New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures [1 ed.] 9780803278905, 9780803265486

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Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved. New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

New Voices for Old Words

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Studies in the Anthropology of North American Indians Series Editors Raymond J. DeMallie

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Douglas R. Parks

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

New Voices V for O Old Woords Algonquia A an Oral Litteratures

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Ed dited by David JJ. Costaa

Univerrsity of Nebrasska Press | Linccoln and Londoon In cooperaation with the American A Indiaan Studies Research In nstitute, Indianaa University, B Bloomington

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

he Universityy of Nebraskaa © 2015 by the Board off Regents of th All rights reserved r ured in the Un nited States off America Manufactu

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yaamia Centerr. n of this volum me was assistted by the My Publication  /LEUDU\RI&RQJUHVV&RQWURO1XPEHU

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Table of Contents Foreword Yii Introduction DAVID J. COSTA

1

Editing a Gros Ventre (White Clay) Text TERRY BROCKIE AND ANDREW COWELL Gros Ventre text: The Gros Ventres Go to War

9

Redacting Premodern Texts without Speakers: the Peoria Story of Wiihsakacaakwa DAVID J. COSTA Peoria text: Wiihsakacaakwa Aalhsoohkaakani (Wiihsakacaakwa Story)

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Editing and Using Arapaho-Language Manuscript Sources: A Comparative Perspective ANDREW COWELL Arapaho texts: A Name-Changing Prayer Nih’oo3oo and His Friend the Beaver Catcher: Diving through the Ice Highlighting Rhetorical Structure through Syntactic Analysis: An Illustrated Meskwaki Text by Alfred Kiyana AMY DAHLSTROM Meskwaki text: A Man Who Fasted Long Ago Three Nineteenth-Century Munsee Texts: Archaisms, Dialect Variation, and Problems of Textual Criticism IVES GODDARD Munsee Delaware texts: A Youth and His Uncle Moshkim Origin Myth On Editing Bill Leaf’s Meskwaki Texts LUCY THOMASON Meskwaki text: Bill Leaf’s Story of Red-Leggins

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

21 34 63 90 105 113 118 134 198 241 252 266 315 349

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Table of Contents

Challenges of Editing and Presenting the Corpus of Potawatomi Stories Told by Jim and Alice Spear to Charles Hockett LAURA WELCHER Potawatomi text: Jejakos Gigabé (Crane Boy)

453 470

522

Contributors

538

Index

539

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The Words of Black Hawk: Restoring a Long-Ignored Bilingual GORDON WHITTAKER Sauk text: The Nekanawîni (‘My Words’) of Mahkatêwimeshikêhkêhkwa

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490

Foreword

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New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest



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New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Introduction

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David J. Costa An integral part of the documentation of Native American languages and cultures has long been the recording, examination, and study of native texts. In the past few decades (beginning with Dell Hymes’s work in the 1970s), the issue of how to understand and present these texts has gained increasing attention, with special emphasis on how to interpret native texts from an ethnopoetic perspective. As a result, there has been a resurgence of linguistic interest in the publication of native texts, after it had languished for much of the mid-twentieth century.1 However, despite the upsurge of interest in native texts, there has been little discussion of the special problems presented by texts collected in the premodern period, and how they should be interpreted or redacted. Due to linguistic and cultural loss among the native peoples of North America in the twentieth century, many of the most important traditional narratives we have for many native groups were obtained well before the advent of modern linguistic methodology. Much of this work dates to the first period of anthopologically-motivated fieldwork sponsored by the Bureau of American Ethnology from the second half of the nineteenth century through the early twentieth century.2 Indeed, for many native North American languages that are no longer spoken, all available texts are from this time period. Such early materials are of tremendous linguistic and ethnological value: linguistically, they are usually more conservative than materials obtained in more recent times, their language less influenced by English or by reduced usage in the community. And of course their content is often more traditional as well, reflecting a time when the forced assimilation to European culture had not progressed as far as it



1. For notable recent examples of Algonquian text collections, see Ahenakew 2000 (Plains Cree), Beardy 1988 (Plains Cree), Cowell and Moss 2006 (Arapaho), DeBlois 1991 (Micmac), Ellis 1995 (Moose Cree), Goddard 2006 and 2007 (Meskwaki), Goddard and Bragdon 1988 (Massachusett), Kegg 1991 (Southwest Ojibwe), Leman 1980 (Cheyenne), LeSourd 2007 (Maliseet), O’Meara 1996 (Northern Ojibwe), and Whitecalf 1993 (Plains Cree). 2. For a description of the work published by the Bureau of American Ethnology in this time period, see Kinkade and Mattina (1996:249–53).

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has now. However, such “premodern” texts present special problems of analysis, such as greater difficulty of translation, grammatical analysis, and phonemic interpretation. While it has long been accepted practice to reelicit premodern texts with present-day speakers, this by no means eliminates the challenges inherent in older texts, since the archaic language seen in such texts is often no longer fully understood or controlled by modern speakers.3 Thus, for the fullest possible understanding of the native languages of North America, it is necessary to devise not only methodologies for analyzing premodern texts, but also means of clearly presenting them, balancing grammatical and philological analysis with meticulous annotation. The ultimate goal in presenting redacted texts is to raise the level of what we can understand about the texts (and their language) as much as possible, and to preserve this information for posterity so that future generations can have access to all the same knowledge, and hopefully raise the level of understanding even further. Moreover, the interpretation and presentation of older materials is of tremendous importance to tribes developing language teaching and cultural revitalization programs. Many native communities in North America that have lost their last speakers are attempting to utilize the often copious materials recorded in their languages, in hopes of making these materials maximally usable for their communities. In this regard, linguists studying the grammar of Native American languages that are no longer spoken have the same concerns as English-speaking tribal members examining the same materials in an effort to make sense of stories obtained from their ancestors. It is the responsibility of linguists not only to publish such materials in formats that are as coherent and accurate as possible, but also to help tribal linguists understand these same principles, so that they can make as much use of these materials as the general linguistic community can. The Algonquian languages are particularly well suited to demonstrate this kind of scholarship. Algonquian is a large family, most of the languages that survived into the twentieth century have been well studied, and their grammars and phonologies are reasonably well understood. Moreover, work on Algonquian languages has an especially long tradition; scholarship and recording have taken place since the colonial period. Thus, many of the languages have sizable bodies of texts, often including substantial texts written by native speakers. Additionally, the sound systems of Algonquian languages are by and large



3. See Goddard (1973) for further discussion of this issue.

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Introduction

3

less complicated, and less different from typical European languages, than those of many other North American language families, lessening the difficulties of interpretation of older and less accurately recorded materials. And finally, the languages are for the most part fairly closely related, so that problems of interpreting older forms of languages, or languages that did not survive to the modern period, can often be clarified by comparison with the better-attested dialects and languages. This volume presents eight case studies that examine such principles and apply them to the analysis of historical texts in several languages of the Algonquian language family. These chapters demonstrate the value of the linguistic, folkloric and ethnological information that can be recovered from older texts, information that is no longer obtainable from living sources. Six different languages are represented, from the westernmost extent of the Algonquian family to the Atlantic coast: Arapaho and Gros Ventre in the Great Plains, Meskwaki-Sauk, Potawatomi, and Peoria in the Great Lakes area, and Munsee Delaware in the northeast.4 Most of the texts presented here are taken from the collections in the National Anthropological Archives and have never been published in any form before. Indeed, many of the languages in this volume are among the most neglected in the Algonquian family, with few or no texts published in them in the last sixty years. Most of the texts in this volume are traditional narratives, but one of the Arapaho texts presented by Cowell is a prayer, and the Sauk text discussed by Whittaker is a brief speech. The texts vary in their degree of rhetorical structuring. The sources of the texts are diverse: Charles Hockett, who recorded the Potawatomi text in Welcher’s chapter, was a trained linguist in the Bloomfieldian period of American structuralism, and Truman Michelson, the source of one of Cowell’s Arapaho texts, was a linguist of an earlier generation who studied under Franz Boas. Albert Gatschet was an ethnologist, and a generation older than Boas. Other texts were recorded by late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century ethnologists and anthropologists of varying degrees of linguistic ability, and Whittaker’s Sauk text apparently by a government intepreter. Some were written directly by native speakers—one of Goddard’s Munsee texts, and the lengthy Meskwaki narratives in Dahlstrom’s and Thomason’s chapters. The authors represented in this volume have chosen to present and analyze their texts in a variety of different ways. It would have been a



4. Regrettably, none of the Cree and Ojibwe specialists who were invited to participate in this volume were able to contribute chapters.

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mistake to try to suppress this diversity by making the authors “standardize” their contributions. First, there is no single ideal method of redacting and presenting older texts that will display equally well all the interesting or problematic aspects of a given text. Moreover, different texts raise different challenges and foreground different issues, and this is reflected in what different authors’ presentations focus on. For all these reasons, a variety of approaches and styles of presentation are appropriate and to be welcomed. In their chapter on Gros Ventre, Brockie and Cowell take a poorly transcribed yet ethnologically rich text from over a hundred years ago and show how it can be reconstituted on the basis of internal evidence, fieldwork with the last Gros Ventre speakers, and knowledge of the better-understood and closely related Arapaho language. Costa’s chapter on Peoria highlights the problems encountered in redacting an older, historical text in a language that no longer has speakers and lacks modern, phonemically transcribed records. Most of the text can be restored with considerable confidence, by drawing on both internal evidence and comparative evidence from related languages. Moreover, the text presented has the advantage of having been recorded or reelicited by different scholars who had different strengths and weaknesses; this makes it possible to further illuminate the text by comparing the different versions. While some degree of uncertainty is unavoidable, its potential harm can be minimized by meticulous reproduction of the original text. Cowell’s chapter on Arapaho shows that although the poor transcription of the earliest texts in that language presents considerable analytical challenges, these can be overcome with the assistance of modern speakers, effort which is more than rewarded by the texts’ tremendous linguistic richness in both rhetorical organization and polysynthetic structure. Moreover, it is revealing that of the two texts Cowell presents, the one which is less well transcribed displays traditional rhetorical structuring far richer than that of the text transcribed by a professional linguist. This serves as another reminder not to reject the linguistic validity of an older text merely because it was recorded by someone who might not be considered to meet modern standards of scholarship. The texts presented by Dahlstrom and Thomason in their chapters are drawn from the large corpus of Meskwaki texts written by native speakers and collected by Truman Michelson in the early twentieth century. This linguistically and culturally rich resource has been dif-

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Introduction

5

ficult to use because English translations are in most cases absent, because the orthography used ignores certain important phonological contrasts, and because of differences between the Meskwaki of the texts and that of later speakers. Dahlstrom’s and Thomason’s chapters are part of a long-term project by several scholars to edit and translate these texts. Dahlstrom presents a lengthy Meskwaki narrative and a lucid discussion, copiously exemplified, of the syntactic and stylistic phenomena encountered there; she finds that presentation of the text in single-clause lines aids in revealing these features. Thomason analyzes another lengthy Meskwaki narrative collected by Michelson. The author of this text was a less accomplished narrator than some others represented in the Meskwaki corpus; his writings are often difficult to interpret, yet his stories preserve a great deal of interest and an exceptionally rich vocabulary. Thomason shows how the comparison of variant tellings of stories clarifies difficult texts. The resulting edition documents the challenging form proximate-obviative use takes in real data. Discussing three Munsee Delaware texts, Goddard pays particular attention to phonological and grammatical variation that is present, but imperfectly recorded, among the sources and to the philological challenges that such variation poses. He demonstrates how close philological analysis and review with contemporary speakers permit recovery of features not used by later speakers of a language. Recovering such information is especially significant in this case, since at the time of Goddard’s fieldwork, Munsee texts of the type he presents were no longer known by speakers, and, more impressively, of the longest text that Goddard presents, only the first third was translated by its original collector. Welcher discusses a phonemically-recorded Potawatomi text collected in 1940. She demonstrates the importance of reconstructing the provenance and fieldwork setting of a text, as well as the problem of whether a corpus is truly representative of the resources of a language. Several problems of interpretation arise in the text, where establishing a translation is made difficult by the distance from the original telling. Once again, the linguistic and cultural knowledge of modern speakers of the language provides important help towards puzzling out problematic translations. The subject of Whittaker’s chapter is unique: a speech purportedly by the famous Sauk chief Black Hawk from 1833, the authenticity of which has long been questioned. Whittaker discusses the speech in the sociological context of the Black Hawk Wars and Euro-American

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perceptions of Native Americans in the nineteenth century, and establishes that there is no prima facie reason that it cannot be Black Hawk’s own words. In his close and detailed analysis of the Sauk version of the speech, Whittaker shows that despite many remaining difficulties of interpretation, this speech is indeed a genuine example of native Algonquian oratory, most of which can satisfactorily be translated on the basis of modern linguistic knowledge of Sauk and Meskwaki. Philological analysis of prephonemic materials has long been familiar from the study of Old World languages; there is no reason why the same methodology and rigor seen in the study of Gothic or Old Irish cannot be applied to, say, Massachusett, Wyandot, Timucua, or Biloxi. Sadly, an appreciation of basic philological practice has long been neglected in the study of Native American languages. This is perhaps to be expected, given the field’s longstanding, proud roots in fieldwork with native speakers. However, as more and more native North American languages slip away from us, an understanding of how to interpret and present older materials will become increasingly vital, unless linguists simply decide not to study languages any longer once they cease to be spoken. One can only hope that most linguists would not be content with such an outcome.

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References Ahenakew, Alice 2000 Âh-âyîtaw isi ê-kî-kiskêyihtahkik maskihkiy / They Knew Both Sides of Medicine: Cree Tales of Curing and Cursing Told by Alice Ahenakew. Edited and translated by H. C. Wolfart and Freda Ahenakew. Publications of the Algonquian Text Society. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press. Beardy, L. 1988 Pisiskiwak kâ-pîkiskwêcik: Talking Animals. Edited and translated by H. C. Wolfart. Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics, Memoir 5. Winnipeg: Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics. Cowell, Andrew, and Alonzo Moss, Sr., eds. 2006 Hinóno‫ތ‬éínoo3ítoono: Arapaho Historical Traditions. Told by Paul Moss. Publications of the Algonquian Text Society. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press.

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Introduction

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DeBlois, Albert D. 1990 Micmac Texts. Canadian Museum of Civilization Mercury Series, Canadian Ethnology Service Paper 117. Hull, Quebec: Canadian Museum of Civilization. Ellis, C. Douglas 1995 Âtalôhkâna nêsta tipâcimôwina: Cree Legends and Narratives from the West Coast of James Bay. Told by Simeon Scott [et al.]. Publications of the Algonquian Text Society. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press. Goddard, Ives 1973 Philological Approaches to the Study of North American Indian Languages: Documents and Documentation. In Current Trends in Linguistics. Vol. 10: Linguistics in North America, edited by Thomas S. Sebeok, 727–45. The Hague: Mouton. 2006 The Autobiography of a Meskwaki Woman: A New Edition and Translation. Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics Memoir 18. Winnipeg: Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics. 2007 The Owl Sacred Pack: A New Edition and Translation of the Meskwaki Manuscript of Alfred Kiyana. Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics Memoir 19. Winnipeg: Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics. Goddard, Ives, and Kathleen J. Bragdon 1988 Native Writings in Massachusett. American Philosophical Society Memoir 185. Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society. Kegg, Maude 1991 Portage Lake: Memories of an Ojibwe Childhood. Edited by John D. Nichols. Edmonton: University of Alberta Press. Kinkade, M. Dale, and Anthony Mattina 1996 Discourse. In Handbook of North American Indians. Vol. 17: Languages, edited by Ives Goddard, 244–74. Washington: Smithsonian Institution. Leman, Wayne 1980 Cheyenne Texts: An Introduction to Cheyenne Literature. University of Northern Colorado Museum of Anthropology Occasional Publications in Anthropology, Linguistic Series 6. Greeley: Museum of Anthropology, University of Northern Colorado. LeSourd, Philip, ed. and trans. 2007 Tales from Maliseet Country: The Maliseet Texts of Karl V. Teeter. Studies in the Anthropology of North American Indians. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. O’Meara, J., ed. 1996 I Can Hear It: Ojibwe Stories from Lansdowne House. Written by Cecilia Sugarhead; edited, translated, and with a glossary by John O’Meara. Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics Memoir 14. Winnipeg: Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics.

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Whitecalf, Sarah 1993 Kinêhiyâwiwininaw nêhiyawêwin / The Cree Language Is Our Identity: The La Ronge Lectures of Sarah Whitecalf. Edited and translated by Freda Ahenakew and H. C. Wolfart. Publications of the Algonquian Text Society. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Editing a Gros Ventre (White Clay) Text Terry Brockie and Andrew Cowell

1

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1. Gros Ventre and Arapahoan. The Gros Ventre (White Clay) and Arapaho languages are closely related: they could be considered either as divergent dialects of the same language, or as two similar languages. Socially and politically, they are best considered separate languages. Gros Ventre was first documented in the late eighteenth century (far earlier than Arapaho), and is spoken today on the Fort Belknap Reservation in north central Montana, though there are no fully fluent speakers remaining. 2. Previous documentation of Gros Ventre. In 1901 A. L. Kroeber became the first linguist to document Gros Ventre. He collected four narratives in the language (a trickster narrative, “White Man and the Burrs”; a war story; an animal tale, “The Mouse and the Frog”; and a version of the famous Plains narrative of “Tangled Hair and Found-inthe-Grass”), along with grammatical and lexical material. Kroeber published only small amounts of this material, including a relatively poorly transcribed fragment of “Tangled Hair” (Kroeber 1916), and English versions of “Tangled Hair” and “White Man and the Burrs” (Kroeber 1908). The other two texts have never been published in any form. Since that time, other linguists have worked with Gros Ventre, most notably Allan Taylor beginning in the 1960s, but as far as we know, no complete Gros Ventre text has ever been published. Thus any Gros Ventre narrative would be a valuable addition to the Algonquian corpus, and Kroeber’s narratives, collected several decades before any additional work with Gros Ventre occurred, are especially valuable. Here, we present the war narrative collected by Kroeber, retranscribed into the modern Gros Ventre orthography used by Taylor in his 1994 dictionary. Taylor’s orthography recognizes six Gros Ventre vowel phonemes (as opposed to four in Arapaho; but see Salzmann’s [1969] treatment of Gros Ventre phonology for a different analysis). The vowels—first 1. The term “White Clay (language)” is preferred by Gros Ventre tribe members when speaking in English.

