Post by blackcrowheart on Jun 13, 2007 15:12:22 GMT -5
Death of the Great Elk - Apache / Jicarilla
In the early days, animals and birds of monstrous size preyed upon the
people; the giant Elk, the Eagle, and others devoured men, women, and
children, until the gods were petitioned for relief. A deliverer was sent to
them in the person of Djo-na-aì'-yì-&ibreven, the son of the old woman who
lives in the West and the second wife of the Sun. She divided her time
between the Sun and the Waterfall, and by the latter bore a second son,
named Ko-ba-tcis'-tci-ni, who remained with his mother while his brother
went forth to battle with the enemies of mankind. In four days
Djo-na-aì'-yì-&ibreven grew to manhood, then he asked his mother where the
Elk lived. She told him that the Elk was in a great desert far to the
southward. She gave him arrows with which to kill the Elk. In four steps he
reached the distant desert where the Elk was lying. Djo- na-aì'-yì-&ibreven
cautiously observed the position of the Elk from behind a hill. The Elk was
lying on an open plain, where no trees or bushes were to be found that might
serve to shelter Djo-na-aì'-yì-în from view while he approached. While he
was looking at the Elk, with dried grass before his face, the Lizard,
Mai-cu-i-ti-tce-tcê, said to him, "What are you doing, my friend? "
Djo-na-aì'-yì-în explained his mission whereupon the Lizard suggested that
he clothe himself in the garments of the Lizard, in which he could approach
the Elk in safety. Djo-na-aì'-yì-în tried four times before he succeeded in
getting into the coat of the Lizard. Next the Gopher, Mi-i-ni-li, came to
him with the question, "What are you doing here, my friend?" When
Djo-na-aì'-yì-în told the Gopher of his intention, the latter promised to
aid him. The Gopher thought it advisable to reconnoiter by burrowing his way
underground to the Elk. Djo-na- aì'-yì-în watched the progress of the Gopher
as that animal threw out fresh heaps of earth on his way. At length the
Gopher came to the surface underneath the Elk, whose giant heart was beating
like a mighty hammer. He then proceeded to gnaw the hair from about the
heart of the Elk. "What are you doing?" said the Elk. "I am cutting a few
hairs for my little ones, they are now lying on the bare ground," replied
the Gopher, who continued until the magic coat of the Elk was all cut away
from about the heart of the Elk. Then he returned to Djo- na-aì'-yì-în, and
told the latter to go through the hole which he had made and shoot the Elk.
Four times the Son of the Sun tried to enter the hole before he succeeded.
When he reached the Elk, he saw the great heart beating above him, and
easily pierced it with his arrows; four times his bow was drawn before he
turned to escape through the tunnel which the Gopher had been preparing for
him. This hole extended far to the eastward, but the Elk soon discovered it,
and, thrusting his antler into it, followed in pursuit. The Elk ploughed up
the earth with such violence that the present mountains were formed, which
extend from east to west. The black spider closed the hole with a strong
web, but the Elk broke through it and ran southward, forming the mountain
chains which trend north and south. In the south the Elk was checked by the
web of the blue spider, in the west by that of the yellow spider, while in
the north the web of the many-colored spider resisted his attacks until he
fell dying from exhaustion and wounds. Djo-na-aì'-yì-în made a coat from the
hide of the Elk, gave the front quarters to the Gopher, the hind quarters to
the Lizard, and carried home the antlers. He found that the results of his
adventures were not unknown to his mother, who had spent the time during his
absence in singing, and watching a roll of cedar bark which sank into the
earth or rose in the air as danger approached or receded from
Djo-na-aì'-yì-în, her son.
Djo-na-aì'-yì-în next desired to kill the great Eagle, I-tsa. His mother
directed him to seek the Eagle in the west. In four strides he reached the
home of the Eagle, an inaccessible rock, on which was the nest, containing
two young eaglets. His ear told him to stand facing the east when the next
morning the Eagle swooped down upon him and tried to carry him off. The
talons of the Eagle failed to penetrate the hard elk-skin by which he was
covered. "Turn to the south," said the ear, and again the Eagle came, and
was again unsuccessful. Djo- na-aì'-yì-în faced each of the four points in
this manner, and again faced toward the east; whereupon the Eagle succeeded
in fastening its talons in the lacing on the front of the coat of the
supposed man, who was carried to the nest above and thrown down before the
young eagles, with the invitation to pick his eyes out. As they were about
to do this, Djo-na-aì'-yì-în gave a warning hiss, at which the young ones
cried, "He is living yet." "Oh, no," replied the old Eagle; "that is only
the rush of air from his body through the holes made by my talons." Without
stopping to verify this, the Eagle flew away. Djo-na-aì'- yì-în threw some
of the blood of the Elk which he had brought with him to the young ones, and
asked them when their mother returned. " In the afternoon when it rains,"
they answered. When the mother Eagle came with the shower of rain in the
afternoon, he stood in readiness with one of the Elk antlers in his hand. As
the bird alighted with a man in her talons, Djo-na-aì'-yì-în struck her upon
the back with the antler, killing her instantly. Going back to the nest, he
asked the young eagles when their father returned. "Our father comes home
when the wind blows and brings rain just before sunset," they said. The male
Eagle came at the appointed time, carrying a woman with a crying infant upon
her back. Mother and babe were dropped from a height upon the rock and
killed. With the second antler of the Elk, Djo-na-aì'-yì-în avenged their
death, and ended the career of the eagles by striking the Eagle upon the
back and killing him. The wing of this eagle was of enormous size; the bones
were as large as a man's arm; fragments of this wing are still preserved at
Taos. Djo-na-aì'-yì-în struck the young eagles upon the head, saying, "You
shall never grow any larger." Thus deprived of their strength and power to
injure mankind, the eagles relinquished their sovereignty with the parting
curse of rheumatism, which they bestowed upon the human race.
