Read Ebook: The Fire Bird by Stratton Porter Gene Grant Gordon Illustrator Thayer Lee Illustrator

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Ebook has 228 lines and 23213 words, and 5 pages

Standing still and straight before them, First, I saw the stranger woman. I heard the deep voice of her father, Toned to soft talk, as among peace councils, When he told the Great Sachem and Chieftains And all the watching Canawacs:

"This is my daughter, a Princess of seven tribes, She who can run with the foot of the hare, Who can dance as the gold birch leaves, When spring comes stealing from the Southland; Who can guide the swift canoes surely And ride the wild ponies on the chase, Whose fingers are skilful in basket weaving, In beading, and braiding, and polishing ornaments. She comes with me to make the friendship Of a people of her mother's blood; And her name is a name held sacred Among all the tribes at peace with us. Like music there fell from his smooth tongue A name well known to council wise Canawacs, 'Co?y-o?y'--a breath of sweetness-- He spoke it like the easy tongue of a lazy brook Softly singing among the small stones of its bed.

Then every Canawac remembered the dark days When the Great Spirit became justly angered, And in the height of his deep wrath Against the treachery of all tribes Drew up the waters of destruction Until they covered the earth's face, Leaving upon the tallest tree Only one Chief and his mate, And one pair of every bird and climbing beast, On the top of the highest mountain Of all the earth known to man.

When the water had come up to the top branches Until only their heads were above it, And had stood still for three weary suns, Then slowly it drew back, and left the earth barren, So there was no fire to cook food For the hungry Sachem and his mate, Nor to warm the water soaked camping grounds.

Then the Sachem sent a beaver messenger Far down to the underworld To borrow only one coal From the campfires of the dark spirits; But the beaver was not able to bring it For burning his mouth cruelly.

Then he sent the fierce mountain lion, Searching all over the earth for campfires, But there was no fire to be found, For the water had been everywhere.

Then he sent a little gray bird to the spirit world To bring from the campfires of the unseen country One living coal with which to make a fire For the cooking kettles and light-signals, And to warm the lodges of all the tribes That would follow him in suns to come.

So the dauntless little gray bird Slowly winged across the far spaces. Three suns arose and set, and at the red evening When the third sun plunged its face in the sea, With all of its plumage burned a flame-tongue red, With a beak of red like hot coals And its face blackened with fire, Came the brave panting bird With a living coal held fast in its mouth, A coal snatched from the high altars Of the far country of the spirits.

And so the fire gift was brought back to earth To warm the hearts and the wigwams Of every nation, for all seasons to come.

The bird was sent from a stranger tribe Far to the south of our hunting grounds, Where the hot suns shine and the grass withers; But travellers journeying northward to see us, Had told our grandfathers about it, Had shown us the bird of bloody red beak And face still blackened with fire, Singing gaily in our summer forests, Singing even in the ice of winter.

Often when we chanted songs of thanksgiving To the Great Spirit, for rich gifts, When we thanked him for the buffalo and beaver, For the deer meat and fish and corn for winter, Then our tribes made a ceremonial of glad rejoicing For the bird that brought back The great wonder gift of fire.

Its sacred name fell on our ears Like the peace of the Great Spirit, Fell soft as flying snowflakes When first squaw winter comes, Soft as the hunting wing of the thieving owl, Sweet as the breath of flowers in the nesting moon, From the lips of the Great Chief: "Co?y-o?y."

Before him, her shining head bowed, Our people watched her in silent wonder. She was tall, taller than any of our women, Tall and slender like the singing wind reeds That grow around the magic pool Of the white spirit lily of the still water, Far back in the valley pastures.

She moved like the night hawk Slowly sweeping across the moon sky. From the proud lift of her head And the eagle look of her dark eye From the red flower flame of her soft lips And the sureness of her being, I could see that the heart of her Was like a wiry little war pony Swiftly racing up the steep trail of her breast With the hunt blood of the soft chase Fevering its questing nostrils.

No woman among our people, Had seen the beauty of her robe, For she stood in flower white, flower fine doeskin, Bleached and tanned like winter snowdrift, Like the shining water flower face of far lakes, Like the wide wing of a homing white swan, Like the silver rays of the big cold hunting moon.

