Story of the three strong men

A Micmac Legend

There was a chieftain in the days of yore. He had a great desire for a
poor girl who was a servant, and who worked for him. To win this girl
he first must lose his wife. He took his wife afar into the woods to
gather spruce-gum, and then left her there.

She soon found out that she had lost her way, and, wandering, she lost
it more and more for many days, until she came at last to a bear’s den,
where, going in, she found the Chief of all the bears, who welcomed
her, provided for her wants, and furnished her with pleasant food; but
as the meat was raw he went into a neighboring town for fire. And as
she lived with him she was to him in all things as he wished, and as a
wife.

So that it came to pass, as time went on, that a new-comer was
expected, and she bade the Bear provide the baby’s clothes. And when
the long-expected infant came it was a boy, large, beautiful, and
strong; he was in everything beyond all other boys.

And as the child was born in a strange way, he very soon displayed a
magic power. No baby ever grew so rapidly: when four months old he
wrestled with the Bear and threw him easily upon the floor. And so the
mother saw that he would be a warrior, and the chief of other men.

She loathed the life she led, and wished to leave, and live as she had
done in days of old. To this the Bear would in nowise consent, and as
her son was human, like herself, he loved his mother best, and thought
with her.

One day he said, “Now I can wrestle well and throw the Bear as often as
I choose. When I next time cast him upon the ground, catch up a club;
the rest remains for you!”

They waited yet a while till he had grown so strong that the Bear was
nothing in his grasp. One day they wrestled as they ever did, and then
the woman, with a vigorous blow, strengthened by hate and famishing
desire of freedom and a better human life, laid him in death upon the
mossy floor.

They went their way back to the chieftain’s town, and found him married
to the servant-girl. The mother only spoke, and the wild boy tore down
the wigwam of the Indian chief just with a blow, and then he called
aloud unto the Lightning in the sky above, “Come down to me and help me
in my need! Build a grand wigwam such as man ne’er saw! Build it, I
say, and for my mother here!”

The Lightning came, and with a single flash built such a home as man
had never seen.

And then he said, “Mother, I mean to go and travel everywhere, until I
find another man who is as strong as I. When he is found I will return
to thee.”

So on he went afar until he saw a man who lifted up a vast canoe with
many people in it. This he did, raising it in the water; but the boy
bore it ashore, and lifted it on land.

And so the two agreed that they would go on together until they found a
third equal to them in strength, if such a man were living anywhere in
all the world.

So traveling by hill and lake, they went, until one day, far in a
lonely land, they saw a man rolling a mighty rock, large as the largest
wigwam, up a hill. But the Bear’s son, lifting the stone with ease,
threw it afar over the mountain-top, threw it afar beyond the rocky
range; they heard it thunder down the depths below.

Then the three strong men went to hunt the moose. He who had tossed the
ship remained in camp to do the cooking, while the others went with bow
and spear afar to find their game.

Now when the sun was at the edge of noon, just balancing to fall, there
came a boy, a little wretched, elfish-looking child, as sad and sickly
as a boy could be, who asked the man for food. He answered him, “Poor
little fellow! there, the pot is full of venison, so go and eat your
fill.”

He ate, indeed, the dinner for the three. When he had done he did not
leave a scrap; then walked into the stony mountain-side, as any man
might walk into the fog, and in a second he was seen no more.

Now when the two returned and heard the tale they were right angry,
being hungry men. The man who rolled the stone stayed next in turn, but
when the little fellow came to him he seemed so famished and he shed
such tears that this one also gave him leave to eat. Then, in a single
swallow, as it seemed, he bolted all the food, and yelled aloud with an
insulting laugh. The man, enraged, grappled him by the throat, but the
strange boy flung him away as one would throw a nut, and vanished in
the mountain as before.

Oin the third day the mighty man himself remained at home, and soon the
starveling child came and began to beg, with tears, for food. “Eat,”
said the chief, “as other people eat, and no more tricks, or I will
deal with you.” But as it was with him the day before, so it went now;
he swallowed all the meat with the same jeering yell. Then the strong
man closed with the boy. It was an awful strife; they fought together
from the early morn until the sun went down, and then the Elf–for elf
he was–cried out, “I now give in!” So both his arms were tightly bound
behind, and with a long, tough cord of plaited hide the strong man kept
his prey, the lariat fast noosed about his neck. The child went on, the
strong man ever following behind, holding the cord well twisted round
his hand.

And so they went into the mountain-side, and ever on, a long and
winding way, down a deep cavern, on for many a mile,–the light of
sorcery shining from the elf made it all clear,–until at last the
guide stopped in his course, and said:–

“Now list to me. I am the servant of a frightful fiend, a seven-headed
devil, whom I deemed no man could ever conquer, he and I being of equal
strength; but I believe that thou mayst conquer him, since I have
found, by bitter proof, that thou canst conquer me. Here is a staff,
the only thing on earth that man way smite him with and give him pain.
Now, do your best; it is all one to me which of you gains, so one of
you be slain, for well I wot ‘t will be a roaring fight.”

