Legends and Narratives from the Moose Cree language, as told by Gilbert Faries, Sophie Gunner, James Gunner, Hannah Loon and Ellen McLeod

Satellite photograph from August of 2000_James Bay in Northern Ontario, Canada

Legends and Narratives from the Moose Cree language, as told by Gilbert Faries, Sophie Gunner, James Gunner, Hannah Loon and Ellen McLeod: from recordings made in 1958, 1964 and 1965 in and around Moose Factory in Ontario, Canada
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Why the squirrel has red eyes (Acicamoŝ wêhci-mihkwacâpit)
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So then, the legend is told of why the squirrel has red eyes…
Once long ago when an animal was being sought to be leader in the woods, the squirrel thought that he should be foremost. Now then, when the other animals saw him, they began to make fun of him. And they ridiculed him, saying: “Be off with you! You’re too little. You’ll never be able to be master here in the woods, because you’re little.”
And so, since the squirrel hated it very much, he cried very hard. And he also rubbed at his eyes very hard, until he began to have entirely red eyes from crying so hard.
. . .

Why the loon’s feet are near the tail (Mwâkwa wêhc’-îšinâkwaniliki osita)
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Now then, this again is the beginning of the legend about the loon, why this one’s feet look the way they do.
Once upon a time long ago, the beasts and the birds got together because they wanted to have a feast. And so, as they were there on the lake, in the course of the feasting, this loon began to flirt around with other birds. So then the rest of those birds weren’t pleased with the fact that this loon wanted to take away Shingibish’s wife.
And so, when being angry, Shingibish chased after this loon. And then, as the latter ran away, he kicked him very hard as he ran off. And he utterly knocked his feet back there, having crippled him. And ever since, that’s why the loon’s feet hang that way, right near his tail-end.
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Why the bear has a short tail (Maskwa wêhci-tahkwâliwêt)
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Now, this is the beginning of the legend about the bear, why his tail is short.
Once upon a time long ago he saw a fox that had a fish. And so at this the bear said: “How is it that you are able to catch fish?”
And so at this the fox replied: “It’s very easy when one wants to catch a fish. At that hole there in the river, in the ice, it’s just at that very spot that I dip my tail in. And then, as I feel a fish playing around with my tail, I suddenly give a jump. While he’s biting my tail I pull him to the surface…You can do it too, if you want to catch hold of him, if you want to catch a fish,” he said to the bear.
So then the bear thought, “Certainly, I’ll be able, too.”
So then he dipped his tail in, his long tail, that is. And then as he felt a fish playing with his tail, he didn’t yet give a jump.
“So wait a little, and many will be hanging on here and there,” thought the bear in his greedy desire, that is. He wanted a lot of fish.
And so, at last, as his tail began to freeze to the ice, he thought, “Now there are a lot of fish,” as he began to feel his tail heavy.
And then at that point when he gave a sudden jump, that’s the way he tore off his tail, since it had already been stuck to the ice.
. . .
A favourite dish from whitefish roe (Atihkamêk owâhkona ê-kîsisomihci)
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Now for that fish which is called the whitefish, in processing its innards, called “liver-water”. When we catch a good number of whitefish we clean the innards and cook them. And we call it “liver-water”.
We squeeze out the whole of those innards. Then we put them in a frying pan and cook them. We cook them there a long, long time until they’re boiled completely dry, so they may come to a fry, so they become all brown. Then we put in a little flour. We mix it in a small dish, then we put them there in the “liver-water”, as we cook them. And they are very delicious.
And then also that other fish, the so-called red sucker, what’s called the roe there, we cut them open, as they have it. We cook those roe along with them. That “liver-water” is tastier though, as I make it, when we put the flour with it, we put a little flour in as we continually stir it. That’s what we do when we make that “liver-water”. We put in a little flour, that is, and we stir it in a small dish. It’s more delicious when it’s dressed that way, with a little flour put in it. And so red sucker roe also is sometimes put in it, and cooked along with it. And it’s more delicious when it’s dressed that way.
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Snatch of a conversation: to go up-river or not? (Ayamihitowinišiš: n’tahikâtêkwê nêstapiko êkâ?)
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“Are you decided, are we making up our mind…to go to the Indian Reservation right now? I don’t think we should. The weather’s too dirty. I think that the sky doesn’t look right.”
“Just as you please. You always seem to want to be the boss.”
“Let it go at that. That’s what I think right now. I don’t very much relish the thought of travelling in dirty weather. It’s just that…although we only want to go this short distance. Never mind then, I may as well stop thinking about it.”
“If you’re satisfied at that, I don’t mind either.”
. . .
Mishchagalash, who is supposed to have died and then to have risen (Mišcâkalâš kâ-kî-nipikopanê, êko mâka kâ-kî-waniškâkopanê)
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The twenty-first day of July…
Mishchagalash, as he was called, was very good at hunting. The people fought with each other and he too wrestled. The other person hollered: “Now these people are killing each other.” But ošâwasko, ošâwaskwapîway, laughed at it. He wrestled with Mishchagalash. But ošâwaskwapîway got very angry, being wrestled with there by Mishchagalash. His uncle, his uncle’s name, ošâwaskwapîway was his uncle’s name.
“I was only grabbed again and again, I felt just as if I were slashed,” he said as his uncle seized him and stopped him from fighting.
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Now one day he went away by boat when they had finished wrestling. So then, this Mishchagalash, this very Mishchagalash said: “It would seem I had died.” So then he was confined.
“What is that? At last…it seems now I am awakening. It would seem I had died. Now I am getting up. The grass was yellow when I got up. When I had turned over I took my ghost-pipe and smoked. Then when I went home my mother knew me very well, since I had arrived in the morning. Now my mother saw me. My mother wept: “To be sure, I love my son very much. He was much given to hunting.”
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It seems then that I started to go away by canoe, looking for deer.
