of evil; may I break my fast now, and at a more propitious time make a new fast?" The father answered, "My son, you know not what you ask. If you get up now, all your glory will depart; wait patiently a little longer. You have but three days yet to accomplish what I desire. You know it is for your own good."

The son assented, and covering himself closer, he lay till the eleventh day, when he repeated his request to his father. The same answer was given him by the old man, adding, that the next day he would himself prepare his first meal and bring it to him. The boy remained silent, but lay like a skeleton. No one would have known he was living, but by the gentle heaving of his breast.

The next morning, the father, elate at having gained his end, prepared a repast for his son, and hastened to set it before him. On coming to the door, he was surprised to hear his son talking to himself. He stooped to listen, and, looking through a small aperture, was more astonished when he beheld his son painted with vermilion on his breast, and in the act of finishing his work by laying on the paint as far as his hand could reach on his shoulders, saying, at the same time: "My father has ruined me as a man; he would not listen to my request; he will now be the loser. I shall be for ever happy in my new state, for I have been obedient to my parent; he alone will be the sufferer, for the Spirit is a just one, though not propitious to me. He has shown me pity, and now I must go."

At that moment the old man broke in, exclaiming: "My son! my son! Do not leave me!" But his son, with the quickness of a bird, had flown up to the top of the lodge, and perched on the highest pole, a beautiful robin-red-breast. He looked down on his father with pity beaming in his eyes, and told him that he should always love to be near men's dwellings, that he should always be seen happy and contented by the constant cheerfulness and pleasure he would display, that he would still cheer his father by his songs, which would be some consolation to him for the loss of the glory he had expected; and that, although no longer a man, he should ever be the harbinger of peace and joy to the human race.

The foregoing story illustrates the Indian custom of fasting to procure a personal spirit. The moral to be drawn from it is the danger of ambition. We should not seek for unreasonable honours, nor take unusual means to attain them.

From Chandler Robbins Gilman. 1836. Life on the Lakes: Being Tales and Sketches Collected During a Trip to the Pictured Rocks of Lake Superior. In volume I.