In came the evil being with a scream, and clutched the Indian with
teeth and claws. There, in the magic cavern, many a mile from the sun’s
rays, they fought for seven days, the stubborn devil and the stubborn
man, whose savage temper gave him fresher strength with every fresh
wound; the more his blood ran from his body all the more his heart grew
harder with the love of fight, until he beat away the monster’s seven
heads. And so he slew him, and the watching elf burst into laughter at
the victory.

“Now,” said the Elf, “I have a gift for thee. I have three sisters: all
are beautiful, and all shall be thine own if thou wilt but unbind my
hands.” The strong man set him free. And so he led the man to another
cave, and there he saw three girls so strangely fair they seemed to be
a dream. The first, indeed, was very beautiful, and yet as plump as she
was lovely; then the second maid was tall, superb, and most
magnificent, in rarest furs, with richest wampum bands, the very
picture of a perfect bride; but fairer than them both, as much more
fair as swans outrival ducks, the youngest smiled. And the young
chieftain chose her for his own.

With the three girls he went into the day. Par on the rocks above him
he could see his two companions, and a sudden thought came to his mind,
for he was quick to think; and so he called, “I say, let down a rope; I
have three girls here, and they cannot climb.” And so the two strong
men let down a cord: then the first fairy-maid went up by it, and then
the second. Now the chief cried out, “It is my turn; now you must pull
on me!” And saying this, he tied a heavy stone, just his own weight,
unto the long rope’s end, then bid them haul. It rose, but as it came
just to the top the traitors let it fall, as he supposed they would, to
murder him.

And then the chieftain said unto the elf, “You know the mountain and
its winding ways: bear me upon thy back, and that in haste, to where
those fellows are!” The goblin flew, and in an instant he was by their
side.

He found the villains in a deadly fight, quarreling for the maids; but
seeing him they ceased to wrestle, upon which he said, “I risked my
life to bring away these girls; I would have given each of you a wife:
for doing this you would have murdered me. Now I could kill you, and
you both deserve death at the stake, vile serpents that you are; but
take your lives,–you are too low for me,–and with them take these
women, if they wish to wed with such incarnate brutes as you!

They went their way; the women followed then, along the forest paths,
and ever on. Into this story they return no more.

And then the strong man said to his young bride, “I must return unto my
village; then I’ll come again to you; await me here.” But she, as one
to elfin magic born, replied, “I warn you of a single thing. When you
again are at your wigwam door a small black dog will leap to lick your
hand. Beware, I say; if he succeed in it, you surely will forget me
utterly.” As she predicted so it came to pass.

And so she waited in the lonely wood beside the mountain till a month
was gone, and then arose and went to seek her love. All in the early
dawn she reached the town, and found the wigwam of the saga, more. She
sought a neighboring hiding-place, where she might watch unseen, and
found a tree, a broad old ash, which spread its stooping boughs over
the surface of a silent pool.

An old black Indian had a hut hard by. His daughter, coming, looked
into the spring, and saw a lovely face. The simple girl thought it was
hers, her own grown beautiful by sorcery which hung about the place.
She flung away her pail, and said, “Aha! I’ll work no more; some chief
shall marry me!” and so she went to smile among the men.

Then came the mother, who beheld the same sweet, smiling, also girlish
face. She, said, “Now I am young and beautiful again; I’ll seek another
husband, and at once.” She threw her pail afar and went away, losing no
time to smile among the men.

And then in turn the old black Indian came, and looking in the spring
beheld the face. He knew right well that it was not his own, for in his
youth he never had been fair. So looking up above he saw the bride, and
bade her come to him; and then he said, “My wife has gone away; my
daughter, too. You were the cause of it; it is but right that you
should take the place my wife has left. Therefore remain with me and be
my own.”

He fares but ill who weds unwilling witch. When night came on they laid
them down to sleep, and then the bride murmured a magic prayer, begging
the awful Spirit of the Wind, the giant Eagle of the wilderness, to do
his worst. A fearful tempest blew, and all night long the old black
Indian was out-of-doors, working with all his power to keep the lodge
from being blown away. As soon as he had pinned one sheet of bark into
its place another blew away, and then a tent pole rattling in the rain
bounded afar. It was a weary work, but all night long the young bride
slept in peace, until the morning came, and then he slept.

Then she arose, and, walking to the wood, sat down beside a stream and
sang a song:–

“There are many men in the world,
But only one is dear to me.
He is good and brave and strong.
He swore to love none but me;
He has forgotten me.
It was a bad spirit that changed him,
But I will love none but him.”

And as she sat and sang, the sagamore her husband, paddling by in his
canoe, heard the sweet song intoned in magic style, and all at once
recalled what had been lost,–the two strong giants, the cavern and the
elf, the seven-headed monster and the fight, the sisters and the
evil-minded men, and the black dog who leaped to lick his hand: it
flashed upon him like some early dream brought out by sorcery. He saw
her sit beside the stream, and still he heard her song, soft as a magic
flute. He went to her, and in a minute he was won again.

And then she said, “This world is ever false. I know another, let us go
to it.” So then again she sang a magic spell, and as she sang they saw
the great Culloo, the giant bird, broad as a thunder cloud, winging his
way towards them. Then he came; they stepped upon him, and he soared
away. But to this earth they never came again.