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given in standard Gros Ventre orthography, then in their most common IPA equivalent—are a [İ], e [e], i [ܼ], o [o], э [‫ ]ܧ‬and u [‫]ݜ‬. Of these, e and o are only marginally phonemic in Gros Ventre. Over 95 percent of the time, e is followed by i and o is followed by u, so that these two phonemes are virtually allophones of a and э. The few instances where this is not the case involve loss of underlying i and u, either due to vowel syncope word-internally, or due to loss of final short vowels word-finally. Gros Ventre has eleven consonants: b [b], c [ts], k [k] (which alternates with þ [‫ ]ݹ‬or tҮ [tj] before front vowels and in a few other circumstances in men’s speech, but always remains k in women’s speech [Flannery 1946]), h [h], n [n], s [s], t [t], w [w], y [j], ș [ș] and Ҍ [‫]ݦ‬. As this text is the first Gros Ventre text ever to be published in complete form and in a modern orthography, and since there is no published Gros Ventre grammar, we provide a few details about inflection here. In their general outlines, Arapaho and Gros Ventre are fairly similar. There is substantial mutual intelligibility after extended exposure (i.e., several days). The modern Gros Ventre language has diverged considerably from the language documented in the narrative presented here, and is much more different from Arapaho, particularly in morphology, than it might suggest. In the nineteenth century, however, the morphology, morphosyntax, and syntax of the nineteenthcentury languages were fundamentally alike, and the primary differences were lexical and phonological, with some small morphological and morphosyntactic differences. We provide a very brief listing of the common person-number inflections that occur in the story, correlated with Sifton’s (1900a) grammar. Those interested in greater detail about Arapahoan inflectional systems can consult Cowell and Moss (2008: 51–98) on Arapaho. The inflections for affirmative order (elements in parentheses are not pronounced by all speakers) are given in table 1, those for nonaffirmative order in table 2. TABLE 1. GROS VENTRE AFFIRMATIVE ORDER INFLECTION 0 1 12 2 3 (PROXIMATE) 4 (OBVIATIVE)

SINGULAR

PLURAL

-h -nээҌ N/A -nҌ(э) -kҌi/þҌi -nicҌ

-ih/-uh -ninҌ, nҌ(i) -ninҌ -naah -ch -nich

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Gros Ventre

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TABLE 2. GROS VENTRE NONAFFIRMATIVE ORDER INFLECTION 0 1 12 2 3 (PROXIMATE) 4 (OBVIATIVE)

SINGULAR

PLURAL

– na-/nэN/A Ҍa-/Ҍэ– -nҌ(i)

-nэh na-/nэ - ... -bah Ҍa-/Ҍэ- ... -nҌ(i) Ҍa-/Ҍэ- ... -bah -noh -ninh

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The alternative affirmative forms of the third person singular proximate result from a difference in pronunciation between female and male speakers (k for female speakers vs. tҮ for male speakers), which formerly occurred throughout the language. The text published here was obtained from a male speaker. The alternations in the prefixes (na-/nэ-, Ҍa-/Ҍэ-) are controlled by vowel harmony with the following stem. The Algonquian direction-of-action theme markers, as they appear in Gros Ventre, are -ei- (inverse) and -ээ- (direct). 3. Issues with Kroeber’s transcription of this text. As noted elsewhere in this volume with regard to Arapaho, Kroeber’s transcriptions have a number of problems. He consistently fails to record glottal stops, and h is irregularly recorded, sometimes as x (before consonants), sometimes as h , and sometimes not at all. He tends to hear long vowels as nasalized (thus underspecifying distinctions between long vowels that are followed by phonemic n and long vowels that are not), and tends to have trouble distinguishing short vowels. He often hears long vowels where they are in fact short, or extra-long where the vowel is simply long, and in general writes too many vowels in vowel sequences. This is a major problem in distinguishing between sequences such as ээ versus эээ versus эҌээ versus ээҌээ, all of which are common in Gros Ventre. He also overspecifies vowel distinctions in some cases, including writing nonphonemic vowels. This occurs primarily as a secondary result of mishearing h and the glottal stop, and word-finally. For example, in line 2 of the text, Kroeber hears ҌэnэhҌэhэҌ as something like ҌэnэhэҌэhэҌ, with a sort of epenthetic additional vowel inserted between the h and the glottal stop. Kroeber’s transcriptions are also simply difficult to read at times, as he includes up to three different diacritic marks on a single vowel: quality indicators (e.g., his ä indicates [‫ ]ܭ‬while ă indicates short [‫ ;)]ܧ‬quantity indicators (a macron is used to mark long vowels); and stress indicators (an accent is used to mark stress).

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4. Methodology of retranscription and retranslation. Since there are no remaining fully fluent Gros Ventre speakers, and the language has undergone fairly extensive lexical and morphological changes during the twentieth century, the retranscription presents obvious difficulties. Fortunately, Kroeber’s brief grammatical notes are supplemented by much more extensive material collected by Rev. John Sifton, S.J., during his time as a missionary to the Gros Ventres in the early 1900s. His manuscript grammar (Sifton 1900a) is in the manuscript collection of Gonzaga University, and we have obtained a copy. This grammar is invaluable in interpreting the older inflectional morphology found in the war story—morphology which incidentally looks much more like Arapaho in many ways than does current Gros Ventre morphology (as documented in Taylor’s dictionary). As an additional resource, the authors have compiled an Excel database listing all Gros Ventre lexical items. The majority of these are from Taylor’s (1994) dictionary. Also included, however, are forms from Sifton (1900a) and Kroeber (1916), and forms mentioned in passing in several other sources (Kroeber 1907, 1908; Flannery 1953; Cooper and Flannery 1957; Grinnell 1913). We have not yet integrated the forms found in a manuscript dictionary produced by Sifton (1900b), though Brockie in particular has consulted and profited from that work extensively. This easily-searchable database has been very helpful in the retranscription, especially when used in conjunction with Kroeber’s original interlinear translations. Of course, Brockie has consulted with contemporary Gros Ventre speakers as well. Brockie also learned Gros Ventre as a second language over several years, and worked extensively with the last fully fluent speaker, Theresa Lame Bull Walker, before her death in 2006. We have drawn on his knowledge of the vocabulary, including forms not yet included in the database. Finally, we have drawn on Cowell’s knowledge of Arapaho. He has been able to recognize Gros Ventre cognates of Arapaho in the text that were otherwise undocumented in Gros Ventre, and those Gros Ventre forms have been retranscribed on the basis of known Gros Ventre– Arapaho sound correspondences. In addition, where Cowell has not recognized a cognate, he has nevertheless consulted with fluent Arapaho speakers, applying Arapaho sound correspondences to the Gros Ventre forms to try and discover or elicit additional potential cognates with Arapaho. In summary, our methodology has been to rely first on existing grammatical and lexical documentation, retranscribing the Gros Ventre according to the attested forms in these sources. When the sources fail to include a form, we have relied first on Brockie’s knowledge and

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then on his consultation with Gros Ventre elders. Finally, when this has failed, we have relied on Cowell’s knowledge of Arapaho and his consultation with Arapaho elders. (Cowell also has a good linguistic knowledge of Gros Ventre, but unlike Brockie, does not speak it.) For those interested in further documentation of Gros Ventre, we add that Cowell has produced a sketch of the modern language (Cowell 2004), based on Taylor’s (1994) dictionary and the sample sentences included therein, supplemented by Brockie’s work with Gros Ventre elders, and Taylor’s dictionary provides good lexical documentation. Both these works are available from the University of Colorado’s Center for the Study of Indigenous Languages of the West. Our translations of course start from Kroeber’s interlinear glosses. These are word-for-word rather than sentence-level, however, so we have tried to provide a fairly literal representation of the Gros Ventre, relying primarily on our knowledge of Gros Ventre and Arapaho. 5. Results. As an indication of the potential success and problems of the above project for the other stories collected by Kroeber, we provide a summary of the forms which occur in the Gros Ventre story and our success in glossing them. Roughly eighty verb stems, twenty noun stems, and fifteen lexical preverbs appear in the narrative. Of these, all fifteen preverbs are shared with Arapaho, and eighteen of the twenty noun stems are shared. Of the two not shared, one is the word for ‘Gros Ventre’ itself (ҌэҌэээniinen) and the other is a participle used for the noun ‘riding horse’ (literally, ‘the thing I ride’), formed from the verb nэnei- ‘to ride a horse’. Arapaho uses an exactly parallel formation, but based on the verb teexoku- ‘to sit atop’. Of the verb stems, around 75 percent are shared. Of those that are not, many are common in Gros Ventre and can be identified unproblematically (nэnouușaa- ‘to travel’; wээþii- ‘said’). Twenty of the eighty verb stems are not specifically recorded from Arapaho. This figure of 25 percent variation is deceptive, however, in that the Gros Ventre stems are still often recognizable in Arapaho: although the stem itself does not occur, the individual morphemes typically do, and some variant of the stem does occur in Arapaho. Thus the Gros Ventre form nэþibҮээҌээni- (AI) ‘to scout/search out things in order to fight’ is parallel to Arapaho notikoni- (AI), with the initial morpheme nэþi- (Gros Ventre) ~ noti- (Arapaho) occurring in both forms. Furthermore, the Arapaho verb booҲei- ‘to fight’ is the cognate of Gros Ventre bҮээҌaa-, which is in turn the base of the derived form bҮээҌээni-. Among the verbs which were not documented previously for Gros Ventre but which do have Arapaho cognates are Gros Ventre

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wэtaașaa- (AI) ‘go to camp, go into camp circle’ (line 7) (Arapaho woteesee-); Gros Ventre ҌihtҮэҌээtэn- (TA) ‘notice/catch sight of’ (line 31) (Arapaho hihcoҲooton-); and Gros Ventre ҌiitҮișaa- (AI) ‘walk from there’ (line 46) (Arapaho hiitisee-). One form in the narrative was identified based on its occurrence in Sifton’s grammar (1900a), but not elsewhere in the data. This is the imperative Ҍээșa(a) in line 22, which Sifton glosses as ‘let’s go’—the same gloss provided by Kroeber. The form is likely related to Arapaho sooxe(e) with the same meaning. Another form, the verb tҮэҌээҌээmeaning ‘brush/shrubs are present’ in line 11, is documented only in Grinnell’s list of Gros Ventre place names (1913), and is cognate with Arapaho coҲooҲoe- of the same meaning. Several verb stems are not previously documented as such in the Gros Ventre data, but their constituent morphemes can be easily identified. An example is kэsikoutis- (TA) ‘to cut someone/something free’. The morpheme kэsi- occurs in kэsikouhu- (AI) ‘to break loose, escape’ and kэsikuukii- (AI) ‘to break in two’ (female pronunciation). The morpheme kout- occurs in kouten- (TI) ‘to remove something from something else by hand’, and the morpheme -is- occurs in tebis- (TA) ‘to cut off, sever’ and kohҌus- (TA) ‘to cut, cut into’. Another example is nohҌutҮesikouton- (TA) ‘to shine something at someone’. The stem nohҌukesikuukii- (AI) ‘to shine/polish something’ (female pronunciation) provides a close parallel, and the secondary derivational final -kouton- (TA) ‘act for or in relation to someone’ is very common in the language in alternation with -kuukii-. Finally, the well-documented verb stem bҮээҌaa- (AI) ‘to fight’ is the basis for the stem bҮээҌээn(TA) ‘to fight or scout for someone’, which occurs further secondarily changed in the text, with the detransitivizer -i (see Cowell and Moss 2008:133 for the Arapaho equivalent) as bҮээҌээni- (AI) ‘to fight or scout for people’. This process of piecing together the transcription and translation of the text from multiple sources resulted in a text of fifty-five lines, containing nine remaining problematic forms. We discuss these forms in detail in order to reveal the exact nature of the difficulties, as well as the proposed solutions. Note that in many cases the problematic element in a form is not glossed in Kroeber’s notes. In line 2, the form ҌэhҌэҌэээcibҮээҌээninich ‘to scout for them’ is problematic. It consists of Ҍэh- ‘to, in order that’ (more normally toh-), plus the final -bҮээҌээni (AI) ‘to scout for people’ and -nich (4PL). According to Brockie, the preverb ҌэҌэээci- likely means the scouts were painted with white clay paint, which symbolized that they were ‘wolves’ or scouts (cf. the word for the Gros Ventre themselves in the text, ‘white clay’ people). He confirmed this reading with an elderly

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Gros Ventre

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speaker at Fort Belknap, but notes that one might also interpret the word to mean ‘to be scouting out on the extreme edge (of the war party)’. The preverb ҌэҌэээsi- and the particle ҌэҌэээsiiih mean ‘on/at the edge’ or ‘at an extremity’. In line 5, Kroeber’s form nǀǎhnjғ nƯits ‘they are camping’ is difficult to interpret. The final -niii-ch (camp(AI)-3PL) is unproblematic. The initial element may be simply nohuҌ ‘these (obviative)’, but the nj is problematic. Brockie suggests a reading nohuҌ ҌuutҮҌi niiich ‘the ones camping here’, which assumes Kroeber failed to hear the consonant tҮ in ‘here’. In line 13, Kroeber glosses the form ciicii-tҮээtэwuuuh as ‘he thought he was brave’. The preverb refers to the way the warrior is singing: ciicii- refers to the act of a shouting of deeds done or to be done. It occurs in the verb ciiciiheeihi- (AI), which refers to women’s ululations celebrating deeds of war or some act worthy of honor done by a man. The particle Ҍiit(Ү)ээtэwuuuh means ‘bravely’. Thus the combined form means ‘to shout about war deeds one will do’ or ‘to feel brave and boastful’. As elsewhere in the text, a secondary particle based on the verb is used rather than the base verb. In line 15, a syllable seems to have been left out of the verb stem that means ‘sing’; cf. Arapaho -ootinee- (AI) ‘sing’, as well as the Gros Ventre form in line 18. In line 18, the verb binaacininohouhuch ‘after he finished singing to himself’ contains the initially-changed preverb binaaci- ‘to finish’, the reflexive final -ouhu, and the third person singular iterative suffix -ch, used to indicate indefinite time. The main verb ninoh- corresponds with nothing else in Gros Ventre or Arapaho, however. In line 37, the verb ҌaatiҌiinэtҮich ‘they ran but did not know (where they were going)’ appears to contain -iin- ‘aimless or wandering direction’ and эtҮi ‘to sit’, plus third person plural -ch, but the initial element is unexplained. The entire form seems to mean something like ‘they ended up located all over the place (because they couldn’t see where they were going)’. Brockie suggests that Ҍaati- could be a shortened version of Ҍaatinaa- ‘very much’. In line 40, the verb tҮeicișich ‘without them realizing it’ contains third person plural -ch, but the rest of the form is opaque. In line 42, the verb ҌoҌuhchҌiitҮeetouҌ ‘he was missing, not present’ contains narrative past ҌoҌuh- and negative chҌii-, but the rest of the form is opaque. In Arapaho, eetou is an inanimate intransitive verb meaning ‘where something is located/present’ and ceetou would be ‘where something is not located/present’, which is cognate with the Gros Ventre form here, but then there would be no need for the preceding negative prefix.

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In line 49, the transcription of the verb nihkoutэn ‘shine (the mirror) at him’ is probably garbled, as nohҌu- is the initial element of ‘shine’ and -koutэn is the final element of the same verb. Compare this form with the verb in line 50, which is given the same gloss, and seems to be the full verb. This is similar to what seems to have happened with ‘sing’ in line 15, as well. 6. Features of Gros Ventre narrative style revealed by the text. One prominent feature of the morphosyntax of traditional Gros Ventre narratives is the use of a narrative past tense ҌoҌuh- which requires nonaffirmative verb inflections at all times; there are many examples in this text. For actions following in sequence or consequence from a main action (‘so then,’ ‘so next,’) a pair of adverbial particles, wээtҮiiih ‘dubitative’ and naheiҌiiih ‘then, next’ are used as a single marker, with following verbs taking affirmative-order inflections. These are amply illustrated in the text. They can follow causal preconditions, indicated with ҌoҌuh- (see lines 18–19), dialogue which establishes certain facts or events (see lines 5–6), or subordinate clauses (line 39). Note when wээtҮiiih is used alone, it seems to have a more clearly dubitative meaning, ‘I guess, apparently’, as in lines 14, 29, and 35. Verbs expressing number are preceded by a special marker Ҍah-, and take affirmative-order inflections. The quotative verb is wээtҮii- (AI) and wээtҮiit- (TA). (The particle wootii in Arapaho means ‘like, seemingly’, but is not used as a dubitative or quotative.) Unlike modern Gros Ventre, this text shows robust use of the conjunct-order iterative and subjunctive inflections in subordinate clauses. Plain conjunct-order subordinate clauses have several prefixes limited to such clauses; the most common of these is Ҍэh-, which means both ‘when’ and ‘where’ and also sometimes serves as a complementizer. Others include tэh- ‘so that, in order to’, ҌeiҌ- ‘when (perfective)’, and tih‘when, since, after’. Gros Ventre makes extensive use of the derivational suffix -iiih, which forms adverbial or adjectival particles. It is added to preverbs and prenouns, resulting in their detachment from the main verb or noun stem. In some cases, no verb follows; normally this happens when the verb would be ‘to be’ (which does not exist in Arapahoan except in the pronominal verb nenee(ni)- ‘it is X person who . . .’), but on some occasions other verbs are omitted when they are of low semantic weight and easily recoverable (‘go’, ‘do’, etc.), as in lines 31 and 46. In line 13, it is less clear what the underlying verb is. One element which is very common in this text, but less so in Arapaho, is the back-reference preverb nahaa- meaning ‘there/that aforementioned.’ The text also shows many instances of the use of the