Djo-na-aì'-yì-în could discover no way by which he could descend from the
rock, until at length he saw an old female Bat, Tca-na'-mi-în, on the plain
below. At first she pretended not to hear his calls for help; then she flew
up with the inquiry, "How did you get here?" Djo-na-aì'-yì-în told how he
had killed the eagles. "I will give you all the feathers you may desire if
you will help me to escape," concluded he. The old Bat carried her basket,
ilt-tsai-î-zîs, by a slender spider's thread. He was afraid to trust himself
in such a small basket suspended by a thread, but she reassured him, saying;
"I have packed mountain sheep in this basket, and the strap has never
broken. Do not look while we are descending ; keep your eyes shut as tight
as you can." He began to open his eyes once during the descent, but she
warned him in time to avoid mishap. They went to the foot of the rock where
the old Eagles lay. Djo-na-aì'-yì-în filled her basket with feathers, but
told her not to go out on the plains, where there are many small birds.
Forgetting this admonition, she was soon among the small birds, who robbed
the old Bat of all her feathers. This accounts for the plumage of the small
bird klo'-kîn, which somewhat resembles the color of the tail and wing
feathers of the bald eagle. The Bat returned four times for a supply of
feathers, but the fifth time she asked to have her basket filled, Djo-
na-aì'-yì-în was vexed. "Yon cannot take care of your feathers, so you shall
never have any. This old skin on your basket is good enough for you." "Very
well," said the Bat, resignedly, "I deserve to lose them, for I never could
take care of those feathers."
Frank Russell, Myths of the Jicarilla Apaches, 1898
In the early days, animals and birds of monstrous size preyed upon the
people; the giant Elk, the Eagle, and others devoured men, women, and
children, until the gods were petitioned for relief. A deliverer was sent to
them in the person of Djo-na-aì'-yì-&ibreven, the son of the old woman who
lives in the West and the second wife of the Sun. She divided her time
between the Sun and the Waterfall, and by the latter bore a second son,
named Ko-ba-tcis'-tci-ni, who remained with his mother while his brother
went forth to battle with the enemies of mankind. In four days
Djo-na-aì'-yì-&ibreven grew to manhood, then he asked his mother where the
Elk lived. She told him that the Elk was in a great desert far to the
southward. She gave him arrows with which to kill the Elk. In four steps he
reached the distant desert where the Elk was lying. Djo- na-aì'-yì-&ibreven
cautiously observed the position of the Elk from behind a hill. The Elk was
lying on an open plain, where no trees or bushes were to be found that might
serve to shelter Djo-na-aì'-yì-în from view while he approached. While he
was looking at the Elk, with dried grass before his face, the Lizard,
Mai-cu-i-ti-tce-tcê, said to him, "What are you doing, my friend? "
Djo-na-aì'-yì-în explained his mission whereupon the Lizard suggested that
he clothe himself in the garments of the Lizard, in which he could approach
the Elk in safety. Djo-na-aì'-yì-în tried four times before he succeeded in
getting into the coat of the Lizard. Next the Gopher, Mi-i-ni-li, came to
him with the question, "What are you doing here, my friend?" When
Djo-na-aì'-yì-în told the Gopher of his intention, the latter promised to
aid him. The Gopher thought it advisable to reconnoiter by burrowing his way
underground to the Elk. Djo-na- aì'-yì-în watched the progress of the Gopher
as that animal threw out fresh heaps of earth on his way. At length the
Gopher came to the surface underneath the Elk, whose giant heart was beating
like a mighty hammer. He then proceeded to gnaw the hair from about the
heart of the Elk. "What are you doing?" said the Elk. "I am cutting a few
hairs for my little ones, they are now lying on the bare ground," replied
the Gopher, who continued until the magic coat of the Elk was all cut away
from about the heart of the Elk. Then he returned to Djo- na-aì'-yì-în, and
told the latter to go through the hole which he had made and shoot the Elk.
Four times the Son of the Sun tried to enter the hole before he succeeded.