My mother went down the bank in the distance, as she saw me as I came paddling, facing her. Now she came into sight, paddling towards me.
“It’s a stump which he’s bringing back.”
In my craft, in my canoe…I had put it in the bow of my canoe.
“It’s a buck deer, it seems, which he has killed.”
And now my mother knew that I was bringing food.
My mother wept: “No wonder, it’s my son for whom I was sorry when he died, because he was such a
good hunter.”
. . .
A fight between a whiskey-jack and a mouse (Ê-mâšihitocik wîskacâniš nêsta mâka wâpikošiš)
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Once again when we had been living somewhere in this area, we were at West River…
Now, at that time, we regularly used to have our tent out towards the sea, in the willows, more or less, as we killed foxes. Well then, once as I was sitting inside, a whiskey-jack was making an awful racket. “My! Whatever’s wrong with this whiskey-jack that he’s making this noise?” I thought. I looked around, finally. For a long time, at first though, I didn’t look. But at last I looked through a hole in the tent. From there I looked at him. The whiskey-jack was perched on a willow. I looked at him. “What’s wrong with this one who’s making this noise?” Suddenly there popped…a mouse slowly emerged at last, in the snow. It emerged from the snow.
At that point the whiskey-jack jumped at the mouse. He bit him in the neck. He flew away with him repeatedly.
The mouse got the better of him. He carried him off, again and again.
Then the mouse struggled as he carried him off again and again…to such an extent that he was quickly dropped as he struggled. Again and again the mouse fell away on the ground, on the snow. Then he quickly dug in the snow again. Then once more the whiskey-jack would watch the spot again. The whiskey-jack kept a look-out for him. But out came that mouse, again. I looked at him.
Now the whiskey-jack jumped at that mouse once again. He bit him in his neck. He dropped him again and again as he carried him off struggling, just biting him.
Now, once more, the mouse quickly took cover. Finally, he came out again. Now he landed. Now they had a tussle with each other, out in the open. Then they battled each other.
This whiskey-jack was not able to get the better of this mouse…
He was worsted by him. This whiskey-jack was making a dreadful lot of noise.
“Look now, whatever’s wrong with this fellow that he’s making such a racket?” I thought, as he made a noise like this [ imitative screech ]. That’s what the whiskey-jack said, because he was scared.
So at last I laughed really hard. The mouse bit away at the whiskey-jack. He was just standing on his hind legs. And then they were jumping at each other back and forth, and the whiskey-jack was jumping back and forth as he was getting the worst of it from that mouse. This whiskey-jack was helped a little by his wings, but to my mind the mouse was stronger as I looked at him. I couldn’t help but laugh hard as I watched them, to the point that I disturbed them while they were fighting with each other.
. . .
A conversation (Ayamihitowin): Hannah Loon and Ellen McLeod
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H.L.: “Ellen, what happened to you folks while you were staying at Hannah Bay while you were living with your father as he was hunting?”
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E.M.: “Uh hmm.”
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H.L.: “What had happened to you that led you to come when only you folks arrived?”
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E.M.: “He wasn’t going to come at Christmas. But my older sister said to me, “Let’s go, you and me. Let’s follow our older brothers who are going away,” she said. So then I said to her: “Alright, let’s go. But let’s hurry and cook up some things first for our father before we leave,” I said to her. And we cooked for him. We did everything properly for him. Now then, we left to come. There was no axe there. There was only the big axe. With my older sister taking that one, we came away. By the time we were at Big Stone we had already caught up with them, including my older brother. “What’s wrong with you two?” he said. We didn’t speak to them. We hid from them [she laughs.]
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“These people ought to have left to come anyway. Yes.”
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“We slept there. We slept there, the two of us. By and by there, by and by we saw them there at Netitishi.”
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“They had come away in advance.”
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“And then my older brother said to me: “Where is your father?”
“We left him. He didn’t want to come away. He didn’t want to go to the settlement for Christmas. But we’ve left to come. I got a ride…she got a ride, though. But I wasn’t taken. I ran along.”
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“Your older sister, Mary, was taken.”
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“Only my older sister, Mary, was taken. I ran along. And he said: “Take that axe of theirs,” my older brother, Willie, was told. “Where are these two going?” “They’re off logging to Peehtawanagaw,” said Archibald [she laughs.]
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“Just teasing you…”
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“Uh-huh.”
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“Because you two sure didn’t own an axe.”
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“I ran along all the time. She was carried on the sled.
Finally, I saw a young fellow, James. He gave me a seat on his sled. We arrived here. On the second day my father suddenly arrived. He laughed, he laughed at us. We laughed too.”
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“But what did James there say to you while you were tired, as he was hauling you?”
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“Who knows?”
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“Didn’t you…didn’t you have him as a boyfriend? There’s nothing wrong with that …!”
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“That’s as much as I’m going to tell.”
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“Oh? Oh!”
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“This is as much as I’ll tell you.”
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“Yes.”
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“Not about that.”
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“Then that’s the extent of your story.”
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“Yes.”
. . .
The above transcriptions are excerpts from Cree Legends and Narratives from the West Coast of James Bay (Âtalôhkâna nêsta tipâcimôwina), published by The University of Manitoba Press in 1995. The text is in several Cree variants, plus English translations. Edited and with a glossary by C. Douglas Ellis.