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Gros Ventre

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iterative to indicate indefinite time in background events (lines 9, 15, 18). This usage is also much rarer in Arapaho. A feature common to both languages is the use of singular nominal forms with plural verbs when the nominals are identifiable but the distinction between singular and plural is not pragmatically salient. In this text ‘Gros Ventre’ is twice treated in this way (lines 1, 55), as is ‘Sioux’ (lines 1, 13). On the level of syntax, the particle Ҍээh ‘and; but’ is often used clause-initially to indicate shifts in focus and continuity of narration, or to mark events which run counter to expectation—though it does not function as a true switch-reference marker. Temporal background adverbial subordinate clauses are virtually always clause-initial, while adverbial clauses indicating purpose, result, cause, and so forth normally follow the main clause. Unlike modern Gros Ventre, these texts show retention of a proximate-obviative distinction in determiners, with nahaҌ meaning ‘this (proximate)’ and nohuҌ meaning ‘this (obviative)’ as well as ‘this (inanimate)’. Additionally, a number of particles that serve for metanarrative commentary and evaluation occur frequently, especially Ҍiitэwuuuh ‘truly, sure enough’. 7. Further remarks on Kroeber’s transcription. Below, we present the first four lines of the text in Kroeber’s transcription, with his interlinear glosses, so that our rendering can be compared to the original. 1

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2

h৒uh naĶtcikҳn Ɨғ aninƱn a’nǂғ tjƯihaĶts naĶwinaĶtjinখhin went to war Gros Ventres looked for Sioux Ɲitjäࡃ ғ Ķç‫ۓ‬năwƗĶts when they thought they were near them waĶtjii nehiii[s?] aĶtsö࡭ࡅ ғ aĶwaĶts hănҳxaaha äxnƯғisinüts young men two of them they sent hăxăƗғ aĶtsƱbyƗғ aĶnƯinüࡅ ғ ts to scout for them

3

hǀuhbyƗĶtҳb‫ۓ‬änin haĶhüࡅ࡭ ғ taĶwnj࡭u And sure enough they saw something

4

hǀuhnখhiiiƗĶkăĶtsöbyƗғ aĶnÕ࡭ࡅ ts then the scouts went back



Kroeber obviously hears initial h in some cases in locations where we write an initial glottal stop, as with ҌoҌuh. Our decision corresponds to modern Gros Ventre usage; moreover, Kroeber records glottal stops initially (i.e., no consonant, in his orthography) about half the time as

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well. In the word ‘Gros Ventres’ he seems to have heard an initial pitch-accented short vowel (at least this is how this word is pronounced in modern Gros Ventre) as long, while the following long vowel (again going by modern Gros Ventre) was heard as short. We do not understand why he might have heard the initial short vowel of ҌэciҌээw‘send’ as long; following naheiҌiiih the unchanged form of the verb occurs. For the extra vowel in ‘young men’, see section 3 above. The long vowel at the end of the verb stem in ‘scout for them’ does not correspond to our understanding of the verb, and elsewhere (including the following occurrence of the verb in the excerpt above) he writes it as short. This kind of variation is rampant in his transcription. For this reason, our decisions about retranscription are based on the overall features (and irregularities) of Kroeber’s original transcription; in general, his long vowels can be viewed with some suspicion, as they often seem to be short in actuality. Conversely, Kroeber seems to have heard naheiҌiiih as neiҌiiih in the second and fourth line, though he hears the full form elsewhere. Finally, in the form ‘scout homewards’ in line 4, the pitch accent in modern Gros Ventre falls on the first syllable, which Kroeber hears as long and nasalized. The second syllable in modern Gros Ventre is also long, but lacks pitch accent; Kroeber hears this syllable as short and nasalized. Thus his marking of length appears to actually correspond to pitch accent here as well as in the word ‘Gros Ventre’ above. Further study of pitch accent would certainly be very interesting. We have included Kroeber’s accent markings from his transcription, but have not included modern Gros Ventre pitch accents in our retranscription. We follow this policy because not all the forms in this text are included in Taylor’s dictionary (which does mark modern pitch accent), and there are no fluent modern speakers to verify pitch accent.

Abbreviations and conventions Grammatical abbreviations. 0 inanimate marker; 1 first person; 12 first person plural inclusive; 2 second person; 3 third person; 4 obviative (“fourth person”); ADV suffix producing adverbial particles; AI intransitive verb with animate subject; DEPPART dependent participle; DUBIT dubitative; FUT future tense; IC initial-changed form; II intransitive verb with inanimate subject; IMPER imperative; IMPERF imperfective aspect; INSTR instrumental; ITER iterative mode; LOC locative; NPAST narrative past tense; NEG negative; NUM narrative past prefix used specifically with number verbs; OBL obligation marker; OBV obviative; PART participle; PERF perfective aspect; PL plural; RECIP reciprocal; REDUP reduplication; S singular; s.o. someone; s.t. some-

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thing; SUBJ subjunctive mode; TA transitive verb with animate object; TI transitive verb with inanimate object.

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References Cooper, John, and Regina Flannery, eds. 1957 The Gros Ventres of Montana. Part 2: Religion and Ritual. Catholic University Anthropological Series 16. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press. Cowell, Andrew 2004 Gros Ventre Grammar Sketch. Compiled from the work of Allan Taylor. Boulder, Colo.: Center for the Study of Indigenous Languages of the West. Cowell, Andrew, and Alonzo Moss, Sr. 2008 The Arapaho Language. Boulder, Colo.: University Press of Colorado. Flannery, Regina 1946 Men’s and Women’s Speech in Gros Ventre. International Journal of American Linguistics 12:133–35. 1953 The Gros Ventres of Montana. Part 1: Social Life. Catholic University Anthropological Series 15. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press. Grinnell, George 1913 Some Indian Stream Names. American Anthropologist, n.s., 15:327–31. Kroeber, A. L. 1907 Gros Ventre Myths and Tales. American Museum of Natural History Anthropological Papers 1, Part 3: 55–139. New York: Trustees [American Museum of Natural History]. 1908 Ethnology of the Gros Ventre. American Museum of Natural History, Anthropological Papers 1, Part 4: 141-281. New York : Trustees [American Museum of Natural History]. 1916 Arapaho Dialects. University of California Publications in Archaeology and Ethnology 12:71–138. Berkeley: University of California Press. Salzmann, ZdenČk 1969 Salvage Phonology of Gros Ventre (Atsina). International Journal of American Linguistics 35:309–14. Sifton, John, S.J. 1900a A Grammar of the Aani or Gros-Ventres Language. MS, Gonzaga University, Spokane, Washington. 1900b An English-Aani Dictionary. MS, Gonzaga University, Spokane, Washington.

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Taylor, Allan 1994 Gros Ventre Dictionary. 3 vols. Hays, Mont.: Gros Ventre Treaty Committee.

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Gros Ventre text Š‡ ”‘•‡–”‡• ‘–‘ƒ” National Anthropological Archives, MS 2560. Collected by A. L. Kroeber from an unknown speaker at Fort Belknap Reservation, Montana, Spring 1901. We have divided the text into numbered lines for convenience of reference. Each numbered line contains five components: Kroeber’s original transcription (in angle brackets); a retranscription into modern Gros Ventre; an analysis of the modern Gros Ventre into stems and affixes; glossing of stems and affixes; and a free translation.

 1

h৒uh naĶtcikҳn Ɨғ aninƱn a’nǂғ tjƯihaĶts naĶwinaĶtjinখhin ҌoҌuhnэþikэn ҌэҌэээniinen; Ҍээh nээtҮiihээch ҌoҌuh-nэþikэni ҌэҌэээniinen Ҍээh nээtҮiih-ээcih NPAST-go.to.fight(AI) Gros.Ventre and IC.look.for(TA)-3PL/4 nээwunээtҮineihinҌ. nээwunээtҮineihi-nҌ Sioux-OBV The Gros Ventres went on a war expedition, looking for Sioux.

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2

Ɲitjäࡃ ғ Ķç‫ۓ‬năwƗĶts waĶtjii nehiii[s?] aĶtsö࡭ࡅ ғ aĶwaĶts hănҳxaaha äxnƯғisinüts hăxăƗғ aĶtsƱbyƗғ aĶnƯinüࡅ ғ ts ҌeiҌtҮaașaanэwээch, wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih ҌeiҌ-tҮaașaanэw-ээcih wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih PERF-think.near(TA)-3PL/4 DUBIT then ҌэciҌээwээch ҌэnэhҌэhэh Ҍahniisinich ҌэciҌээw-ээcih ҌэnэhҌэ-hэh Ҍah-niisi-nicih ask/send.to.do(TA)-3PL/4 young.man-OBV.PL NUM-two(AI)-4.PL ҌэhҌэҌэээcibҮээҌээninich. Ҍэh-ҌэҌэээci-bҮээҌээni-nicih in.order.to-with.white.paint-scout(AI)-4PL When they thought they were near [the Sioux], then they sent two young men to scout for them.

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haĶhüࡅ࡭ ғ taĶwnj࡭u hǀuhbyƗĶtҳb‫ۓ‬änin Ҍээh Ҍiitэwuuuh ҌoҌuhbҮээҌээtэbaaaninҌ. Ҍээh Ҍiitэwuuuh ҌoҌuh-bҮээҌээtэbaaa-ninҌ and truly NPAST-learn.from.scouting(AI)-4PL And sure enough, they discovered [the enemy].

4

hǀuhnখhiiiƗĶkăĶtsöbyƗғ aĶnবࡅts ҌoҌuhnaheiҌiiih ҌээkээcibҮээҌээnich. ҌoҌuh-naheiҌiiih Ҍээkээci-bҮээҌээni-cih NPAST-then homewards-scout-3PL Then they came back to the others, paying close attention along the way.

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5

hahbyƗғ aĶtăb‫ۓ‬äts näࡅ ғ häähniisüࡅ ғ ts anҳxaaha näࡅ ғ xä‫ۓ‬äsçäࡃ ғ nin häsবnbääçখiaĶ kăhăҳwஎ täࡃ ғ Ķb’ nǀǎhnjғ nƯits nähäeinôtjƯhƗғ anin waĶtjƯғits nҳhaäࡅ xniisüts ănҳxăăhă ănƗĶtsüࡅ byƗғ aĶnƯts ҌэhbҮээҌээtэbaaach nahaҌ Ҍahniisich Ҍэh-bҮээҌээtэbaaa-cih nahaҌ Ҍah-niisi-cih when-learn.from.scouting(AI)-3PL this NUM-two(AI)-3PL ҌэnэhҌэhэҌ, nahaasișaanin ҌasinbaașeiҌээh ҌэnэhҌэ-hэҌ, nahaasișaa-ninҌ Ҍasini-baașeiҌээ-h young man-PL that.place.where.go(AI)-12 very-big(II)-0S kэhҌэwuҌ; taabah nэhҌ niiich, nahaҌ kэhҌэwuҌ taabah nэhuҌ niii-cih nahaҌ gully just this camp(AI)-3PL this ҌeinэtҮiihээoninҌ, wээtҮiich nahaҌ Ҍahniisich Ҍei-nэtҮiih-oээninҌ wээtҮii-cih nahaҌ Ҍah-niisi-cih 2S-look.for-12/3.DEPPART say(AI)-3PL this NUM-two(AI)-3PL ҌэnэhҌэhэҌ, ҌэhnэcibҮээҌээnich. ҌэnэhҌэ-hэҌ Ҍэh-nэcibҮээҌээni-cih young man-PL COMPL-seek.by.scouting(AI)-3PL When the two young men had found/scouted out the situation, “At that place where we’re headed there is a big gulch; this is where the ones we’re looking for are camped,” said the two young men who were scouting for the group.

6

wƗĶtjƯi nƟғ hƯiƯғ aĶnaĶsԇbyiheits Ʊғn’i nƗĶtcƱkҳnƯiƱbäࡃ ғ änits in’Ɨғ ĶtniisƗғ anaĶ tjƱғn’aets wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih ҌээnээsibҮiheich ҌinҌ wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih ҌээnээsibҮih-eicih ҌiniҌ DUBIT then REDUP.give.orders-4/3PL that

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nээþikэniibaaanicҌ ҌinҌ ҌэtniisээnэtҮinэҌээich. nээþikэniibaaa-nicҌ ҌiniҌ Ҍэt-niis-ээn-эtҮinэ’ээ-cih IC.lead.in.war(AI)-4S that FUT-what-REDUP-sneak.around(AI)-3PL So then he started giving orders, the leader, as to what they all should do. 7

waĶhƟғ i waĶtjƯғitখits nahaҳtin wăt‫ۓ‬Ķç‫ۓ‬ĶnƱғn nuhhǎғ dj‫ވ‬ƝiƱn nănƗĶhҳwƗĶnƝi hƱnƱғtäĶ tsäࡃ ғ b’hääࡃ ғ äĶdjƯғin wэheih wээtҮiiteich, nэhҌ ҌээtэnwэtaașaaninҌ, wэheih wээtҮiit-eicih nэhuҌ Ҍээtэn-wэtaașaa-ninҌ okay say(TA)-4/3PL this.[time] FUT-go.to.camp(AI)-12 nohҌ ҌuyeihҌinҌa, nэnээhэwээneiҌ ҌinnitaaҌ, nohuҌ Ҍu-yeihҌ-inaҌ nэnээhэw-ээneiҌi ҌininitaaҌ this 3S-lodge-LOC IC.see(TA)-2PL/3.ITER person chҌaabhҌaaatҮiinҌ! chҌaabah-ҌaaatҮiin-aҌ PROHIB-speak.to(TA)-2PL “Okay,” he said to them, “when we go to the camp, if you happen to see anyone at the lodges, don’t say anything to him.

8

çănǀ৒u ätjeikƗĶçhäࡃ ғ äb hăkôtsƱyănüࡅ ғ năĶ kээșэhaaabh Ҍэkэciyээnunээh. șэnoouh ҌatҮeeih șэnoouh, ҌatҮeeih kээșэhaaa-bah Ҍэ-kэciyээn-unээh immediately IMPER.FUT strike(AI)-2PL 2S-gun-PL Right away you must strike him with your gun [barrel].

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9

ƱnƯiskƗĶçҳxwƱnƝi nanăĶhăwaĶnei tsäädjăxkஎ ts‫ۓ‬äࡅ bhäࡅ äࡅ ғ tjiĶ ätjits঴৒uhuআ’ ҌiniiskээșэhэwuneiҌ nэnээhэwээneiҌ, nэnээhэw-ээneiҌi Ҍiniis-kээșэh-эwuneiҌi IC.PERF.strike(TI)-2PL.ITER IC.see(TA)-2PL/3.ITER chҌaaatҮэhkҌэ, chҌaabhҌaatҮiҌ: ҌattҮickouhubh! cihҌ-aatҮi-эhkҌэ chҌaabah-ҌaatҮiҌ Ҍati-tҮicikouhu-bah NEG-speak(AI)-SUBJ PROHIB-speak(AI) IMPER.FUT-run.away-2PL After you strike, if you happen to see anyone else, if he doesn’t say anything, then don’t say anything to him: you must run away!

10

tadyanƯғi Ưis(‫ܙ‬ғö)___taĶtounaaĶçibyäࡃ ғ näxk୹Ķ hät’näࡅ ғ häk৒huhখinä

1

tҮээniiih Ҍiisiiih tээtounээșibҮaanehkҌэ, tҮээniiih Ҍiisiiih tээtounээșibҮaa-nehkҌэ INDEF? PERF REDUP.capture.horses(AI)-2.SUBJ 1. It is not clear what the underscore means in Kroeber’s transcription here; perhaps it connects forms that he decided might be parts of a single word.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Ҍaatnahaakouhuuheinaah; Ҍaati-nahaa-koohuuh-einaah IC.OBL-to.there-ride(TA)-3/2PL If you manage to capture any horses, ride them back there [where we came from], 11

năxwăéit ҳw’huࡃ ғ nj byiinaࡃ ғ ĶçƱbyäࡃ ғ näĶ äĶt’näࡅ ғ hätitaࡃ ғ ĶanƗánä hinăxtjҳƗăƗĶ hinuࡅ ғ xtaĶtƗbyiitsüࡅ ғ xnƱn Ҍээwhuuuh bҮiiҌinээșibҮaanaah, nэh wҌeeitҌ nэh wэҌeeitҌa Ҍээwuhuuuh bҮiiҌinээșibҮaa-naah or many find.horses(AI)-2PL Ҍaatinahaat-itэҌэnээnaah ҌinҌ ҌэhtҮэҌээҌээh, Ҍaati-nahaat-isэҌэn-ээnaah ҌiniҌ Ҍэh-tҮэҌээҌээ-h IC.OBL-that.where-drive(TA)-2PL/3 that where-brushy(II)-0S ҌinҌ ҌohtээtээnbҮiicihninҌ; ҌiniҌ Ҍoh-tээtээn-bҮiicihi-ninҌ that where-middle-eat(AI)-12 or if you capture a lot of them, drive them over there into the brush, where we ate our mid-day meal,

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12

naxw୹খit୹Ķ häĶtjƟt୹Ķ ixtj’Ɨғ aĶt’anƝínin (n)äĶtnähäästҳkunäĶ waĶtjƯғiteits nuh naĶtcikonƱƱibäࡃ ғ änüts nэh wҌeeitҌa ҌatҮeeitҌэ ҌihtҮҌээtэneininҌ nэh wэҌeeitҌa ҌatҮeeitҌэ ҌihtҮэҌээtэn-eininҌ or FUT.OBL? notice(TA)-3/12 Ҍaatnahaastэkhunaah, wээtҮiiteich nohҌ Ҍaati-nahaas-tэkohu-naah wээtҮiit-eicih nohuҌ IC.OBV-from.there-flee(AI)-2PL say(TA)-4/3PL this nэoþikэniibaaanicҌ. nэoþikэniibaaa-nicҌ IC.lead.in.war(AI)-4S or if they catch sight of us, you must flee back there [where we came from],” the leader said to them.