All around her feet fell soft knotted fringes Cut deep as the height of the first upstanding Of papooses ready to walk. And her belt and her neck were deeply embroidered With a thousand green stained quills From the backs of many porcupines, While her long heavy necklace Was got from traders crossing far seas, For it lay soft dull jade like the green wave meadow In the deepest bay of the leaf tinted big sea water.

Medicine Man, O Medicine Man, When one looked upon her searchingly, As I looked long upon her, That night of fat harvest thanksgiving, Slowly one saw creeping from her bare arms, From her firm high breasts, Over the dark gleaming bowed head And sure slender shoulders of her, A faint waving cloud like fine blue mist That could have been none other Than the secret power of the Great Spirit, Stealing from her breast to wrap around her So that any evil spirit magic Might not be strong to work against her.

I could see that she was softer Than our hard working women, Though she had learned from the bee To be busy and useful, Though she had learned from the hunted fawn To travel far journeys in daring wing?d leaps.

PART II

CO?Y-O?Y AND MOUNTAIN LION

Medicine Man, it were not enough, Ha! it were not enough That the stranger bore the song name Of the fire bird our tribe worshipped; For on her breast, sheltered with one slim hand, With flaming wings outspread, And panting saw-edged beak like fire, Lay a brother of the spirit bird, Flame red, blood red, feathers like wounds-- Dead coal black of face; A wild thing, sheltered and unafraid.

In her language and with wave smooth sign talk She told the Great Sachem and our Chiefs That she had found it in the forest Wounded from the missed kill of the night bird Or bare escaped from the eager claws Of the hunger driven wildcat.

Even as she told how she had found it, She folded its wings against its full breast And set it upright on her steady finger. Medicine Man, it moved not, it fluttered not, Though one bleeding wing hung broken.

Where it had lain between her round breasts Its red sign stained the front of her white robe, The mark of her soft heart of pity.

Medicine Man, the face of the Great Sachem Changed slowly as he watched our visitor; He looked with understanding upon her, He marvelled at the quiet bird. The heart of my Father, the White Wolf, Grew tender as he studied her.

As a sudden wind bends a tall birch low, Willing my man sprang to obey her bidding. Before the approving eyes of the watching Canawacs Never had there been a sight so fair to see, As when, clinging trustingly to her firm finger, The broken bird fed from her hand of pity.

I could see the deep look, the inner trouble, The battle in the heart of Mountain Lion, When she held the bird toward him That it should drink, as do the wounded, From the polished mussel shell he had brought.

He looked, not at the broken bird, as we did, But far into the eyes of Co?y-o?y, The Princess of the Killimacs. Medicine Man, was it not a Brave's hour, Was it not a Warrior's hour, That hour in which I stood unflinching And saw her take him from me? I, whose heart had possessed him Since we shot the play arrows of childhood, And together chased the painted wings Through the flower fields of the Canawacs.

Then came Prairie Flower, Mate of the Great Sachem, To lead away the mighty strangers. For many suns and as many moons We feasted and danced gaily.

Was I not brave to wear fine robes, Nightly to chant boastful songs? My breast was torn and bleeding As the broken wing of the fire bird, Yet many searing times At the command of the Great Sachem Was I made to smile in the Council Lodge, And to dance the Love Dance of the Mandanas; That dance that I had learned in secret From the flying feet of my Mother, Learned only for Mountain Lion, For the great ceremonial of love giving.

Medicine Man, Hear me! Not again did the eyes of Mountain Lion Travel across the Council Lodge To seek my eyes in understanding. Co?y-o?y had taken his eyes; On her face she proudly kept them, For he saw nought but the blue mist around her, The gleam of her hair, the red bow of her lips. He heard nought but the luring music Of her echo sweet voice, And the happy song of her quilled robe As she hourly passed among our people; While always clinging to her breast or shoulder Proud and fearless as in freedom, Rode the sacred wounded bird of blood redness.

Her father homed in wigwams Near the lodge of the Great Sachem, Rode his hunting pony on the far chase beside him, Sat on high in the councils of our Chieftains.

When the dancing and feasting were over It was known through the voices of the criers That for many moons our visitors Would home beside our campfires, Learning of our wisdom from us, Teaching, where their customs differed.

