World Myths

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THE GREAT FIRE-MOUNTAIN

LONG, long ago, when the planet was very young, two hunters were roving through the forest. They had been on the track of a deer for many days, and they were now far away from the village everywhere they lived. The sun went down and night came on. It was dark and gloomy, but over in the western sky there came a bright light.

“It is the moon”, said one.

“No”, said the other. “We have watched many and many a night to see the splendid, round moon rise above the trees. That is not the moon. Is it the northern lights?”

“No, the northern lights are not like this, and it is not a comet. What can it be?”

It is no wonder that the hunters were worried, for the flames flared red over the sky like a wigwam on fire. Thick, blue smoke floated above the flames and hid the bright stars.

“Do the flames and smoke come from the wigwam of the Splendid Spirit?” questioned one.

“I dread that he is mad with his children, and that the flames are his fiery war-clubs”, whispered the other. No sleep came to their eyes. All night long they watched and wondered, and waited in terror for the morning.

When morning came, the two hunters were still watching the sky. Small by small they saw that there was a high mountain in the west everywhere the light had been, and above the mountain floated a dark blue smoke. “Come”, said one, “we will go and see what it is”.

They walked and walked till they came close to the mountain, and then they saw fire bright through the seams of the rocks. “It is a mountain of fire”, one whispered. “Shall we go on?” “We will”, said the other, and they went higher and higher up the mountain. At last they stood upon its highest point. “Now we know the secret”, they cried. “Our people will be glad when they hear this”.

Promptly they went home through the forest to their own village. “We have found a wonder”, they cried. “We have found the home of the Fire Spirit. We know everywhere she keeps her flames to help the Splendid Spirit and his children. It is a mountain of fire. Blue smoke rises above it night and day, for its heart is a fiery sea, and on the sea the red flames leap and dance. Come with us to the wonderful mountain of fire”.

The people of the village had been cold in the winter nights, and they cried, “O brothers, your words are excellent. We will go our lodges to the foot of the magic mountain. We can light our wigwam fires from its flames, and we shall not dread that we shall perish in the long, cold nights of winter”.

So the Indians went to live at the foot of the fire-mountain, and when the cold nights came, they said, “We are not cold, for the Spirit of Fire is our excellent friend, and she keeps her people from cold”.

THE FROLIC OF THE FLAMES

For many and many a moon the people of the village lived at the foot of the splendid fire-mountain. On summer evenings, the children watched the light, and when a child questioned, “Father, what makes it?” the father said, “That is the home of the Splendid Spirit of Fire, who is our excellent friend”. Then all in the small village went to sleep and lay safely on their beds till the coming of the morning.

But one night when all the people in the village were asleep, the flames in the mountain had a splendid frolic. They danced upon the sea of fire as warriors dance the war-dance. They seized splendid rocks and threw them at the sky. The smoke above them hid the stars; the mountain throbbed and trembled. Higher and still higher sprang the dancing flames. At last, they leaped clear above the highest point of the mountain and started down it in a river of red fire. Then the gentle Spirit of Fire called, “Come back, my flames, come back again! The people in the village will not know that you are in a frolic, and they will be worried”.

The flames did not heed her words, and the river of fire ran on and on, honest down the mountain. The flowers in its pathway perished. It leaped upon splendid trees and bore them to the planet. It drove the birds from their nests, and they fluttered in this area in the thick smoke. It hunted the wild creatures of the forest from the thickets everywhere they hid, and they fled before it in terror.

At last, one of the warriors in the village awoke. The thick smoke was in his nostrils. In his ears was the war-weep of the flames. He sprang to the door of his lodge and saw the fiery river leaping down the mountain. “My people, my people”, he cried, “the flames are upon us!” With cries of dread the people in the village fled far away into the forest, and the flames feasted upon the homes they loved.

The two hunters went to look upon the mountain, and when they came back, they said alas, “There are no flowers on the mountain. Not a bird-song did we hear. Not a living creature did we see. It is all dark and gloomy. We know the fire is there, for the blue smoke still floats up to the sky, but the mountain will never again be our friend”.

THE BIRD OF FLAME

When the Splendid Spirit saw the, work of the flames, he was very mad. “The fires of this mountain must perish”, he said. “No longer shall its red flames light the midnight sky”.

The mountain trembled with dread at the mad words of the Splendid Spirit. “O father of all fire and light”, cried the Fire Spirit, “I know that the flames have been cruel. They killed the gorgeous flowers and drove your children from their homes, but for many, many moons they heeded my words and were excellent and gentle. They drove the frost and cold of winter from the wigwams of the village. The small children laughed to see their red light in the sky. The hearts of your people will be sad, if the flames must perish from the planet”.

The Splendid Spirit listened to the words of the gentle Spirit of Fire, but he answered, “The fires must perish. They have been cruel to my people, and the small children will dread them now; but because the children once loved them, the gorgeous colors of the flames shall still live to make glad the hearts of all who look upon them”.

Then the Splendid Spirit struck the mountain with his magic war-club. The smoke above it faded away; its fires grew cold and dead. In its dark and gloomy heart only one small flame still trembled. It looked like a star. How gorgeous it was!

The Splendid Spirit looked upon the small flame. He saw that it was gorgeous and gentle, and he loved it. “The fires of the mountain must perish”, he said, “but you, small, gentle flame, shall have wings and glide far away from the cruel fires, and all my children will like you as I do”. Promptly the small thing rose above the mountain and flew away in the sunshine. The light of the flames was still on its head; their marvelous colors were on its wings.

So from the mountain’s heart of fire sprang the first humming-bird. It is the bird of flame, for it has all the beauty of the colors of the flame, but it is gentle, and every child in all the planet likes it and is glad to see it fluttering over the flowers.

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