13

waĶtjii näࡅ ғ häࡅ äࡅ iĶ wӕt‫ۓ‬äĶç‫ۓ‬Ķts চinaĶak୹hǎғ ts hǂhǎǎғ täࡃ ғ ĶnăwƗĶts nuhnƗғ ĶwinƗĶtjinখhin haĶhänƯғiçixtji năhaҳnăxaaha hǀnjhǎhtsöࡃ ғ ötsöࡃ ғ ödyaaĶ৮Ɨғ Ķwǎǎ wээtҮiiih nahaaҌiiwэtaașaach; ҌeiҌnээnэkhuch, wээtҮiiih nahaaҌiiҌ-wэtaașaa-cih ҌeiҌ-nээnэkohu-cih DUBIT that.when-go.to.camp(AI)-3PL PERF-REDUP.sleep(AI)-3PL

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Ҍohuutaanэwээch nohҌ nээwunээtҮineihinҌ. Ҍohuu-taanэw-ээcih nohuҌ nээwunээtҮineihi-nҌ when.IMPERF-think(TA)-3PL/4 this Sioux-OBV Ҍээh ҌahniișihtҮҌi nahaҌ ҌэnэhҌэhэҌ Ҍээh Ҍah-niișihi-tҮҌi nahaҌ ҌэnэhҌэ-hэҌ and NUM-one(AI)-3S this young.man-PL ҌoҌuhciiciitҮээtэwuuuh ҌoҌuh-ciicii-tҮээtэwuuuh NPAST-boasting-bravely.ADV So then they went to the camp; when the Sioux were asleep—when they thought the Sioux were asleep. Then one of the young men felt brave. 14

ƱғnƗn ǂhǎǎ ts‫ܙ‬djƱs‫ ܙ‬ătjƱғnääts niiwatjƯi nƯibyäĶtji ҌэtҮinэҌээch, ҌinҌ ҌэээnҌ Ҍohuuch’iitҮissiiih ҌiniҌ ҌэээnҌ Ҍohuu-cih’ii-tҮisisiiih ҌэtҮinэҌээ-cih that not.yet when.IMPERF-NEG-begin sneak.around(AI)-3PL niiwээtҮiiih niibҮaaatҮҌi. nii-wээtҮiiih niibҮaaa-tҮҌi IMPERF-DUBIT sing(AI)-3S When they hadn’t yet begun to sneak up [to the camp], then I guess he started singing [war songs].

15

Ɨғ h’inƯisüࡅ näࡃ ғ Ķts Ưi࡬ tawnjғ u ƱnƱnƯғinaĶ Ҍээh Ҍiniis[aac]inaaach, Ҍiitэwuuuh ҌiininiinnээҌ. Ҍээh Ҍiniis-[aac]inaaa-cih Ҍiitэwuuuh Ҍiininiini-nээҌ and IC.PERF-sing(AI)-3.ITER truly IC.be.man(AI)-1S And after he finished singing, then sure enough [he said], “I’m a man!

Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

16

৮ҳ৮ƗĶ ixtsöötaĶtsখiaĶhaxkஎ hiwҳs’hƗĶç nƯғiinan haĶtouskҳskǀutƱs hôk’ tэtэh ҌihciitээceiҌээhэhkҌэ ҌiwэshээșҌ niiinэnҌa tэtэh Ҍih-ciitээceiҌээhu-эhkҌэ ҌiwэshээșҌ niiinэn-aҌ even IRREALIS-tied.up.inside(AI)-SUBJ horse tipi-LOC ҌээttouskэskoutisҌhэk. Ҍээt-tous-kэsikoutis-ээhэk FUT-what/how-cut.loose(TA)-1S/3S.SUBJ Even if a horse is tied up inside a lodge, I would cut him loose some way or another,” [he said].

17

nƱnäࡃ ғ nখƯnănǀuĶçäࡃ ғ Ķtji ǂhǎnju nӕtjiitjiinaĶ nƗĶnănkƯƯғt’ nƯғiwătjƯit’ nҳhaănҳxaä

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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ninaah neҌiinэnooușaatҮҌi; Ҍohuuuh ninaa-h ne-Ҍii-nэnooușaatҮҌi Ҍohuuuh IC.it.is(II)-0S 1S-IMPERF-travel(AI.PART) when.IMPERF nэtҮiitҮiinээҌ nэnээnkiitҌэ, nэtҮiitҮii-nээҌ nэnээnikiitҌэ look.for(AI)-1S die(AI.PART) niiwээtҮiitҮҌi nahaҌ ҌэnэhҌah. nii-wээtҮii-tҮҌi nahaҌ ҌэnэhҌah IMPERF-say(AI)-3S this young.man “That’s why I venture about, to seek out death,” this young man was saying. 18

bƟnäࡃ ғ tsinnǂғ hǎǎts aĶhnju৮Ɨғ ĶtănƗaĶ kăĶkҳĶ‫ ވ‬hǀnjғ uhäࡃ ғ Ķtsin‫ۓ‬ĶhƯ binaacinnэhouhch Ҍэhuutээtэnээh binaaci-ninэhouhu-cih Ҍэhuu-tээtэnээh IC.finish-sing.for.self(?)(AI)-3S.ITER when.IMPERF-after.all kээkэn ҌoҌuhҌaacinaahiiih. kээkэn ҌoҌuh-Ҍaacinaahiiih no.reason NPAST-sing(AI.ADV) When he finished his singing, it [turned out to be] no use, for no reason he had sung.

19

waĶtjii nehiiitjisöғ Ķ hôtjƱnƗғ atjƱn wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih tҮissiiih ҌэtҮiinэҌээtҮҌi. wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih tҮisisiiih ҌэtҮiinэҌээ-tҮҌi DUBIT then begin sneak.around(AI)-3S Then he began to sneak up [to the camp].

Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

20

Ɨғ aĶ’Ưíi ৒uhǎxtcaĶ Ҍээh ҌiiiҌ ҌoҌuhþэээҌ. ‫ܧܧݦ‬h ‫ݦ‬iii‫ݦ ݦ‬o‫ݦ‬uh-þ‫ݦܧܧܧ‬ but snow NPAST-come(AI) But a snowstorm arrived.

21

waĶhƟi waĶtjiiteitj tjäࡃ ғ äçan năhăƗaĶtƗғ Ķ ănҳxaaha bäࡃ ғ tjiäh’Ưi nƗaĶnƗaĶatsüࡅ ғ nhii wэheih, wээtҮiiteitҮҌi tҮaașээnҌ nahaҌ Ҍээtээh ҌэnэhҌэhэҌ, wэheih wээtҮiit-eitҮҌi tҮaașээnҌ nahaҌ Ҍээtээh ҌэnэhҌэ-hэҌ well say(TA)-4/3S one.other this others young.man-PL

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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baatҮiҌahҌiiih nээnэээcinhiiҌ. baatҮi-ҌahҌ-iiih nээ-nэээci-nihiiҌ big-?-ADV REDUP-lots-speak(AI) “Well,” one of the other young men said to him, “you’ve really been talking a lot. 22

Ɨғ Ķç‫ۓ‬Ķts wătখi tah’niinƯғisüࡅ nƟini[n?] Ҍээșaach wэteeih, tэhniiniisineininҌ. Ҍээșaa-cih wэteeih tэh-nii-niisinei-ninҌ let’s.go-IMPER camp so.that-IMPERF-group.of.two(AI)-12 Let’s go into the camp, the two of us!”

23

äࡃ ғ äĶstäࡅ Ķ wƗĶtjƯғitji ăwҳĶ nah’ ƗĶtƗn kăskǀutƟғ saĶtj’ hƱwҳs’hƗaç(ƱbyƯ) ৮ҳ৮ƗĶ tsöö৮aĶtsখiaĶnăaxkăn nƯғiinan ҌaastaaҌ wээtҮiitҮҌi Ҍэwээh nahaҌ ҌaastaaҌ wээtҮii-tҮҌi Ҍэwээh nahaҌ no.way say(AI)-3S even/also this ҌээtэnkэskoutisээotҮҌi ҌiwэshээșibҮiiҌ tэtэh Ҍiwэshээș-ibҮiiҌ tэtэh Ҍэ-эtэn-kэsikoutis-ээotҮҌi 3S-FUT-cut.loose(TA)-3S/4.DEPPART horse-OBV.PL even ciitээceiҌээnehkэnҌ niiinэnҌaҌ. niiinэn-aҌ ciitээceiҌээni-ehkэniҌ tied up inside(AI)-SUBJ.PL tipi-LOC “No!” said the one who was going to cut loose horses even if they were tied up inside a lodge.

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24

äࡃ ғ Ķn৒u nƯғwătjƯitখitj nuhuǎғ nätsƱbখitan ôtaniinƯғisüࡅ nits Ҍaaanoouh, niiwээtҮiiteitҮҌi nohҌ Ҍaaanoouh nii-wээtҮiit-eitҮҌi nohuҌ get.ready(AI) IMPERF-say(TA)-4/3S this Ҍunaacibeiitэn Ҍэtэniiniisinich. Ҍu-naacib-eiitэn Ҍэtэn-ii-niisi-nicih 3S-call.to(TA)-4/3S.DEPPART FUT-IMPERF-two(AI)-4PL “Come on!” said the one who was challenging him to join him.

25

ts’‫ܙ‬ғö nƯғƯiwatjƯitji chҌiiih, niiwээtҮiitҮҌi. cihҌiiih nii-wээtҮii-tҮҌi NEG IMPERF-say(AI)-3S “No!” [the first one] kept saying.

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hǀnjғ uxn‫ۓ‬äs’ ƱnănখitƗn ҌinэneitэnҌ. ҌoҌuhnaasҌ ҌoҌuh-naasi Ҍi-nэneit-эnҌ NPAST-lie/sit(AI) 3S-ride(AI.PART)-OBV He was just lying on his horse.

27

waĶtjii näࡅ ғ h‫ۓ‬stsüࡅ nƱbƝítji nǎhǎnjғ un‫ۓ‬ĶtsƱbখităn nohuҌ wээtҮiiih nahaasciinibeitҮҌi wээtҮiiih nahaas-ciinib-eitҮҌi nohuҌ DUBIT to.there-quit.talking.to(TA)-4/3S this Ҍunaacibeiitэn. Ҍu-naacib-eiitэn 3S-call.to(TA)-4/3S.DEPPART I guess the one who was challenging him just quit talking to him [after a while].

28

hǀǎhwatäĶ kǀ࡬ғu࡬ h’ini ҌoҌuhwэtaakouhҌnҌ. ҌoҌuh-wэtaakouhu-nҌ NPAST-ride.to.camp(AI)-4S [His challenger] rode to the camp.

29

haĶhnƯғiwatjiin‫ۓ‬äsnäࡃ ғ äs hƱnănখitƗn ҌinэneitэnҌ. Ҍээh niiwээtҮiinaasnaasҌ Ҍээh nii-wээtҮii-naas-naasi Ҍi-nэneit-эnҌ but IMPERF-DUBIT-remain.behind-lie/sit(AI) 3S-ride(AI.PART)-OBV But [the first one], I guess he just stayed behind, lying on his horse.

Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

30

haĶh৒uhuxtcaƗғ aĶtanখihinin୹Ķ hƱnƯitiƯғihaĶ Ҍээh ҌoҌuhҌuhþэҌээtэneihininҌэ ҌiniithҌiiihэh. Ҍээh ҌoҌuh-ҌuhþэҌээtэneihi-ninҌэ Ҍini-itahҌiii-hэh and NPAST-noticed(AI)-4PL 3S-friend-OBV.PL And his friends were caught sight of.

31

waĶtjii nähäästj’Ưi wээtҮiiih nahaastҮҌiiih. wээtҮiiih nahaas-tҮeҌiiih DUBIT to.there-again I guess they just came right back.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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ititsünkǀhnjғ utaneitji nǎhǎnjғ inäĶtsӿbখitan aĶhǀnjғ u n‫ۓ‬ĶçƗĶnäࡃ ғ äs ƱnănƝítƗn tihcҌinҌkouhuutэneitҮҌi nohҌ tih-ceҌi-noҌukouhuutэn-eitҮҌi nohuҌ when-again-ride.to.s.o.(TA)-4/3S this Ҍunaacibeiitэn, Ҍээh ҌoҌuhnaașээnaasҌ Ҍu-naacib-eiitэn Ҍээh ҌoҌuh-naașээ-naasi 3S-call.to(TA)-4/3S.DEPPART and NPAST-still-lie/sit ҌinэneitэnҌэ. Ҍi-nэneit-эnҌэ 3S-ride(AI.PART)-OBV When the one who had challenged him came riding back to where he was, he was still just lying on his horse.

33

Ưixtj’Ɨғ a tănখinin bäࡃ ғ ä waĶtjiiteitj ҌiihtҮҌээtэneininҌ baah, wээtҮiiteitҮҌi. ҌiihtҮэҌээtэn-eininҌ baah wээtҮiit-eitҮҌi IC.notice(TA)-3/12 friend say(TA)-4/3S “They spotted us, friend,” [the challenger] said to him.

34

waĶtjiinähätҳkuts wээtҮiiih nahaatэkhuch. wээtҮiiih nahaa-tэkohu-cih DUBIT from.there-flee(TA)-3PL So then they all fled from there.

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35

hҳhǎǎtsöࡅ ғ wătjƯi ts‫ܙ‬öçăwƗғ ani ҌoҌuhchҌii . . . wээtҮiichҌiișэwээҌээnэh. ҌoҌuh-cihҌii wээtҮii-cihҌ-iișэwээҌээ-nэh NPAST-NEG DUBIT-NEG-attaining.knowledge(AI)-3PL They didn’t . . . they couldn’t see where they were going [due to the snow].

36

kƗĶkҳĶ‫ ވ‬hä৮’ƱғnăĶtjƱts hoǎғ hǎnjustҳkun kээkэn ҌaatҌiinэtҮich, kээkэn Ҍaat-ҌiinэtҮi-cih just.anywhere ?-sit.in.various.directions(AI)-3PL ҌoҌuhҌuustэkhunэh. ҌoҌuh-Ҍuus-tэkohu-nэh NPAST-PERF-flee(AI)-3PL They ended up scattered all over once they had fled.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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ăhinäࡅ ғ söö näĶç৒u nihiƱk৒hǎhখits houhiníitănän hƱnƯitƱƯғihƱғhnaĶ äxnƯғiçihnüts ha’ăhƗғ aĶ wăĶtjƯƯtƱtǀusƱbƝínits’ Ҍээh ҌinҌ Ҍaasch’iiih naașoouh Ҍээh ҌiniҌ Ҍaasicih’iiih naașoouh but that while still niihҌikouhuuheich, ҌoҌuhniitэnaaҌ ҌiniithҌiiihihinээҌ niihҌikouhuuh-eicih ҌoҌuh-niitэn-aaҌ Ҍini-itahҌiiihih-inээҌ ride.horse.fast(TA)-4/3PL NPAST-hear(TA)-4 3S-friend-PL ҌahniișihinicҌ ҌэҌэhээh! wээtҮiitҮҌi, Ҍah-niișihi-nicҌ ҌэҌэhээh wээtҮii-tҮҌi NUM-one(AI)-4S ouch say(AI)-3S tihtoҌusibeinicҌ. tih-toҌusib-einicҌ since-throw.down(TA)-4/4S And while they were still riding fast, they heard one of their friends say “Ouch!” when he was thrown down from his horse.

38

ƗĶh৒ǎ’ aĶwǎғ ixtjƯhƝi ăxtj’ǀutƝ࡭ n Ҍээh ҌэҌuhҌuuҌээwuhtҮiheiҌ ҌэhtҮҌooutenh. Ҍэh-tҮoҌoouteni-h Ҍээh ҌэҌuh-Ҍuu-ҌээwuhtҮiheiҌ and NPAST-IMPERF-run.down(AI) where-high(II)-0S [The horse] was going down the slope of a bank.

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39

hahnƗĶkăn waĶtjiinƱғhiƯi wҳotsöĶ hƱ৮ƱғçƱtjƱts ҌэhnээkэnҌ, wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih . . . wээciiih Ҍэh-nээkэna-Ҍ wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih wээtҮiiih when-morning(II)-0S DUBIT then DUBIT ҌitișitҮich. Ҍitiș-itҮi-cih come.upon(TA)-RECIP(AI)-3PL When morning came, then they all stumbled into each other.

40

hƗĶhƗĶtƗĶ hǀuhä‫ۓ‬nƱsüࡅ ғ bƝi hǀǎғ hăƗnawǎxtjƯғhei tjeits‫ܙ‬ғçƱts hƱnăxtҳk’huts ăxbyƱғhƱdyƗn Ҍээh Ҍээtээh ҌoҌuhҌaanissibeih; ҌoҌuhҌээnээwuhtҮiheiҌ Ҍээh Ҍээtээh ҌoҌuh-Ҍaan-isisibeihi ҌoҌuh-Ҍээn-ээwuhtҮiheiҌ and others NPAST-REDUP-injured(AI) NPAST-REDUP-run.down(AI) tҮeicișich ҌinҌ Ҍэhtэkhuch ҌэhbҮihҌiyээh. tҮeiciși-cih ҌiniҌ Ҍэh-tэkohu-cih Ҍэh-bҮihҌiyээ-h ???-3PL that when-flee(AI)-3PL when-dark(II)-0S

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Some of them had been injured; the horses ran down [gullies] and [the riders] didn’t know where they were going as they fled in the dark. 41

hăƟnƯiçƱғxtji hǂnjғ uxts‫ܙ‬djƟtǀ࡬ғu࡬ waĶtjii nähä nƗғ aĶtƝixtji ҌahniișihitҮҌi ҌoҌuhchҌiitҮeetouҌ; wээtҮiiih Ҍah-niișihi-tҮҌi ҌoҌuh-cihҌii-tҮeetouҌ wээtҮiiih NUM-one(AI)-3S NPAST-NEG-located(II)(?) DUBIT nahaanэээteitҮҌi. nahaa-nэээt-eitҮҌi there-leave.behind(TA)-4/3S One of them was missing; they had left him behind.

42

nƗaĶçein’uheixtji ät৒n tsƗғ aĶtaaĶniihaĶ waĶtjƯitখitji hƱnƯitƱƯғihăĶ nээșeeinhҌeitҮҌi, ҌээtэnchҌэtээniihээҌ, wээtҮiiteitҮҌi nээșeei-nahҌ-eitҮҌi Ҍээtэn-cihҌ-эtээniih-ээҌ wээtҮiit-eitҮҌi maybe-kill(TA)-4/3S FUT-NEG-wait.for(TA)-3 say(TA)-4/3S ҌiniithҌiiihэh. Ҍini-itahҌiii-hэh 3S-friend-OBV.PL “Maybe [the Sioux] killed him, we can’t wait for him,” his friends said [to his best friend].

43

waĶtjii nähä tjƟғ tƗĶƗĶnüts nƯitƱƯғihaĶ ҌiniithҌiiihэh, wээtҮiiih nahaatҮetээҌээnich wээtҮiiih nahaa-tҮetээҌээ-nicih Ҍini-itahҌiii-hэh DUBIT from.there-set.off(AI)-4PL 3S-friend-OBV.PL So then his friends set off from there.

