Part 16 (1/2)

There were many handsome skins and baskets in her father's hut which had been given to him when he was Medicine Man. She felt sure Waba-mooin would not have touched them. And as for me, I was young enough to want Waba-mooin to see that I was also a Shaman.

”We stole into Nukewis's hut in the dark, and when it was morning a light snow was over the ground to cover our tracks, and there was our smoke going up and the great moose standing at our door chewing his cud and over the door the Medicine bag of Nukewis's father. How the neighbors were astonished! They ran for Waba-mooin, and when I saw him coming in all his Shaman's finery, I put on the old Medicine Man's s.h.i.+rt and his pipe and went out to smoke with him as one Shaman with another.”

The Onondaga laughed to himself, remembering. ”It was funny to see him try to go through with it, but there was nothing else for him to do. I ought to have punished him a little for what he did to Nukewis, but my heart was too full of happiness and my Mystery. And perhaps it was punishment enough to have me staying there in the village with all the folk bringing me presents and neglecting Waba-mooin. I think he was glad when we set out for my own village in the Moon of the Sap Running.

”I knew my mother would be waiting for me, and besides, I wished my son to be born an Onondaga.”

”And what became of the old moose?”

”Somewhere on the trail home we lost him. Perhaps he heard his own tribe calling...and perhaps... He was the Holder of the Heavens to me, and from that time neither I nor my wife ate any moose meat. That is how it is when the Holder of the Heavens shows Himself to his children. But when I came by the tree where I had cut the first score of my search for Him, I cut a picture of the great moose, with my wife and I on either side of him.”

The Onondaga pointed with his feathered pipe to a wide-boled chestnut a rod or two down the slope. ”It was that I was looking for to-day,” he said. ”If you look you will find it.”

And continuing to point with the long feathered stem of his pipe, the children rose quietly hand in hand and went to look.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

XI

THE PEARLS OF COFACHIQUE: HOW LUCAS DE AYLLON CAME TO LOOK FOR THEM AND WHAT THE CACICA FAR-LOOKING DID TO HIM; TOLD BY THE PELICAN

One morning toward the end of February the children were sitting on the last bench at the far end of the Bird Gallery, which is the nicest sort of place to sit on a raw, slushy day. You can look out from it on one side over the flamingo colony of the Bahamas, and on the other straight into the heart of the Cuthbert Rookery in Florida. Just opposite is the green and silver coral islet of Cay Verde, with the Man-of-War Birds nesting among the flat leaves of the sea-grape.

If you sit there long enough and n.o.body comes by to interrupt, you can taste the salt of the spindrift over the banks of Cay Verde, and watch the palmetto leaves begin to wave like swords in the sea wind. That is what happened to Oliver and Dorcas Jane. The water stirred and s.h.i.+mmered and the long flock of flamingoes settled down, each to its own mud hummock on the crowded summer beaches. All at once Oliver thought of something.

”I wonder,” he said, ”if there are trails on the water and through the air?”

”Why, of course,” said the Man-of-War Bird; ”how else would we find our islet among so many? North along the banks till we sight the heads of Na.s.sau, then east of Stirrup Cay, keeping the scent of the land flowers to windward, to the Great Bahama, and west by north to where blue water runs between the Biscayne Keys to the mouth of the Miami. That is how we reach the mainland in season, and back again to Cay Verde.”

”It sounds like a long way,” said Oliver.

”That's nothing,” said the tallest Flamingo. ”We go often as far east as the Windward Islands, and west to the Isthmus. But the s.h.i.+ps go farther.

We have never been to the place where the s.h.i.+ps come from.”

It was plain that the Flamingo was thinking of a s.h.i.+p as another and more mysterious bird. The Man-of-War Bird seemed to know better. The children could see, when he stretched out his seven-foot spread of wing, that he was a great traveler.

”What _I_ should like to know,” he said, ”is how the s.h.i.+ps find their way. With us we simply rise higher and higher, above the fogs, until we see the islands scattered like green nests and the banks and shoals which from that height make always the same pattern in the water, brown streaks of weed, gray shallows, and deep water blue. But the s.h.i.+ps, though they never seem to leave the surface of the water, can make a shorter course than we in any kind of weather.”

Oliver was considering how he could explain a s.h.i.+p's compa.s.s to the birds, but only the tail end of his thinking slipped out. ”They call some of them men-of-war, too,” he chuckled.

”You must have thought it funny the first time you saw one,” said Dorcas Jane.

”Not me, but my ancestors,” said the Man-of-War Bird; ”_they_ saw the Great Admiral when he first sailed in these waters. They saw the three tall galleons looming out of a purple mist on the eve of discovery, their topsails rosy with the sunset fire. The Admiral kept pacing, pacing; watching, on the one hand, lest his men surprise him with a mutiny, and on the other, glancing overside for a green bough or a floating log, anything that would be a sign of land. We saw him come in pride and wonder, and we saw him go in chains.”

Like all the Museum people, the Man-of-War Bird said ”we” when he spoke of his ancestors.

”There were others,” said the Flamingo. ”I remember an old man looking for a fountain.”

”Ponce de Leon,” supplied Dorcas Jane, proud that she could p.r.o.nounce it.