The Great Sachem was swift to order, The rarest fish from sea or river, The juiciest of the small birds From the snares of the children, The tenderest fawn flesh From the arrows of the hunters, To be brought for the cooking kettles Of the strangers who trusted us.

Every day I watched the slow sun, And at night I danced with the maidens, But no sleep came to my eyes, No hunger came to my body. My Mother tempted me with bits as sweet As the Sachem had commanded for Co?y-o?y, But my parched throat refused them in scorn, My dry tongue found no savour in juicy fatness, My hot hands could not place the beads evenly.

Then it was that my Mother came to my wigwam, And closing the doorway she stood before me, And long and long she looked far into my heart. Deep in her eyes there gathered the black fury, And a storm like the wildest storm That ever twisted the cedars in wrath, Raged in her rocking breasts And her lightning flashing eyes.

Fiercely in the silent Canawac motion tongue, Her look burning into my living spirit, She made the sign of the quick kill; And turning she slipped like a vision From my wigwam of torture. As she crept into the mouth of darkness, O Medicine Man, I knew that she had but made the outward sign For the savage inward purpose Long hardening in my deepest heart.

The next sun, when our mothers sent the maidens With their baskets to the Fall nut gathering, I kept ever close beside Co?y-o?y, my enemy, And in my breast there flamed fierce anger, That she had robbed my heart.

Always at the door of her wigwam, Rocking in the sunshine of each dawning, Hung a yellow osier basket woven like a ball, With its ribs placed wide enough apart To give the gifts of light and air, Close enough to prison a flame red bird.

And there, healed of his wounds, But forever broken for flight, On a twig shaped and placed by Mountain Lion, Co?y-o?y, the flame feathered voyager of air, Sang a song filled with tears and wailing, The cry of a broken bird heart Pleading for wings and a mate.

Now I saw in dazed wonder That Mountain Lion had grown papoose hearted. He was not leading the hunters in the forest; He was not at the head of the fishermen Spearing and netting as of old. He had proved his manhood in deadly combat; He had won his name by the fiercest fight Ever known among any of our warriors; But now he chose to lie in his wigwam and dream, And I knew what he dreamed, O Medicine Man!

So with soft words and pretty sign talk I led his evil spirit to the bright late flower; I showed her the little flitting creatures. And when I helped her fill her basket With sweet nuts that were greatly desired, My ear, quick for every sound of menace, Marked the thing the softer one did not hear.

I set down my heaped basket of furry nuts, I gathered my robe to my knees and raced swiftly, I made the leap to which I challenged her, Before her and all of the wondering maidens.

She followed my footsteps like a rift of white light. She rose high in the air over the sweet nut bushes, But she had not my strength, not my purpose. My leap carried me far over the danger; But as I turned quickly to watch her I saw her touch earth in smiling confidence, At the mark of the waving sky flower.

When she tore away, her eyes wide in danger, Dragging her robe from the clinging thicket, With greedy eyed, death hungry heart I watched her proud face.

The Great Spirit had not pitied me, If the curved death serpent had struck at her, His awful fangs had missed her soft body. O Medicine Man, make me magic for the fire bird, Ease my spirit of the snaring water flower.

Many suns I waited in hunger and spirit searching; Far and alone I wandered over the meadows, Beside the white sand shore of the sea water.

One day I lost from my necklace A carved piece of rare blue shell, A beautiful heaven tinted shell, a treasure, Got from traders from the Islands of the seas Far to the south of us--across vast waters; A big shell so precious among us that only one Cost us the weaving of fifty blankets; The greatest wealth known to our people.

Slipping unseen from all the others, I went alone through a trail of deep forest To the back of a far secret cavern I knew, Where lay hidden my precious blue shell, And I cut one small piece from it, For the mending of my necklace. When I came back to the sun, O Medicine Man, And through the forest followed my trail, I heard the rushing thunder footsteps And the death growl of Black Bear.

I looked, and I saw at the welcoming cavern mouth, Hurrying in from the forest, the bloody killer, Mother black bear, gaunt and hard chased, With far hanging tongue and foam dripping jaws; And behind her, panting and whimpering, Her pair of travel worn hungry little children.

Some far tribe had driven her from her home, And with her crying small ones following She was seeking shelter in my treasure lodge.

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