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44

ăxtjƱnƱғç‫ۓ‬Ķnüts waĶtjii nehiƯi tjƯғinôtjinaĶhabéitji ҌэhtҮiniișaanich, wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih Ҍэh-tҮiniișaa-nich wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih when-walk.long.way(AI)-4PL DUBIT then tҮҌiinэtҮinээhэbeitҮҌi. tҮeҌiin-nэtҮi-nээhэb-eitҮҌi back-seek-see(TA)-4/3S Once they had gone a long way, then they looked back to try and see him.

45

hóuhnǂhinhƱƯғi tjƱғçäࡅ nüts äࡃ ғ nää hƱnƱғtäĶ Ҍээh nэhҌ ҌiitҮișaanich, ҌaanaҌaa ҌinnitaaҌ! Ҍээh nэhuҌ ҌiitҮișaa-nich ҌaanaҌaa ҌininitaaҌ and this walk.from.there(AI)-4PL who.is person

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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BROCKIE AND COWELL

And from back where they had come from, “There’s someone!” [one of them said]. 46

hǀǎxtsäĶ tsüࡅ ғ nǀu ҌoҌuhcaaci-noҌoouh. ҌoҌuh-caaci-noҌoouh NPAST-to.here-arrive.ADV He was coming towards them.

47

waĶtjii nƟhƯƯi ii äࡅ çƗĶhăbখitji nôtjƱnăhƗƗғ ĶtsƗĶ wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih ҌiiҌașээhэbeitҮҌi nэtҮinээhээcэээҌ; nэtҮinэhээcэээҌ wээtҮiiih naheiҌiiih ҌiiҌ-așээhэb-eitҮҌi DUBIT then INSTR-look.at(TA)-4/3S telescope So then one of them looked at him through a spyglass;

48

aĶh৒uh byƯғităĶbä‫ۓ‬Ķ Ҍээh ҌoҌuhbҮiitэbaaҌ. Ҍээh ҌoҌuh-bҮiitэbaaҌ and NPAST-go.on.foot(AI) he was on foot.

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49

nƱnänƱtji nixk৒utăĶ äçăhăĶbƟғ tjƯit wƗĶtjƯitখit nҳhă‫ۓ‬äçaĶhăbখitan hƯƯғi nôtjƱғnahƗaĶtsa ҌașээhэbetҮiitҮҌ, wээtҮiiteitҮҌi ninaanitҮҌi, nihkoutэn ninaani-tҮҌi nohҌu[tҮesi]koutэn ҌașээhэbetҮiitҮҌ wээtҮiit-eitҮҌi IC.it.is(AI)-3S shine.s.t.at.s.o.(TA) mirror say(TA)-4/3S nahaҌ Ҍaașээhэbeiitэn ҌiiҌiiih nэtҮinээhээcэээҌ. nahaҌ Ҍaașээhэb-eiitэn ҌiiҌiiih nэtҮinээhээcэээҌ this look.at(TA)-4/3S.DEPPART INSTR telescope “That one, signal him with a mirror,” the one who is2 looking at him through the spyglass said to the others.

50

haĶhnƗғ aĶçei hăhnƗĶhƗғ aĶtaaĶ ah nǂhǎtjes k৒uhtăneitji Ҍээh nээșeeih ҌэhnээhээtҌэ, Ҍээh nohҌutҮeskoutэneitҮҌi, Ҍээh nээșeeih Ҍэh-nээhээt-эҌ Ҍээh nohҌutҮesikoutэn-eitҮҌi and maybe when-see(TI)-3S and shine.s.t.at.s.o.(TA)-4/3S And I guess when he saw they were shining the mirror at him as a signal,

2. Grammatically one would expect ‘was’, but the form should be translated as ‘is’.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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33

waĶtjƯғitsäĶts‫ܙ‬ғĶ nǂhuƱtjƟғ skǀhnjts‫ۓ‬Ķtj wээtҮiicaacinohҌutҮeskouhuucaatҮҌi. wээtҮii-caaci-nohҌutҮesikouhuucaa-tҮҌi DUBIT-to.here-shine.s.t./make.sparkles(AI)-3S then he signaled back with a mirror.

52

nƱnäࡃ ғ nitj ƱtƗғ Ķwnju ătǀuh’ǎ࡭ғn ҳtƗĶƯғ୹haĶaĶ waĶtjiitখit ƱnƯitƱƯíhaĶ ninaanitҮҌi Ҍiitэwuuuh, ҌэtoouhҌunэtээniihээҌ, ninaani-tҮҌi Ҍiitэwuuuh ҌэtoouhҌun-эtээniih-ээҌ IC.it.is(AI)-3S truly must/should-wait.for(TA)-3 wээtҮiiteitҮҌi ҌiniithҌiiihэh. wээtҮiit-eitҮҌi Ҍini-itahҌiii-hэh say(TA)-4/3S 3S-friend-OBV.PL “That’s him, for sure, we must wait for him,” [his best friend] said to his other friends.

53

[n]ǂғ hu ƱtƟ࡭ ғ çaĶtji hătƗғ ĶsahaaĶ hӕtăn waĶtjiiteit tcäࡃ ғ Ķçaanii hэtэnh? ҌoҌuhҌiteșээtҮҌi, hэtээsэhээҌ ҌoҌuh-Ҍiteș-ээtҮҌi hэ-tээsэh-ээҌ hэ-tэnah? DUBIT.PAST-reach(TA)-3S/4 2S-what.do(TA)-3S 2S-horse wээtҮiiteitҮҌi þaașээniiih. wээtҮiit-eitҮҌi þaașээniiih say(TA)-4/3S one Once he had reached them, “What did you do with your horse?” one of them asked him.

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54

nihnҳhaa ǂuxnäࡃ ғ äĶtjƱkǀhuxtji wƗĶtjƯғitj nihnahҌaaҌ; ҌoҌuhnaatҮikouhuhtҮi, wээtҮiitҮҌi. wээtҮii-tҮҌi nih-nahҌ-aaҌ ҌoҌuh-naatҮikouhuhtҮihi PAST-kill(TA)-3 NPAST-tired.from.running.hard(AI) say(AI)-3S “I killed it, it was exhausted from running hard,” he said.

55

waĶtjii näh’nƱ ƱsƗƗtănƯí äbyƱitƗaĶçƱbyäࡃ ғ äts hăƗánƯnÕ࡭ࡅ ғn ҌэҌэээniinen. wээtҮiiih nahnihҌiisэtэniiih ҌabҮiitээșibҮaach wээtҮiiih nah-nih-Ҍiis-эtэniiih ҌabҮiitээșibҮaa-cih ҌэҌэээniinen DUBIT that-PAST-how-fail steal.horses(AI)-3PL Gros.Ventre So that was how the Gros Ventres failed to steal horses.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Redacting Premodern Texts without Speakers: the Peoria Story of Wiihsakacaakwa

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David J. Costa 1. Introduction. Miami-Illinois is an Algonquian language originally spoken in what is now Indiana, western Ohio, and Illinois. In Indiana, the groups speaking this language included the Miami proper, the Wea, and the Piankashaw. The two main groups speaking the Illinois language were the Kaskaskia and the Peoria. In the first half of the nineteenth century, the Wea, Piankashaw, and all Illinois-speaking groups were forcibly relocated to eastern Kansas, and then, in 1867, to what is now Ottawa County, Oklahoma. Not long after, about half the Miami tribe was moved to Kansas as well, continuing on to Ottawa County, Oklahoma, in 1870, though half of the Miamis managed to stay behind in Indiana. The closest linguistic relatives of Miami-Illinois are Sauk-Meskwaki-Kickapoo, Ojibwe-Potawatomi, and Shawnee. From 1892 to 1916, approximately fifty texts in Miami-Illinois were collected, from seven different speakers in Oklahoma and Indiana. This corpus covers a fairly wide range of subjects, including culture hero stories, animal stories, creation legends, how-to texts, translations of Christian materials, and genealogical and biographical narratives. The first person to collect texts in Miami-Illinois was the Bureau of American Ethnology (BAE) linguist Albert Gatschet, who, from 1892 to around 1902, collected stories from several different speakers of Wea, Peoria, Oklahoma Miami, and Indiana Miami. Later, avocational linguist Jacob Dunn reelicited almost all of Gatschet’s texts, and also collected several new texts in all four dialects. Finally, in 1916, BAE linguist Truman Michelson collected three stories in Peoria, in addition to the numerous stories in English he also elicited from various Miamis and Peorias. These texts are invaluable for the insights they provide into the language, culture, and history of the Miami-Illinois-speaking peoples.1 The challenges of working with these texts are considerable: none of the extant Miami-Illinois texts were recorded with any kind of 1. I have published a collection of modern Miami-Illinois texts with facing-page translations (Costa 2010). An annotated collection of Miami-Illinois texts with interlinear glossing is forthcoming.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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modern standard of linguistic accuracy. They are rife with problems— poor translation, bad transcription quality, and inadequate grammatical analysis. Moreover, the usual strategy of reeliciting problematic premodern texts with modern speakers is impossible with MiamiIllinois, which lost its last original native speakers more than thirty years ago. Thus, Miami-Illinois texts can be reconstituted only through pure internal and comparative analysis. In this chapter, I demonstrate what is involved in redacting MiamiIllinois texts by taking a typical text, showing the kinds of problems that are encountered, and discussing the various solutions. Despite the problems, huge amounts of information can be recovered from the extant Miami-Illinois texts, in a way that both preserves all the necessary information contained within the original documents and overcomes many of the deficiencies of the original recorders. The text under discussion here, George Finley’s Peoria “Story of Wiihsakacaakwa,” was obtained by Gatschet around 1895, and occupies thirteen pages in Gatschet’s original field notebooks.2 Jacob Dunn later reelicited this text, producing a typewritten version of nine pages. In 1916, Truman Michelson elicited a Wiihsakacaakwa story from Finley as well, but Michelson’s version is not derived from the Gatschet-Dunn version, and is in fact substantially different from it. Thus, Michelson’s version will not be discussed here, except when it sheds light on Gatschet’s and Dunn’s version. George Washington Finley was a member of the Peoria tribe who was born in 1858 in Miami County, Kansas, and died in 1932 in Ottawa County, Oklahoma. Finley was a chief of the Peorias and stated that he spoke that dialect, though his speech is notably different from that of other documented Peoria speakers. Finley was reputed to be the last full-blood Piankashaw, so it is possible that he actually spoke something closer to that dialect. Whatever his dialect, Finley was nevertheless a superb speaker of Miami-Illinois, and may well have been one of the last speakers of the language capable of giving such good traditional texts. Finley worked with more linguists than any other speaker of Miami-Illinois. Not only was he the main Peoria speaker Albert Gatschet worked with, but Jacob Dunn also did considerable work with 2. An English translation of this text is discussed in Costa 2005. Additionally, I have given a Peoria version of it with a facing-page English translation elsewhere (Costa 2010:10–23). The original Gatschet version of this text is archived as manuscript 236 at the National Anthropological Archives’ Smithsonian Museum Support Center in Suitland, Maryland. Dunn’s version of this text is archived in the Jacob P. Dunn papers at the Indiana State Library in Indianapolis, Indiana. I thank Ives Goddard for helpful comments on an early draft of this chapter.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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him during his fieldtrips to Oklahoma from 1909 through 1914. Additionally, Finley served as Truman Michelson’s main consultant during his regrettably brief Peoria fieldwork in 1916. 2. Format. In the format used here to present Miami-Illinois texts, they are divided into numbered lines for reference; these do not represent marked divisions in the original manuscripts, but are roughly sentence-size units (though not always consisting of a single sentence). Each numbered line includes four components. The first (in angle brackets, ) is the original transcription from Gatschet, Dunn, or Michelson, absolutely unchanged. This is included to provide the curious or skeptical reader with my original data, so that they can see how I have arrived at my transcription. All the other components represent my own analysis. The second component (in italics) is my phonemicization, with word breaks corrected and such features as vowel length or preaspiration supplied, and a certain minimal level of punctuation added for clarity. The third component is my word-for-word glossing, with the exact meaning of each original word supplied so far as it is understood. And finally, the fourth component is my free translation of the entire sentence or clause, presented in idiomatic English so far as possible. This last line also includes a small amount of bracketed material added for clarification when the text is especially terse, indicating things such as subjects or objects of verbs, or who is saying what to whom. The sample in (1), from Gatschet’s version of Finley’s “Story of Wiihsakacaakwa,” demonstrates this format.

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(1)

Mäғ tchi tchäғ ki nûғ ndiaxkitch tchipayaxkána nähi manäғ towa kánna Meehci ceeki noontiaahkiici ciipaya ahkana neehi after all he throws out corpse his bones then, and manetoowa ahkana. manitou his bones Later, [Wiihsakacaakwa] threw out all the corpses’ bones and the manitou’s bones.

3. Phonemicization. In redacting Miami-Illinois texts, the first issue one must confront is what principles to use in phonemicizing the data—especially, how to handle the deletion of short vowels in various environments. In modern Miami-Illinois, short vowels are often deleted word-initially, and variously devoiced or deleted word-finally. Moreover, in modern Miami-Illinois, short vowels are regularly devoiced in weak syllables before preaspirates, and, most of the time, simply not indicated in the records. The result of this is that in

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Gatschet’s and Dunn’s transcriptions, there are many “missing” vowels word-initially, word-finally, and before preaspirates. Table 1 lists typical examples of words from Finley’s “Story of Wiihsakacaakwa” showing these deleted vowels.3 TABLE 1. DELETED VOWELS IN THE “STORY OF WIIHSAKACAAKWA”

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GATSCHET

DUNN

FULL PHONEMIC FORM AND GLOSS

yáyan

iáƱan

ayaayani ‘you go’ (cf. LB aiaiani )

matínatch

matƱғnatc

amatinaaci ‘he wakes him’ (cf. LB amatini ‘wake him up!’ (amatini) and Ojibwe amadinaad ‘he wakes him up by touching him’)

kawahílo

kawáhƱló

ahkawaahilo ‘wait for me!’ (cf. Ojibwe akawaahaad ‘he waits for him’)

kƯғp’sak

kƱғpsak

kiipwihsaaki ‘it slams shut’ (cf. Dunn’s unchanged independent kipwissäwƱ kipwihseewi)

kûғ la-i

koláƱ

ahkolayi ‘his cape’ (cf. Gr ac8raï ‘robe’; from PA *weHkoLayi [Goddard 1983:371])

wíki

wƱғkƱ

awiiki ‘his home, lodge’ (cf. Gr a8iki and Sauk owi·ki ‘his house, home’)

wíyowä

wiówa

awiiyoowe ‘themselves’ (cf. LB a8i88a8i awiiyoowaawi [see Costa 2008:142–43])

tawäliniáki

táwalánƱákƱ

ataaweeliniaki ‘merchants’ (note also Tr tauwaulineeanjkee ; cf. Meskwaki ata·we·neniwa and Ojibwe adaawewinini)

shalíwaki

calƱwákƱ

ahšaliwaki ‘they give out food’ (note also Illinois nintahšare ‘I give out food’ [Gr/LB nitachare ‘je donne a manger’]; cf. Menominee ahsa·new ‘he gives out food’ and Râle’s Caniba neda‘sar ‘je donne à manger’)

pûғ kgi

pókkƱ

poohkahki ‘it has a hole in it’ (cf. poohkatwi ~ poohkahki [Gr p8cat8i , p8caki , LB poccat8i , poccaki , Gt púxkatwi ])

3. The symbol 8 in the original transcription of the Francophone Jesuit sources represents an omicron-upsilon digraph that is essentially equivalent to French ou ; in actual practice, it is used for w, o, and o·. Additionally, Albert Gatschet sporadically uses 8 (sometimes superscripted) to indicate voiceless o or, less often, word-final wa.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Moreover, as one might expect, Gatschet and Dunn do not always agree with each other as to whether particular vowels are retained. Although most of the time Dunn either deletes or retains the same vowels as Gatschet, there are instances where Dunn marks vowels as deleted where Gatschet does not, or vice versa, as is seen in table 2. TABLE 2. DIFFERENCES IN VOWEL DELETION BETWEEN GATSCHET AND DUNN

Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

GATSCHET

DUNN

FULL PHONEMIC FORM AND GLOSS

zúyingi

anzoyƱғngƱ

ansooyinki ‘on his tail’ (cf. Illinois ansooyi ‘his tail’ [Gr/P ans8i , LB ans8ie ])

taxtagíshing

tatakƱғcƱngƱ

taahtakiihšinki ‘he lies down’

pikwakiûғ ngûnsh

pikwákƱongóndjƱ

pihkwaahkionkonci ‘from the hill’

shäk8túki

cäғ ktokƱ

šeekwihtooki ‘he seizes it, takes possession of it’ (cf. Illinois nišiikwihtoo ‘I seize it, plunder it’ [Gr nichic8it8 ‘j'emporte cela. Je pille’])

mäғ k8kawƗtch

mäғ kkawatc

meehkohkawaaci ‘he encounters him’ (cf. Kickapoo mehkoska(w)- ‘meet him unexpectedly’ and Cree miskoskawe·w ‘he comes upon him’)

mxkátä-u

m’kátäwƱ

mahkateewi ‘gunpowder’ (cf. Meskwaki mahkate·wi ‘gunpowder’)

näғ ’ki

anäғ kƱ

anehki ‘his hand’

luässíwan

ƱlwásƱwánƱ

ilweehsiiwani ‘you do not say so’

My policy in redacting texts is basically to phonemicize words in the most conservative form in which they would have occurred for speakers in the nineteenth century. This means restoring deleted initial and word-final vowels, as well as word-internal devoiced vowels, provided that these vowels are ever attested in the modern language. Word-final short vowels are most often deleted in running text and almost always retained in elicitation, so their restoration in phonemic forms is uncontroversial. Word-initial short vowels were usually deleted in the latest records of Miami-Illinois, although conservative speakers in the 1800s still retained them as an optional, deliberate pronunciation. Verb-initial short vowels, as in ‘he wakes him’ and ‘wait for me!’ in table 1 above, are often deleted when word-initial, although these vowels always reappear when the verb takes a person prefix, or when it undergoes initial change.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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TABLE 3. NOUNS AND ADVERBS IN WHICH INITIAL VOWELS ARE ALWAYS LOST ILLINOIS (GRAVIER)

ILLINOIS MODERN MIAMI-ILLINOIS (LEBOULLENGER) isc8te8i

PROTO-ALGONQUIAN/ COGNATES

kóteewi ‘fire’

PA *eškwete·wi

isc8antemi , esc8antemi

ac8antemi

kwaanteemi ‘door’

PA *eškwa·nte(·mi)

ac8essem8a

ac8essim8a

kweehsimwa ‘female animal’

PA *eșkwe·Ҍșemwa ‘bitch’

kweehsa ‘young unmarried woman’

Sh yhkweeșa

kwániswa ‘young girl’

—

ac8essa ac8aniss8nsa (dimin.)

ac8eniss8o

ac8essia

kweehsia ‘female bird, hen’

Pt kwese ‘hen’

ac8sia

ac8ssia

koohsia ‘mouse’

—

ac8ing8cha

ac8eng8sa

kweenkohsa ‘chipmunk’

Mw agwingos

ac8ca

ac88ca

kooka ‘frog’

Ot googsenh

atta8ane

atta8ane , ta8ani

táwaani ‘tree, wood’

Meskwaki ahtawa·ni ‘chief's staff’†

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espemenghi , espeminghi , péminki ‘above, on high’ PA *ešpemenki speminghi speminghi † Meskwaki ahtawa·ni is probably a Miami-Illinois loan into Meskwaki.