When he reached the Elk, he saw the great heart beating above him, and
easily pierced it with his arrows; four times his bow was drawn before he
turned to escape through the tunnel which the Gopher had been preparing for
him. This hole extended far to the eastward, but the Elk soon discovered it,
and, thrusting his antler into it, followed in pursuit. The Elk ploughed up
the earth with such violence that the present mountains were formed, which
extend from east to west. The black spider closed the hole with a strong
web, but the Elk broke through it and ran southward, forming the mountain
chains which trend north and south. In the south the Elk was checked by the
web of the blue spider, in the west by that of the yellow spider, while in
the north the web of the many-colored spider resisted his attacks until he
fell dying from exhaustion and wounds. Djo-na-aì'-yì-în made a coat from the
hide of the Elk, gave the front quarters to the Gopher, the hind quarters to
the Lizard, and carried home the antlers. He found that the results of his
adventures were not unknown to his mother, who had spent the time during his
absence in singing, and watching a roll of cedar bark which sank into the
earth or rose in the air as danger approached or receded from
Djo-na-aì'-yì-în, her son.
Djo-na-aì'-yì-în next desired to kill the great Eagle, I-tsa. His mother
directed him to seek the Eagle in the west. In four strides he reached the
home of the Eagle, an inaccessible rock, on which was the nest, containing
two young eaglets. His ear told him to stand facing the east when the next
morning the Eagle swooped down upon him and tried to carry him off. The
talons of the Eagle failed to penetrate the hard elk-skin by which he was
covered. "Turn to the south," said the ear, and again the Eagle came, and
was again unsuccessful. Djo- na-aì'-yì-în faced each of the four points in
this manner, and again faced toward the east; whereupon the Eagle succeeded
in fastening its talons in the lacing on the front of the coat of the
supposed man, who was carried to the nest above and thrown down before the
young eagles, with the invitation to pick his eyes out. As they were about
to do this, Djo-na-aì'-yì-în gave a warning hiss, at which the young ones
cried, "He is living yet." "Oh, no," replied the old Eagle; "that is only
the rush of air from his body through the holes made by my talons." Without
stopping to verify this, the Eagle flew away. Djo-na-aì'- yì-în threw some
of the blood of the Elk which he had brought with him to the young ones, and
asked them when their mother returned. " In the afternoon when it rains,"
they answered. When the mother Eagle came with the shower of rain in the
afternoon, he stood in readiness with one of the Elk antlers in his hand. As
the bird alighted with a man in her talons, Djo-na-aì'-yì-în struck her upon
the back with the antler, killing her instantly. Going back to the nest, he
asked the young eagles when their father returned. "Our father comes home
when the wind blows and brings rain just before sunset," they said. The male
Eagle came at the appointed time, carrying a woman with a crying infant upon
her back. Mother and babe were dropped from a height upon the rock and
killed. With the second antler of the Elk, Djo-na-aì'-yì-în avenged their
death, and ended the career of the eagles by striking the Eagle upon the
back and killing him. The wing of this eagle was of enormous size; the bones
were as large as a man's arm; fragments of this wing are still preserved at
Taos. Djo-na-aì'-yì-în struck the young eagles upon the head, saying, "You
shall never grow any larger." Thus deprived of their strength and power to
injure mankind, the eagles relinquished their sovereignty with the parting
curse of rheumatism, which they bestowed upon the human race.
Djo-na-aì'-yì-în could discover no way by which he could descend from the
rock, until at length he saw an old female Bat, Tca-na'-mi-în, on the plain
below. At first she pretended not to hear his calls for help; then she flew
up with the inquiry, "How did you get here?" Djo-na-aì'-yì-în told how he
had killed the eagles. "I will give you all the feathers you may desire if
you will help me to escape," concluded he. The old Bat carried her basket,
ilt-tsai-î-zîs, by a slender spider's thread. He was afraid to trust himself
in such a small basket suspended by a thread, but she reassured him, saying;
"I have packed mountain sheep in this basket, and the strap has never
broken. Do not look while we are descending ; keep your eyes shut as tight
as you can." He began to open his eyes once during the descent, but she
warned him in time to avoid mishap. They went to the foot of the rock where
the old Eagles lay. Djo-na-aì'-yì-în filled her basket with feathers, but
told her not to go out on the plains, where there are many small birds.
Forgetting this admonition, she was soon among the small birds, who robbed
the old Bat of all her feathers. This accounts for the plumage of the small
bird klo'-kîn, which somewhat resembles the color of the tail and wing
feathers of the bald eagle. The Bat returned four times for a supply of
feathers, but the fifth time she asked to have her basket filled, Djo-
na-aì'-yì-în was vexed. "Yon cannot take care of your feathers, so you shall
never have any. This old skin on your basket is good enough for you." "Very
well," said the Bat, resignedly, "I deserve to lose them, for I never could
take care of those feathers."
Frank Russell, Myths of the Jicarilla Apaches, 1898