Iya The Camp-eater





FROM the tall grass came the voice of a crying babe. The huntsmen who

were passing nigh heard and halted.



The tallest one among them hastened toward the high grass with long,

cautious strides. He waded through the growth of green with just a head

above it all. Suddenly exclaiming "Hunhe!" he dropped out of sight. In

another instant he held up in both his hands a tiny little baby, wrapped

in soft brown buckskins.



"Oh ho, a wood-child!" cried the men, for they were hunting along the

wooded river bottom where this babe was found.



While the hunters were questioning whether or no they should carry it

home, the wee Indian baby kept up his little howl.



"His voice is strong!" said one.



"At times it sounds like an old man's voice!" whispered a superstitious

fellow, who feared some bad spirit hid in the small child to cheat them

by and by.



"Let us take it to our wise chieftain," at length they said; and the

moment they started toward the camp ground the strange wood-child ceased

to cry.



Beside the chieftain's teepee waited the hunters while the tall man

entered with the child.



"How! how!" nodded the kind-faced chieftain, listening to the queer

story. Then rising, he took the infant in his strong arms; gently he

laid the black-eyed babe in his daughter's lap. "This is to be your

little son!" said he, smiling.



"Yes, father," she replied. Pleased with the child, she smoothed the

long black hair fringing his round brown face.



"Tell the people that I give a feast and dance this day for the naming

of my daughter's little son," bade the chieftain.



In the meanwhile among the men waiting by the entrance way, one said in

a low voice: "I have heard that bad spirits come as little children into

a camp which they mean to destroy."



"No! no! Let us not be overcautious. It would be cowardly to leave

a baby in the wild wood where prowl the hungry wolves!" answered an

elderly man.



The tall man now came out of the chieftain's teepee. With a word he sent

them to their dwellings half running with joy.



"A feast! a dance for the naming of the chieftain's grandchild!" cried

he in a loud voice to the village people.



"What? what?" asked they in great surprise, holding a hand to the ear to

catch the words of the crier.



There was a momentary silence among the people while they listened to

the ringing voice of the man walking in the center ground. Then broke

forth a rippling, laughing babble among the cone-shaped teepees. All

were glad to hear of the chieftain's grandson. They were happy to attend

the feast and dance for its naming. With excited fingers they twisted

their hair into glossy braids and painted their cheeks with bright red

paint. To and fro hurried the women, handsome in their gala-day dress.

Men in loose deerskins, with long tinkling metal fringes, strode in

small numbers toward the center of the round camp ground.



Here underneath a temporary shade-house of green leaves they were to

dance and feast. The children in deerskins and paints, just like their

elders, were jolly little men and women. Beside their eager parents they

skipped along toward the green dance house.



Here seated in a large circle, the people were assembled, the proud

chieftain rose with the little baby in his arms. The noisy hum of voices

was hushed. Not a tinkling of a metal fringe broke the silence. The

crier came forward to greet the chieftain, then bent attentively over

the small babe, listening to the words of the chieftain. When he paused

the crier spoke aloud to the people:



"This woodland child is adopted by the chieftain's eldest daughter. His

name is Chaske. He wears the title of the eldest son. In honor of Chaske

the chieftain gives this feast and dance! These are the words of him you

see holding a baby in his arms."



"Yes! Yes! Hinnu! How!" came from the circle. At once the drummers beat

softly and slowly their drum while the chosen singers hummed together to

find the common pitch. The beat of the drum grew louder and faster. The

singers burst forth in a lively tune. Then the drumbeats subsided and

faintly marked the rhythm of the singing. Here and there bounced up men

and women, both young and old. They danced and sang with merry light

hearts. Then came the hour of feasting.



Late into the night the air of the camp ground was alive with the

laughing voices of women and the singing in unison of young men. Within

her father's teepee sat the chieftain's daughter. Proud of her little

one, she watched over him asleep in her lap.



Gradually a deep quiet stole over the camp ground, as one by one the

people fell into pleasant dreams. Now all the village was still. Alone

sat the beautiful young mother watching the babe in her lap, asleep with

a gaping little mouth. Amid the quiet of the night, her ear heard the

far-off hum of many voices. The faint sound of murmuring people was in

the air. Upward she glanced at the smoke hole of the wigwam and saw

a bright star peeping down upon her. "Spirits in the air above?" she

wondered. Yet there was no sign to tell her of their nearness. The fine

small sound of voices grew larger and nearer.



"Father! rise! I hear the coming of some tribe. Hostile or friendly--I

cannot tell. Rise and see!" whispered the young woman.



"Yes, my daughter!" answered the chieftain, springing to his feet.



Though asleep, his ear was ever alert. Thus rushing out into the open,

he listened for strange sounds. With an eagle eye he scanned the camp

ground for some sign.



Returning he said: "My daughter, I hear nothing and see no sign of evil

nigh."



"Oh! the sound of many voices comes up from the earth about me!"

exclaimed the young mother.



Bending low over her babe she gave ear to the ground. Horrified was she

to find the mysterious sound came out of the open mouth of her sleeping

child!



"Why so unlike other babes!" she cried within her heart as she slipped

him gently from her lap to the ground. "Mother, listen and tell me if

this child is an evil spirit come to destroy our camp!" she whispered

loud.



Placing an ear close to the open baby mouth, the chieftain and his wife,

each in turn heard the voices of a great camp. The singing of men and

women, the beating of the drum, the rattling of deer-hoofs strung like

bells on a string, these were the sounds they heard.



"We must go away," said the chieftain, leading them into the night.

Out in the open he whispered to the frightened young woman: "Iya, the

camp-eater, has come in the guise of a babe. Had you gone to sleep, he

would have jumped out into his own shape and would have devoured our

camp. He is a giant with spindling legs. He cannot fight, for he cannot

run. He is powerful only in the night with his tricks. We are safe as

soon as day breaks." Then moving closer to the woman, he whispered: "If

he wakes now, he will swallow the whole tribe with one hideous gulp!

Come, we must flee with our people."



Thus creeping from teepee to teepee a secret alarm signal was given. At

midnight the teepees were gone and there was left no sign of the village

save heaps of dead ashes. So quietly had the people folded their wigwams

and bundled their tent poles that they slipped away unheard by the

sleeping Iya babe.



When the morning sun arose, the babe awoke. Seeing himself deserted, he

threw off his baby form in a hot rage.



Wearing his own ugly shape, his huge body toppled to and fro, from side

to side, on a pair of thin legs far too small for their burden. Though

with every move he came dangerously nigh to falling, he followed in the

trail of the fleeing people.



"I shall eat you in the sight of a noon-day sun!" cried Iya in his vain

rage, when he spied them encamped beyond a river.



By some unknown cunning he swam the river and sought his way toward the

teepees.



"Hin! hin!" he grunted and growled. With perspiration beading his brow

he strove to wiggle his slender legs beneath his giant form.



"Ha! ha!" laughed all the village people to see Iya made foolish with

anger. "Such spindle legs cannot stand to fight by daylight!" shouted

the brave ones who were terror-struck the night before by the name

"Iya."



Warriors with long knives rushed forth and slew the camp-eater.



Lo! there rose out of the giant a whole Indian tribe: their camp ground,

their teepees in a large circle, and the people laughing and dancing.



"We are glad to be free!" said these strange people.



Thus Iya was killed; and no more are the camp grounds in danger of being

swallowed up in a single night time.





Ivan The Fool And St Peter's Fife Jack Dreadnought facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditpinterestlinkedinmail

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