However, several nouns and adverbs with word-initial short vowels in the oldest Illinois records never retain these vowels in the modern language (from the late 1700s onward), no matter how often they are attested; see table 3. This is especially common for words that originally began with Vsk- or Vhk- in old Illinois. For such words, I do not restore the missing initial vowels in modern phonemicizations, since I do not believe that these vowels are characteristically retained in the speech of conservative speakers from the 1800s.4 4. However, when an initial short vowel is deleted from a word in later MiamiIllinois, the vowel in the original second syllable remains strong for purposes of syllable-counting, as though the old vowel were still present. I indicate such strong first-syllable short vowels with an acute accent, as in later Miami kóteewi ‘fire’ or lénia ‘man’. Moreover, a handful of nouns had already lost their initial short vowels by the old Illinois period (and in all records thereafter), judging by comparative evidence. Some such words are skíyošiwa ‘old man’ (Gr/LB/P ski8chi8a ; cf. nintaskiyošiwi ‘I am an

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For deleted word-internal vowels, I follow basically the same policy. Michelson’s and Hockett’s fieldnotes make it clear that virtually all of these “missing” word-internal vowels are in fact devoiced, and not actually deleted. Thus, in my texts, I restore the great majority of these devoiced vowels. For example, I write meehkohkawaaci ‘he encounters him’, rather than something like *meehkhkawaaci, kiipwihsaaki ‘it slams shut’ rather than *kiiphsaaki, and weelahkinalaawaaci ‘they fill him up’ rather than *weelhkinalaawaaci. However, as with word-initial short vowels, there are a handful of words where vowels in weak syllables are marked as deleted before preaspirates in absolutely all records of Miami-Illinois, even old Illinois. Some notable examples are kaakaathswi ‘six’,5 swaahteethswi ‘seven’,6 maarhsi ~ maalhsi ‘knife’,7 and aarhsoohkioni ‘winter story’.8 My policy is not to restore these vowels in my text transcriptions.9 It is possible that there were rules in modern Miami-Illinois governing when these vowels were deleted. However, I do not believe that the original transcriptions are precise enough to determine when these vowels were deleted or merely devoiced. Ultimately, however, the only source of information for such questions is the original records themselves, and since I retain the exact original transcription in all cases, no information is lost by restoring these vowels in my phonemicizations.

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4. Transcriptional problems. Another problem constantly encountered in the Miami-Illinois texts is that of problematic transcriptions. This goes beyond the ubiquitous problem of deciding old man’ [Gr nit’aski8chi8i , LB nintaski8gi8i ]), páyiihsa ‘dwarf, elf’ (P païssa ; cf. Meskwaki apaya·sa ‘Little Creature of Caprice’), cécaahkwa ‘Sandhill crane’ (Gr/P tchetchac8a ; from PA *weteþya·hkwa), kíhkamanihsia ‘kingfisher’ (P kicamanessia ; cf. Menominee okİ·skemani·Ҍ), and probably also sékinaahkwa ‘blackbird’ (Gr sekinac8a , LB sekinac8o , P sekinak8a ; cf. Ojibwe asiginaak and Shawnee hașikinahkwa, but also Meskwaki sakena·hkwa). 5. In old Illinois, note LB cacats8i , Gr cacatch8i and P kakatch8i . From the older Miami records, cf. V kakotsoué , Hk kakatswi , and Tr kaukutswaa . 6. In old Illinois, note P s8atets8i and LB s8atets8e . From the older Miami records, cf. V souaxtetsoué , Hk swachtӁtswi , Tr swohtƝtswaa and Th suohtetsueh . 7. The old Illinois sources all have marsi for this word. Note also Hk mãlsi , Tr mǀlsee , and Gt mál’hsi . 8. In old Illinois, note Gr/LB/P ars8ki8ni . Verbs related to this noun never retain the vowel in old Illinois either, as seen in nintaarhsoohkii ‘I tell winter stories’ (Gr/LB/P nitars8ki ). 9. Another reason not to restore the missing vowels in words like kaakaathswi and swaahteethswi is because it is not certain what the missing vowel would be.

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which vowels in a word are long or which obstruents are preaspirated, and extends to words that have been more seriously mangled by Gatschet or Dunn. A sentence in Finley’s text that demonstrates this well is shown in (2). (2a)

Gatschet: nehissa nkäluläksíkwi swatässindepíkank would not speak to him the seven headed manäғ tஎwal monster

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(2b)

Dunn: nähƱғsa n'käloläksƱғkwƱ swatäғ tswƱndäpƱғkang and then he would not answer him the seven-headed Manäғ towa; monster

The word of interest in this sentence is Gatschet’s nkäluläksíkwi , which appears to mean ‘he (obviative) does not speak to him’. Given that the Miami-Illinois stem for ‘speak to’ is kalo(o)l-, and there are no first person arguments in this sentence, there is no reason for the n on the front of this word. However, Dunn copies the n as well, which shows that he was not above carrying over many of Gatschet’s more egregious errors in his reelicitations. However, even if we assume that nkäluläksíkwi in fact represents intended * käluläksíkwi , several issues remain. First, it is not normal for negative verbs in Miami-Illinois to undergo initial change; generally, Miami-Illinois dependent verbs remain unchanged in irrealis situations, and negative verbs almost always qualify for blocking initial change. However, here it appears undeniable that this is indeed a changed negative verb. The key to understanding this is the form taken by the inverse (Theme 2) theme sign -eko-, which appears here as -äk- , phonemically -eko- (with devoiced o). Given the metrical rules of Miami-Illinois—specifically, that even-numbered syllables in a sequence of short-voweled syllables are strong, and that e becomes i in weak syllables—there is no way for the e of the inverse theme sign to remain e here unless the first syllable is long—i.e., changed—and the second syllable is short. Both Gatschet and Dunn omit the o of the theme sign before the hs of the negative, showing that the o is devoiced, and thus in a weak syllable. Again, there is no way of counting the syllables of this word to make the o land in a weak syllable unless the first syllable is long and the second short. Thus, it seems inescapable that the correct phone-

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micization of this word is keelolekohsiikwi, indicating a stem kalol-, with underlying short o in the second syllable (contrary to what is seen in the cognates of this word in Ojibwe, Shawnee, and Meskwaki). Thus, I would redact this line as in (3). (3a)

Gatschet: nehissa nkäluläksíkwi swatässindepíkank manäғ tuwal keelolekohsiikwi Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he (obv.) does not speak to him swaahteethswintepikanka manetoowali. he has seven heads manitou (obv.) The seven-headed manitou would not speak to him.

(3b)

Dunn: nähƱғsa n'käloläksƱғkwƱ swatäғ tswƱndäpƱғkang Manäғ towa; keelolekohsiikwi Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he (obv.) does not speak to him swaahteethswintepikanka Manetoowa[li]. he has seven heads manitou (obv.) The seven-headed manitou would not speak to him.

A similar transcriptional dilemma is represented by the word for ‘in your boat’ in the sentence in (4).

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(4)

Gatschet: Ilíkudshis(a) Täpingúka wätemílan kimässúlemingi Iilikoci-’hsa: “Teepi-nko-’hka he (obv.) says to him - new inf. can, able - interrog. - pot. weeteemilaani kimehsoleminki?” I accompany you, come with you your boat (loc.) [Wiihsakacaakwa] said to him, “Can I go with you in your boat?”

The vowel qualities in this word are not quite what one would expect. In particular, given the vowel alternation rules of Miami-Illinois, and cognates like Kickapoo meșooni ‘boat’, one might expect a form like i in *kimehsoolimenki, written something like * kimässúlimengi the fourth syllable and e in the fifth syllable. However, Gatschet clearly has e in the possessive theme marker (underlying -em-) and i in the locative suffix (underlying -enki), implying that the fourth syllable is strong and the fifth syllable is weak. The only way to make the syllable count in this word come out that way would be if the vowel in the third syllable (the second syllable of ‘boat’) were short, giving underlying

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Miami-Illinois *mihsoli.10 This strongly suggests that Gatschet’s form represents phonemic kimehsoleminki.11 Although this second-syllable short vowel does not line up well with cognates like Kickapoo meșooni or Munsee amóxo·l, it is in agreement with Cree mihtos ~ mihtot. Like ‘speak’ above, this is another example of an observed pattern whereby second-syllable short o in Miami-Illinois and Cree corresponds to long oo in the other sister languages.12 Another sentence in Finley’s text containing a seriously mangled transcription is (5). (5)

Gatschet: tchäғ ki ngukáti ayíxkwä mitusseniwí-i ú-aha, hilaxkáni all cannot always live, visit here tell them

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The word specifically at issue here is mitusseniwí-i , translated by Gatschet merely as ‘live, visit’. This is clearly a form of the verb mehtohseeniwi- ‘live’, but it appears to lack any kind of recognizable person-marking affix. This strange word is carried over intact in 10. The surface form of this noun may still be mihsooli, due to second-syllable lengthening (see Costa 2003:118–21); this is suggested by original transcriptions like Tr misǀƗlee and Michelson’s locative mi‘s৒liñgi . 11. In his reelicitation of this text, Dunn has the problematic form kimƱssólƱmƱғngƱ , in which the short i in the first syllable of the stem of the simplex noun has apparently been generalized to the possessed form, and where all the suffixal vowels are transcribed as short i as well. While it is far from certain that Dunn transcribed the vowel qualities in this word correctly, this form is different enough from the form Gatschet obtained to further corroborate the idea that Dunn did not elicit his version of this text from Finley. 12. Another good example of this is the Miami-Illinois stem for ‘steal’, kimote-. The vowel in the second syllable of this stem is shown to be underlyingly short by its behavior in determining the syllable count in inflected forms. For example, the vowel qualities in the following words can only be explained if the underlying vowel of the second syllable of ‘steal’ is short o, not long oo: kiimoteyani ‘you steal’ (Gt kimutean , D kƱmótäyánƱ ), kiimoteta ‘he steals’ (LB kim8teta , Gt kimûғ tät , D kƱmótäta ), ninkimotehsoo ‘I do not steal’ (D n'gimotäso ), and kikimotehsoo ‘you do not steal’ (D kikimotässo ). In unchanged forms without person prefixes, the syllable count places the stem-final e in a weak position so that it reduces to i, as seen in forms such as kimotina ‘someone steals’ (Gt kimutina , D kƱmotƱna ), kimotiwa ‘he steals’ (Gr kim8ti8a ), and kimotilo ‘steal!’ (Mc kimǀtiló ). However, an alternative interpretation of forms like the last three words is perfectly possible, whereby the o of the second-syllable has been secondarily lengthened (as in ‘boat’ above), so that the surface forms would actually be *kimootina, *kimootiwa and *kimootilo. While a short second-syllable vowel for Miami-Illinois kimote- ‘steal’ does not match Ojibwe gimoodid, Shawnee kimootwa, or Kickapoo kemootwa, it does match Cree kimotiw—further support for the idea that the short o in these forms is probably archaic. Goddard (1994:191) has claimed that *o was lengthened after initial short syllables in the languages east of Cree-Arapaho. This would have produced alternations within stems, which Miami-Illinois appears to preserve.

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Dunn’s version of this sentence as well (6), where it is translated no more helpfully as ‘live’. (6)

Dunn: Tcäғ kƱn'go kátƱ aƱғkwä mitosäғ nƱwƱ oáha ilakánƱ. all not will always live there you must tell them

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In analyzing this sentence it is helpful to consider its context. The old men Wiihsakacaakwa has been living with tell him what he has to do in order to catch birds on the lake—he must swim underwater to the birds, sneak up on them, rise up out of the water, and shout “You can’t all live here forever!” When Wiihsakacaakwa takes their advice and does this, the missing pronominal suffix reappears, as is seen in (7).13 (7a)

Gatschet: “tchäki ngukáti kílwa mtussäniwí-ikwi wáhan!” “Ceeki-nko kati kiilwa mihtohseeniwiyiikwi waaha!” all - neg. fut. you (pl.) you (pl.) live here “You can’t all live here!”(he said).

(7b)

Dunn: “TcäkƱғngo kátƱ kílwa mitosäғ nƱwƱƱғkwƱ oáha.” “Ceeki-nko kati kiilwa mihtohseeniwiyiikwi all - neg. fut. you (pl.) you (pl.) live oowaaha!” here “You can’t all live here!”(he said).

These forms reveal that in the earlier line, the verb was missing the second person plural dependent marker -iikwi,14 probably a scribal error on Gatschet’s part that was mechanically carried over by Dunn. All other things being equal then, I would redact the earlier line as in (8). (8a)

Gatschet: tchäғ ki ngukáti ayíxkwä mitusseniwí-i ú-aha, hilaxkáni “‘Ceeki-nko kati aayiihkwe all - neg. fut. forever, permanently mihtohseeniwiyii[kwi] oowaaha!’ ilaahkani.” you (pl.) live here you must tell him

13. Dunn’s version of this passage also contains the dialect variant oowaaha ‘here’ instead of Gatschet’s waaha. 14. -iikwi is an allomorph of -eekwi found after y and k.

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“Then tell them ‘You can't all live here forever!’” (8b)

Dunn: Tcäғ kƱn'go kátƱ aƱғkwä mitosäғ nƱwƱ oáha ilakánƱ. “‘Ceeki-nko kati aayiihkwe all - neg. fut. forever, permanently mihtohseeniwi[yiikwi] oowaaha!’ ilaahkani.” you (pl.) live here you must tell him “Then tell them ‘You can't all live here forever!’”

5. Original translations. Gatschet recorded all his texts in a two-line format, with his transcription of the Miami-Illinois text followed by his loose translation beneath it. Gatschet’s translations give a sense of the meaning of entire phrases and sentences, while his individual glosses are often imprecise. Moreover, while Gatschet makes copious use of periods, commas, semicolons, question marks, and quotation marks in his texts, his use of these devices is not entirely reliable. He often fails to mark sentence boundaries, uses commas, colons and semicolons at inappropriate places, fails to mark quotations, or marks quotations where they do not exist. The following passage from Gatschet’s text exemplifies this. One of the old blind men Wiihsakacaakwa has been living with is instructing Wiihsakacaakwa on how he should catch birds for them. The passage exactly as it appears in Gatschet’s original is shown in (9).

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(9)

wikápa pshinándo!” nehí “wƯғssa many, lot of kind of bark go and take off the tree and kuki’hkáni maxkíkûng(i) nähí wikápa k’pítukáni dove, plunge into the lake and the barks tied to katawangîғ. néhi wƯғssa mäғ tchi k’pituyáne the feet and lots of them after you have tied katáwangi kpitukáni kipakwandiunängí, on the feet tie them around their waists

There are several difficulties with Gatschet’s interpretation of this passage, beyond that of phonetic imprecision. First, the glosses of some individual words are inaccurate. For example, Gatschet translates the first instance of wikápa as ‘kind of bark’, though in fact wiikapa is the plural of wiikapi ‘basswood bark’, and thus should really be glossed ‘pieces of basswood bark’. Gatschet glosses kuki’hkáni as ‘dove, plunge’; in fact, this is not a past tense, but rather a delayed imperative koohkiihkani ‘you must dive’. Gatschet’s interpretation of this word as an indicative verb presumbably led him to assume that it

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was not part of the quoted speech from the old man, since he placed the final quotation mark after pshinándo . Similarly, Gatschet glosses k’pítukáni as ‘tied to’, not realizing that this verb is also a delayed imperative, kihpitoohkani ‘you must tie it’. Again he evidently did not see that this word was still part of the ongoing quoted speech from the old men. He glosses katawangîғ as ‘the feet’; in fact, this represents ahkaatawaanki, a third person plural possessed locative, literally ‘to/on their feet’. In the next line, kpitukáni (kihpitoohkani) is glossed as ‘tie them’, which seems to indicate that by this time Gatschet had figured out that this verb was an imperative, and thus part of quoted speech from the old man, and yet he did not revise his use of quotation marks to indicate where old man’s dialogue ended. (In fact, this entire passage is the old man’s quoted speech.) Finally, Gatschet translates kipakwandiunängí as ‘around their waists’. This word actually represents kipakwantionenki, the second person singular locative of pakwantioni ‘belt, girdle’.15 Thus, this word does not mean ‘around their waists’, but rather means ‘on your belt’. Thus, I would transcribe this passage as in (10).

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(10)

“wƯғssa wikápa pshinándo!” nehí kuki’hkáni maxkíkûng(i) nähí wikápa k’pítukáni katawangîғ. néhi wƯғssa mäғ tchi k’pituyáne katáwangi kpitukáni kipakwandiunängí, pihšiinanto. Wiihsa wiikapa many pieces of basswood bark peel the bark off it! Neehi kookiihkani mahkiikonki. and, then you must dive lake (loc.) Neehi wiikapa kihpitoohkani and, then pieces of basswood bark you must tie it ahkaatawaanki. Neehi wiihsa meehci kihpitooyani their feet (loc.) and, then many after you tie it ahkaatawaanki, kihpitoohkani kipakwantionenki. their feet (loc.) you must tie it your belt (loc.) Peel a bunch of basswood bark off the trees. Then you have to dive into the lake. Then tie the pieces of basswood-bark to their feet. And after you have tied it to the feet of several of them, you must tie them to your belt.

Imprecise or inaccurate glosses in the original text manuscripts are quite common. The example in (11) is typical.

15. Cf. Cree pakwahte·hon ‘belt, girdle’.

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nähíssa ngúti kíyûsh íta: “kipwíssadshe kwándem”, then one old man he said he closed the door

In this sentence, Gatschet glosses nähíssa (neehi-’hsa) as ‘then’, while in fact this represents two separate words: neehi ‘and; then’, and the new information particle (i)hsa,16 which has here been cliticized to neehi. Similarly, íta (iita) is glossed as ‘he said’, though this verb is not marked for past tense. More importantly, though, Gatschet glosses kipwíssadshe (kipwihsaace) as an indicative verb ‘he closed’, when in fact it is an inanimate intransitive injunctive verb meaning something like ‘let it slam shut’. Thus, I would render this passage as in (12).

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(12)

nähíssa ngúti kíyûsh íta: “kipwíssadshe kwándem”, nkóti kíyošia iita: “Kipwihsaace Neehi-’hsa and, then - new inf. one old man he says let it slam shut kwaanteemi.” door Then one of the old men said “Let the door slam shut.”

As is noted above, Jacob Dunn later reelicited this text in the course of his own fieldwork. Given that Dunn had no linguistic training, it is striking that he often glosses individual words more accurately than Gatschet does. For example, Dunn realized that the verb kipwihsaace of (12) is an injunctive, and glossed it as ‘let it close itself’, a much more accurate rendering of its meaning than Gatschet’s ‘he closed’. Similarly, in his transcription of the passage in (10), Dunn glosses the delayed imperative kihpitoohkani as ‘you must tie’, rather than Gatschet’s inaccurate ‘tied to’. Dunn glosses ahkaatawaanki as ‘to their feet’, and kipakwantionenki, as ‘to your belt’; both are more accurate than Gatschet’s glosses (‘the feet’ and ‘around their waists’, respectively). This is typical of a pattern often seen when comparing Dunn’s materials to Gatschet’s: while Gatschet’s materials are phonetically more precise than Dunn’s, marking features like preaspiration far more often, Dunn’s translations are often more detailed and accurate than Gatschet’s in terms of both semantics and morphology. Thus, when analyzing a text obtained from both Gatschet and Dunn, it is often quite informative to look to Gatschet’s version for phonetic detail, but to Dunn’s for the actual translations. 6. Unusual lexical items. When going through the Miami-Illinois texts, it is common to encounter words that are found nowhere else in 16. Cf. Ojibwe isa ‘emphatic word’.

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the modern materials. As it turns out, a surprisingly high percentage of these lexemes are given in Gravier’s Illinois-French dictionary, where further information about their phonetic shape and, especially, semantics can be found. For example, one such example is the word kinaka , found several times in Finley’s Wiihsakacaakwa text, as in (13), a line spoken by Wiihsakacaakwa to the seven-headed manitou. (13)

Gatschet: nisimína kinaká niká ulawíkwa tawäliniáki my friend some storekeepers shalíwaki. give something to eat

In none of the three instances of kinaka in this text does Gatschet ever attempt to gloss the word. However, Dunn glosses it as ‘damn it’ all three times, with the further comment “man’s word—profane.” Upon consulting Gravier’s Illinois-French dictionary from two hundred years before, the following entry is found: kenaga ass8remant, veritablement. le mot se dit par un homme

Not only does this shed more light on the semantics of this word, but Gravier’s comment that it is a word used by men is identical with Dunn’s, and confirms that Finley’s kinaka and Gravier’s kenaga are indeed one and the same word. Thus, I would redact (13) as (14).

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(14)

nisimína kinaká niká ulawíkwa tawäliniáki shalíwaki. Nisimina, kiinaka, niihka, we (excl.) say so damn it my friend (voc.) oolawi-’hkwa ataaweeliniaki ahšaliwaki! must, ought to - habitual merchants, traders they give out food We say, damn it, my friend, the shop-keepers ought to feed people.

One of the most vivid instances in which Gravier clarifies a word found in a text relates to a sentence in Miami speaker Elizabeth Vallier’s Wiihsakacaakwa text (15), spoken about Wiihsakacaakwa when he is trying to shove a fake bill onto his nose in order to imitate Woodpecker. (15)

Nähí päpakandang táwan kitchindássituk and pecking at the wood, tree shoving (the false nose) kíwaneng into the nose

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Neither the word kitchindássituk nor its initial can be found anywhere else in the modern Miami-Illinois corpus, and Gatschet’s gloss ‘shoving’ is not terribly helpful, but Gravier has an entry for this same verb that sheds a good deal more light on its semantics: nikitchintassit8 je frape le fusil contre terre pour faire entrer la bale. je frape la hache contre terre pour faire entrer le manche

That is, Gravier translates this verb as ‘I strike a gun on the ground to put in a ball; I strike an axe on the ground to make the handle go in’. Judging from these examples, this verb can apparently more closely be defined as ‘to shove something into or onto something by hitting it against a surface’, and the sentence can be redacted as (16).

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(16)

Gatschet: Nähí päpakandang táwan kitchindássituk kíwaneng peepakantanki táwaani kiicintasitooki Neehi and, then he pecks at it (redup.) tree he shoves it on ahkiwanenki. his nose (loc.) Then he pecked at the tree, to push the fake bill onto his nose.

7. Gatschet’s texts versus Dunn’s. Another issue in redacting MiamiIllinois texts is the discrepancies found between Gatschet’s texts and their reelicitations by Jacob Dunn. These fall into three rough categories: lexical, morphological, and sentence-level discrepancies. A clear example of a lexical discrepancy between Gatschet’s and Dunn’s versions of the Wiihsakacaakwa text is the word for ‘lake’. In Gatschet’s original, Finley uses mahkiikwi for ‘lake’ four times, whereas in Dunn’s version, every one of these instances is replaced by nipihsi. A lexical difference among Miami-Illinois dialects may be relevant here; in Peoria, mahkiikwi means ‘lake’, while in Miami-Wea ‘lake’ is nipihsi and mahkiikwi means ‘marsh’ or ‘swamp’ (see Costa 2003:7). Lexical discrepancies like this suggest that Dunn did not reelicit Finley’s Wiihsakacaakwa text from Finley himself, but from some other speaker, quite possibly Sarah Wadsworth, a Wea speaker from Oklahoma. There is a precedent for this, since Dunn employed Wadsworth in reeliciting the texts that Gatschet had previously gotten from Miami speaker Elizabeth Vallier. However, a counterargument is the odd fact that in the Wiihsakacaakwa story that Truman Michelson obtained from Finley in 1916, the word nipihsi appears three times, and mahkiikwi not at all. Thus, it is possible that Finley simply changed his mind about what the best word was to use in this text.

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Other examples of lexical discrepancies between Gatschet and Dunn are more subtle. For example, the verb ‘go out, rush out’ appears four times in this text; for this, Gatschet consistently gives the stem noontiohsee-, while Dunn just as consistently gives noontiohsaa-.17 My policy is not to regularize away this difference in my redaction of Dunn’s text, since it is so consistent, and thus probably represents true dialectal variation. Thus, I write noontiohsee- for this verb in Gatschet’s text, as in (17a), and noontiohsaa- in Dunn’s version, as in (17b). (17a) Gatschet: alwelíwatch issa káti nundiúsewƗtch Aalweeliwaaci ihsa kati noontiohseewaaci. they are unable, fail new inf. fut. they go out They couldn’t get out. (17b) Dunn: alwäғ lƱwatc ísa kátƱ nondƱósawatc. Aalweeliwaaci ihsa kati noontiohsaawaaci. they are unable, fail new inf. fut. they go out They couldn’t get out.

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Similarly, note the discrepancy (in bold type) between the Gatschet and Dunn versions of the passage in (18). (18a) Gatschet: nehíssa butáwetch kûғ tewi wila ka páss(a)watch [sic] ässípana pootaweeci kóteewi, wiila-’hka Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he builds, starts a fire fire he/him - pot. paahswaaci eehsipana. he dries him raccoon Then he started a fire, to dry the raccoon. (18b) Dunn: NähƱғsa pótawatc kotäғ wƱ, wíla ka pásswatc ässépanaƱ. pootaweeci kóteewi, wiila-’hka Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he builds, starts a fire fire he/him - pot. paahswaaci eehsipanayi. he dries him raccoon hide Then he started a fire, to dry the raccoon hide.

17. Michelson’s version of this text consistently has noontiohsee-.

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In the Gatschet sentence, eehsipana ‘raccoon’ is the object of the TA verb paahswaaci ‘he dries him’ (but is missing its expected obviative suffix), and is evidently being used in the sense of a raccoon hide. In Dunn’s version, the verb paahswaaci is still used, though eehsipana is replaced by what appears to be eehsipanayi ‘raccoon hide’. This sentence presents the problem that a TA verb is now being used with an apparent inanimate object (one would expect TI paahsanki ‘he dries it’). However, everywhere else in the Miami-Illinois sources, ‘raccoon hide’ is always given as animate eehsipanaya (Gr essibaneïa , P essibaneia , LB assepaneia 18 Gt ässipanáya ; cf. Meskwaki e·sepanaya). If Dunn’s eehsipanayi here were an error for eehsipanaya, this would explain the disagreement in gender (though the expected obviative suffix would still be missing ). There are many examples of words in Gatschet’s and Dunn’s versions of texts which vary only in whether or not they show initial change. For example, for the word for ‘fuse’, Gatschet has mahkatiaapiikwi (19a), while Dunn has changed meehkatiaapiikwi (19b).

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(19a) Gatschet: 8 Nähíssa nundiússätch säғ k sangi maxkátiapíkwi noontiohseeci. Šaakosanki Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he goes out he sets fire to it, lights it mahkatiaapiikwi. fuse Then he got out. He lit the fuse. (19b) Dunn: nähƱғsa nondƱósatc, cakosángƱ mäkátƱapíkwƱ, noontiohsaaci. Šaakosanki Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he goes out he sets fire to it, lights it meehkatiaapiikwi. fuse Then he got out. He lit the fuse.

In deciding whether these two forms represent true variants or just an error on Dunn’s part, one cannot invoke frequency, since this word only occurs once in this text, and is not found elsewhere in the modern corpus. Nor can one invoke grammatical context, since the marking of initial change in derived nouns is often unpredictable. However, Gra18. The final -ay- ‘fur, hide’ is almost always written in the Illinois sources with e for expected a .

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vier too has this word without initial change, albeit with a different meaning: macateapic8i ceinture, jartiere noire

The fact that Gravier and Gatschet agree in not showing initial change on this word suggests that Dunn’s marking of the first vowel of this word as ä is probably just an error, so I phonemicize the word without initial change in my redaction of Dunn’s text (20). (20)

Dunn: nähƱғsa nondƱósatc, cakosángƱ mäkátƱapíkwƱ, noontiohsaaci. Šaakosanki Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he goes out he sets fire to it, lights it mahkatiaapiikwi. fuse Then he got out. He lit the fuse.

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While there is the possibility that *meehkatiaapiikwi might have been Wadsworth’s Wea dialect variant for this word, I feel that this is not the most likely option. Nevertheless, since I retain the exact original transcription in all cases, the original possible alternate is still there for the record. Most examples of discrepant marking of initial change between Gatschet and Dunn involve verbs, not nouns. A typical example is seen in (21). (21a) Gatschet: 8 Wissákatchak a nähíssa “tannƯshƯshi kasakínak?” hílatch kiusháhi. “Taaniši iši-hka Wiihsakacaakwa neehi-’hsa: Wiihsakacaakwa then, and - new inf. how thus - pot. sakiinaki?” iilaaci kíyošiahi. I catch him he says to him old men (obv.) Then Wiihsakacaakwa said to the old men, “How am I supposed to catch him?” (21b) Dunn: nähƱғsa Wissákatcákwa: “TánƱc ícƱ ka säkƱғnak?” ílatc kƱócahƱ. Wiihsakacaakwa: “Taaniši iši-hka Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. Wiihsakacaakwa how thus - pot. seekiinaki?” iilaaci kíyošiahi. I catch him he says to him old men (obv.)

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Then Wiihsakacaakwa said to the old men, “How am I supposed to catch him?”

Note here that for ‘I catch him’, Gatschet writes unchanged sakiinaki, while Dunn gives apparent changed seekiinaki.19 Almost all discrepancies between Dunn and Gatschet texts with respect to initial change involve Dunn marking initial change where Gatschet does not, rather than the reverse. Usually, these individual cases can be resolved on a morphological basis: in this case, the verb ‘I catch him’ is preceded by the potential clitic -hka, which, marking irrealis, almost always blocks initial change. Thus, Dunn’s changed seekiinaki is probably an error, and so I regularize this verb without initial change in my redaction of Dunn’s version (22).

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(22)

Dunn: nähƱғsa Wissákatcákwa: “TánƱc ícƱ ka säkƱғnak?” ílatc kƱócahƱ. Wiihsakacaakwa: “Taaniši iši-hka Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. Wiihsakacaakwa how thus - pot. sakiinaki?” iilaaci kíyošiahi. I catch him he says to him old men (obv.) Then Wiihsakacaakwa said to the old men, “How am I supposed to catch him?”

Likewise, in Gatschet’s text, the conditional verb ‘if you (pl.) want it’ is written mihsawinameekwe (Gt msawinamekwé ), while Dunn writes it meehsawinameekwe (D mäғ ssawínamákwa ). In this case, Dunn is very likely again in error, since conditional verbs virtually never undergo initial change. Thus, I am inclined to write this verb as unchanged in Dunn’s version, and to assume that he again overgeneralized the first-syllable ee from the more common (changed) citation forms of this verb that he was most familiar with. Discrepancies between Dunn’s and Gatschet’s versions in morphological endings are also common. Commonly, Gatschet will have an 19. The vowel of the second syllables of the TA stem sakiin- and the TI stem sakiinam- is underlyingly long, presumably due to the second-syllable lengthening of this vowel (Costa 2003:118–21) being generalized throughout the paradigm, even to contexts where it is in a weak syllable. Some original transcriptions showing that this vowel is long are seekiininta ‘he is caught’ (Gt säkinínda , D säkƱnƱғnda , Mc säkinínda‘ ), where the length in the second syllable is revealed by the reduction of e to i in the third person passive ending -enta, as well as seekiinakiki ‘I catch them’ (Mc säkinƗkiki‘ ) and seekiinamaani ‘I catch it’ (D säkinámani ), where the length in the second syllable is proven by the marking of accent (heard as length in the Michelson example) in the antepenultimate syllable, indicating accent retraction triggered by a long syllable in the preantepenult (see Costa 2003:114–47).

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obviative ending on a noun or verb while Dunn marks it as proximate, as in (23). (23a) Gatschet: nehîssa näғ watch pa-íssahi neewaaci páyiihsahi. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he sees him dwarves (obv.) Then he saw some dwarves. (23b) Dunn: nähƱғsa náwatc paƱғssakƱ. neewaaci páyiihsaki. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he sees him dwarves Then he saw some dwarves.

Normally, one would assume that the word for ‘dwarves’ here ought to be obviative, since it is the animate object of a verb with a third person subject. And indeed, in both versions, there is obviative subject marking referring to the dwarves on the verb in the next sentence (24).

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(24a) Gatschet: piálîtch häғ hi wáksingi sipíwi Pyaalici eehi waakihsenki siipiiwi. he (obv.) comes where it bends river They were coming from where there was a bend in the river. (24b) Dunn: pƱálƱtc äғ hƱ wáksƱngƱ sƱpíwƱ. Pyaalici eehi waakihsenki siipiiwi. he (obv.) comes where it bends river They were coming from where there was a bend in the river.

Similarly, in (25), Dunn uses a simple proximate plural -aki where Gatschet uses the expected vocative plural -enka. (25a) Gatschet: äkwa! nimeshumîғnga ngi-issokó! Eehkwa! Nimehšoominka, ankihihsooko! still, hold it my grandfathers (voc.) don't (pl.) kill me! Hold it! My grandfathers, don't kill me!

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(25b) Dunn: Äkwá, nƱmácomákƱ, angƱƱғssokó Eehkwa! Nimehšoomaki, ankihihsooko! still, hold it my grandfathers don't (pl.) kill me! Hold it! My grandfathers, don’t kill me!

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When Gatschet and Dunn disagree on morphological endings— using the proximate when the obviative is expected, the plain plural when the vocative plural is more appropriate, or unexpected initial change in an irrealis sentence—it is usually Dunn who has the “incorrect” ending. It seems highly likely that in these cases, Gatschet’s original is indeed correct, and that the anomalous forms in fact arise from Dunn’s reelicitation procedure. In his texts, Gatschet appears to have written the Peoria first, then filled in the glosses afterwards; Dunn, on the other hand, probably read Gatschet’s texts to a speaker and reelicited each word, one by one. If one is not careful, this repetition of isolated words often produces words in citation form. This very likely explains Dunn’s proximates where Gatschet has obviatives or vocatives; it would also explain the changed forms in irrealis contexts, since changed dependent verbs are overwhelmingly the most commonly seen citation forms for Miami-Illinois verbs by the nineteenth century.20 Some of the other discrepancies between Gatschet and Dunn are clear errors. An example is seen in (26). (26a) Gatschet: pikwakiûғ ngûnsh wapándangi ähi pangƯғsswatchi menäғ twal; Pihkwaahkionkonci waapantanki eehi pankiswaaci from the hill he looks at it where he blows him up Manetoowali. manitou (obv.) From a hilltop he watched where he was going to blow the manitou up. (26b) Dunn: pikwákƱongóndjƱ wapandángƱ äғ hƱ pangƱғsawátcƱ Manäғ towal. Pihkwaahkionkonci waapantanki eehi pankis(a)waaci from the hill he looks at it where he blows him up 20. I am grateful to Ives Goddard (personal communication) for helping clarify my thinking on this idea. As Goddard has said, “In my experience it is especially likely for intelligent bilingual speakers to worry about the mismatch between Indian and English grammatical categories, to try to be ‘consistent,’ and as a result to give citation forms in the wrong places” (p.c. 2009).

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Manetoowali. manitou (obv.) From a hilltop he watched where he was going to blow the manitou up.

Here, Gatschet writes ‘he blows him up, explodes him’ as pankiswaaci, while Dunn writes the verb as though it were pankisawaaci.21 However, the latter is certainly no more than an error on Dunn’s part, since the transitive animate ‘by heat’ final otherwise always contains sw. Indeed, Dunn himself even writes this same verb (with change) as pängƱswatc peenkiswaaci elsewhere in the same text. Thus, there is no reason to retain this error in the phonemicization. More extensive sentence-level differences between Gatschet and Dunn are also found. An example is seen in (27).

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(27a) Gatschet: Nehíssa ngûғ ti kíyûsh: “Ketúensh kíla pakamían?” níka ílat kutáka [sic] kíushal; nkóti kíyošia: “Keetoweenci kiila Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. one old man why you pakamiyani, niihka?” iilaata kotaka kíyošiali. you strike me my friend he says to him other old man (obv.) Then one old man said to the other old man, “Why are you hitting me, my friend? (27b) Dunn: n'gótƱ kióca ílat: “Kätoäғ ndj pakamƱғan kíla, níka?” Ílat kotáka kƱóca: Nkóti kíyošia iilaata: “Keetoweenci pakamiyani kiila, one old man he says to him why you strike me you niihka?” iilaata kotaka kíyošia. my friend (voc.) he says to him other old man One old man said, “Why are you hitting me, my friend?” he said to the other old man.

There are several word order differences between these two versions, both in the first clause and in the quoted speech. (Additionally, in the Dunn version, the second token of the noun kíyošia ‘old man’ is missing the obviative suffix, which it does have in Gatschet’s version.) These differences are so substantial that they further support the hypothesis that Dunn got his version of this story from a different speaker, who probably thought that this order of elements in the sentence sounded better than that in Finley’s original. While the missing obviative in the Dunn version is quite likely an error, there is obviously 21. Cf. Cree pahkisam ‘he bombs it, explodes it’.

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no reason to edit out the word order differences. In fact, discrepancies like this are precisely why both Gatschet’s and Dunn’s versions of stories should be included in any complete edition of Miami-Illinois texts. 8. Syntactic problems. As anyone working with old texts can attest, there are inevitably passages that are more resistant to conclusive analysis than those discussed up to this point. Gatschet’s minimal analysis often leaves it unclear at first glance even where one sentence ends and another begins. One of the more syntactically problematic sentences in Finley’s version of Wiihsakacaakwa as written down by Gatschet is seen in (28). (28)

Gatschet: napƗғ ssa ndásswi pakítäpîғnälidsh mtûғ ssäniahi many starving to death people äғ mwalîdsh he ate (them)

Ưssa then

Determining the exact meaning of this sentence involves several problems. Simply phonemicizing and glossing the individual words without regard to the syntax results in (29).

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(29)

Gatschet: napƗғ ssa ndásswi pakítäpîғnälidsh mtûғ ssäniahi Ưssa äғ mwalîdsh pahkihteepineelici naahpa-’hsa ntaahswi but - new inf. how many, so many he (obv.) starves mihtohseeniahi ihsa eemwaalici people (obv.) new inf. he (obv.) eats him

The context of this line is that Wiihsakacaakwa is trapped in the manitou’s cave, with a French trader and several other unidentified people, and is peeking through a hole in his cape as he watches the manitou eat up the other people in the cave. Given this context, a first attempt at an analysis of this passage is as in (30). (30)

Gatschet: napƗғ ssa ndásswi pakítäpîғnälidsh mtûғ ssäniahi Ưssa äғ mwalîdsh pahkihteepineelici Naahpa-’hsa ntaahswi but - new inf. how many, so many he (obv.) starves eemwaalici. mihtohseeniahi. Ihsa people (obv.) new inf. he (obv.) eats him But a number of the people were starving. (The manitou) ate them up.

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The primary argument in favor of this analysis is the agreement between obviative-marked ‘people’ with the verb ‘he (obviative) starves’. Its major flaw is that the new-information particle ihsa is a secondposition clitic, and does not occur clause-initially. In fact, ihsa is so reliably a second-position clitic that it can be used to determine where clause boundaries lie. On this basis, a far better syntactic analysis of this passage can be derived, as is shown in (31). (31)

Gatschet: napƗғ ssa ndásswi pakítäpîғnälidsh mtûғ ssäniahi Ưssa äғ mwalîdsh Naahpa-’hsa ntaahswi pahkihteepineelici. but - new inf. how many he (obv.) starves Mihtohseeniahi ihsa eemwaalici. people (obv.) new inf. he (obv.) eats him But a number of them were starving. [The manitou] ate the people up.

Here, the noun mihtohseeniahi ‘people’ belongs in the second clause, not the first, and the verb of the second clause, eemwaalici ‘he eats him’, marks action by an obviative subject—namely the manitou—on an obviative object, ‘people’. Another example of a syntactic ambiguity in Gatschet’s recording of this text is seen in (32).

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(32)

Gatschet: Ilíkudshis(a) Täpingúka wätemílan he said (the Frenchman) can I (go) go with you kimässúlemingi íhiä, witämîғlo! in your boat yes come with me Iilikoci-’hsa: “Teepi-nko-’hka he (obv.) says to him - new inf. can, able - interrog. - pot. weeteemilaani?” “Iihiye, wiiteemilo!” I accompany you yes accompany me! He said to him, “Can I go with you in your boat?” “Yes, come with me!”

Gatschet and Dunn disagree on who is saying what in this sentence. Gatschet translates iilikoci as ‘he said (the Frenchman)’, implying that the French trader is asking to ride in Wiihsakacaakwa’s boat. Dunn, however, appears to have interpreted this sentence as meaning that Wiihsakacaakwa was asking to ride in the Frenchman’s boat, since he seems to take the next piece of quoted speech, iihiye, wiiteemilo, to be spoken by Frenchman (33).

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Dunn: Ílatc “täғ nƱc iáƱan? TäpƱғngo ka wätamílan he said where are you going can I go with you kimƱssólƱmƱғngƱ?” ƱғlƱkótcƱs MätƱkóca: “ÍhƱ, in your skiff answered him the Frenchman yes wƱtämƱló”. come with me Iilaaci: “taaniši ayaayani? he says to him where to, how you go Teepi-nko-hka weeteemilaani kimihsooliminki?” can, able - interrog. - pot. I accompany you your boat (loc.) Iilikoci-’hsa Meehtikoošia: “Iihi, wiiteemilo!” he (obv.) says to him - new inf. Frenchman yes accompany me! He asked him “Where are you going? Can I go with you in your boat?” The Frenchman answered him, “Yes, come with me!”

The context of this passage is that Wiihsakacaakwa is walking along the river (wiihsakacaakwa-’hsa peempaalici ciikaahkwe siipionki) when he encounters the Frenchman (neehi-’hsa meehkohkawaaci meehtikoošiali) who was going around to trade merchandise (nawi aašawišiweelici mootaakani). Given that Wiihsakacaakwa is mentioned explicitly as walking, and that the Frenchman is a trader (who presumably would be expected to travel by boat), the interpretation that Wiihsakacaakwa was asking the Frenchman for permission to ride in the Frenchman’s boat seems by far the most likely. Thus, I would translate Gatschet’s version of this passage as in (34).

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(34)

Gatschet: Ilíkudshis(a) Täpingúka wätemílan kimässúlemingi íhiä, witämîғlo! Iilikoci-’hsa: “Teepi-nko-’hka he (obv.) says to him - new inf. can, able - interrog. - pot. weeteemilaani kimehsoleminki?” “Iihiye, wiiteemilo!” I accompany you your boat (loc.) yes accompany me! [Wiihsakacaakwa] said to him, “Can I go with you in your boat?” [The Frenchman replied,] “Yes, come with me!”

9. Conclusion. I hope that the discussion in this chapter demonstrates that in presenting prephonemic texts in a language that has lost its fluent speakers, careful philological and grammatical analysis is essential, but that this must also be coupled with meticulous annotation. Annotation is vital since subsequent scholars who wish to

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read and understand these texts must have access to all the original information that the redactor had, so as to be able understand the redactor’s decisions. Another reason that careful replication of the original documents is important is that, as far as possible, another goal of redacting texts should be to render further examination of the original documents unnecessary.

Abbreviations and conventions Abbreviations for languages and data sources. D = Jacob Dunn’s MiamiIllinois fieldnotes (n.d.); Gr = the Illinois-French dictionary customarily attributed to Gravier (n.d.) (though in fact transcribed by Jacques Largillier; see McCafferty 2011); Gt = Albert Gatschet’s Miami-Illinois field notes (n.d.); Hk = Heckewelder’s Miami-Illinois (“Shawanese”) wordlist (n.d.); LB = LeBoullenger’s French-Illinois dictionary (n.d.); Mc = Truman Michelson’s Peoria field notes (1916); Mw = the Maniwaki dialect of Ojibwe (Algonquin); Ot = Ottawa; P = François Pinet’s French-Illinois dictionary (n.d.); PA = Proto-Algonquian; Pt = Potawatomi; Sh = Shawnee; Th = William Thornton’s Miami wordlist (1802); Tr = Charles Trowbridge’s Miami field notes (Charles Trowbridge papers, Detroit Public Library); and V = Volney’s Miami wordlist (1857:729–31).

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Grammatical abbreviations. AI = animate intransitive, anim. = animate, dimin. = diminutive, excl. = exclusive, fut. = future, inan. = inanimate, incl. = inclusive, interrog. = interrogative, loc. = locative, neg. = negative, new inf. = new information, obv. = obviative, pl. = plural, pot. = potential, TA = transitive animate, TI = transitive inanimate, and voc. = vocative. Transcription. The modern retranscription uses standard Americanist symbols, but note that c is an alveopalatal affricate [þ], that doubling of vowels indicates length, and that the apostrophe Ҳ indicates elision of the initial vowel of an enclitic.

References Costa, David J. 2003 The Miami-Illinois Language. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. 2005 Culture Hero and Trickster Stories. In Algonquian Spirit: Contemporary Translations of the Algonquian Literatures of North America, edited by Brian Swann, 292–319. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press.

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New Notes on Miami-Illinois. In Papers of the Thirty-ninth Algonquian Conference, edited by Karl S. Hele and Regna Darnell, 123–65. London, Ontario: The University of Western Ontario. 2010 Myaamia neehi peewaalia aacimoona neehi aalhsoohkaana / Myaamia and Peoria Narratives and Winter Stories. Oxford, Ohio: Myaamia Project. Dunn, Jacob P. n.d. Various Notes on Miami. MS, Indiana State Library, Indianapolis. Gatschet, Albert n.d Vocabulary and text (three original Miami and Peoria field notebooks). MS 236, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Museum Support Center, Suitland, Maryland. Goddard, Ives 1983 The Eastern Algonquian Subordinative Mode and the Importance of Morphology. International Journal of American Linguistics 49:351–87. 1994 The West-to-East Cline in Algonquian Dialectology. In Actes du 25e Congrès des Algonquinistes, edited by William Cowan, 187– 211. Ottawa: Carleton University. Gravier, Jacques S.J. n.d. [ca. 1700] Illinois-French Dictionary. MS, Watkinson Library, Trinity College, Hartford, Connecticut. Heckewelder, John n. d. Vocabulary of the Shawanese Language. MS 3670, American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. LeBoullenger, Antoine-Robert, S.J. n.d. [ca. 1725] French and Miami-Illinois Dictionary. MS, John Carter Brown Library, Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island. Masthay, Carl, ed. 2002 Kaskaskia Illinois-to-French Dictionary. St. Louis, Mo.: privately printed. McCafferty, Michael 2011 Jacques Largillier: French Trader, Jesuit Brother, and Jesuit Scribe Par Excellence. Journal of the Illinois State Historical Society 104(3):188–98. McGregor, Ernest 1987 Algonquin Lexicon. Maniwaki, Quebec: River Desert Education Authority. Michelson, Truman 1916 Notes on Peoria. MS 2721, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Museum Support Center, Suitland, Maryland. Pinet, Pierre-François n.d. [ca. 1702] French-Miami-Illinois dictionary. MS, Archives de la Compagnie de Jésus, Province du Canada français, Saint-Jérôme, Québec.

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[Râle, Sébastien] “Sebastian Rasles” 1833 A Dictionary of the Abnaki Language in North America. With an introductory memoir and notes by John Pickering. American Academy of Arts and Sciences Memoir, n.s. 1, 370–574. Cambridge, Mass.: C. Folsom. Thornton, William 1802 Vocabulary of the Miami Language taken at the City of Washington. MS, American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia. Volney, Constantin F. C. de 1857 Œuvres Completes de Volney. Paris: Firmin Didot.

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Peoria text Wiihsakacaakwa Aalhsoohkaakani ȋ‹‹Š•ƒƒ…ƒƒ™ƒ–‘”›Ȍ National Anthropological Archives, MS 236. Obtained by Albert Gatschet from George Finley, circa 1895.

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For discussion of the four-component format in which the edited text is presented—original transcription in angle brackets, phonemicization, word-by word glossing, and free translation—see section 2 above. 1

Wissakatchákwa sapäғ mbalidsh tchikáxkwe sipiûғ ngi peempaalici ciikaahkwe siipionki. Wiihsakacaakwa-’hsa 1 Wiihsakacaakwa - new inf. he walks along near river (loc.) Wiihsakacaakwa was walking along near a river.

2

nähíssa mäғ k’kawƗtch mätikushali meehkohkawaaci Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he encounters him, comes across him meehtikoošiali. Frenchman (obv.) And then he came upon a Frenchman.

3

pazhó, pazhó, pazhó, pažo, pažo!”2 “Pažo, bon jour bon jour bon jour “Bon jour, bon jour, bon jour!” (he said).

4

náwi áshawíshiwälitch mútakan Nawi aašawišiweelici3 for that purpose, ‘go and’ (andative) he (obv.) trades mootaakani. merchandise

1. The final vowels of words preceding vowel-initial second-position clitics (e.g., (i)hsa ‘new information’, (i)hka ‘potential’, (i)nko ‘interrogative’, and (i)hkwa ‘habitual’) are lengthened in Miami-Illinois, while the initial vowel of the clitic is deleted. This vowel lengthening is not marked in the phonemicized transcription of this text. 2. This represents Wiihsakacaakwa’s pronunciation of French bon jour, as Dunn points out. 3. This verb is an indefinite-object AI derived from a TA stem aašawil- (as seen in aašawilaaci ‘he trades (it) to him’ [Gt ashawílatch , D acawilatc ]).

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He was going around to trade some merchandise. 5

Ưlat: tánish yáyan? Iilaata: “Taaniši ayaayani?” he says to him where to, how you go He asked him “Where are you going?”

6

Ilíkudshis(a) Täpingúka wätemílan kimässúlemingi Iilikoci-’hsa: “Teepi-nko-’hka he (obv.) says to him - new inf. can, able - interrog. - pot. weeteemilaani kimehsoleminki?” I accompany you, come with you your boat (loc.) [Wiihsakacaakwa] said to him, “Can I go with you in your boat?”

7

íhiä, witämîғlo! “Iihiye, wiiteemilo!” yes come with me! (The Frenchman answered him), “Yes, come with me.”

8

Kawahílo namäғ ka; pálaka ndangíha ässípana neheka mbásswa; “Ahkawaahilo namehka! Paala-’hka nintankihaa wait for me! soon, in a short time first - pot. I kill him eehsipana, neehi-’hka nimpaahswaa.” raccoon then, and - pot. I dry him “Wait for me a bit! First, I have to kill a raccoon, and then dry it.”

9

nehíssa butáwetch kûғ tewi wila ka páss(a)watch [sic] ässípana pootaweeci kóteewi, wiila-’hka4 Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he builds, starts a fire fire he/him - pot. paahswaaci ehsipana.5 he dries him raccoon And then he started a fire, to dry the raccoon [hide].

10

näғ hissa mätchi pássuat äkíndang ndásswi kikapíksängi zúyingi meehci paahswaata, eekintanki ntaahswi Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. after he dries him he counts it so many kiihkaapiikihsenki ansooyinki. it is marked with bands, stripes his tail (loc.)

4. It is not certain why the emphatic pronoun is being used here. An interpretation of the wila ka sequence as the pronoun (a)wiilaahka ‘he alone, by himself’ seems untenable, since Gatschet translates it as ‘he wanted’ and Dunn as ‘he will’. 5. Note that eehsipana seems to be missing the obviative suffix here.

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And then after he dried it, he counted the number of rings going around its tail. 11

Nähi äkámi kikapíksängi zúyingi ngúti kíkû míling(i) ishitähätchí ssa. Neehi, “Eekami kiikaapiikhsenki then, and each, every it is marked with bands, stripes ansooyinki, nkóti kiikoo miilinki,” iišiteeheeci-’hsa. his tail (loc.) one thing I am given he thinks so - new inf. And, “For each ring going around the tail, I’ll be given one item,” he thought.

12

kûғ la-i nehí wapímuta-i, néhi papíkwan nehí mxkátä-u6 näғ hi lûғ ntha papikwani, “Ahkolayi, neehi waapimotayi, neehi cape then, and blanket then, and gun neehi mahkateewi, neehi aloonhsa. then, and gunpowder then, and bullets “A cape, a blanket, a gun, gunpowder, and some bullets.

13

täғ pisinwƯғ núkigáti ndangíha mûғ sswa; Teepiihsiinwi! Noohki kati nintankihaa moohswa.” it is not enough again, next fut. I kill him deer But it’s not enough! Next I’ll kill a deer.”

14

nähíssa nengíhat [sic] yapensáli wíssa ketakisílitch. eenkihaata ayaapeenhsali. Wiihsa Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he kills him buck (dimin. obv.) much keetakisilici. he (obv.) is spotted And so he killed a young buck. It had spots all over it.

15

hwí! hwí, wissa katí kíko nimamä ashawishíwiyáni Pakwätchí wíssa ketakisíta nimuxsuáyäm(a) “Hwi, hwi! Wiihsa kati kiikoo nimame aašawišiwiaani, ha ha much fut. thing I take it, buy it I trade (indef. obj.) paakweeci wiihsa keetakisita nimoohswayema.7 because much he is spotted my deerskin [Then Wiihsakacaakwa said] “Ha ha! I’ll get a lot for my deerskin when I trade it, what with these spots all over it!

6. Dunn has m'kátäwƱ 7. In this sentence, the phrase wiihsa kiikoo ‘a lot’ (lit., ‘many things’) is discontinuous, split by the future particle kati.

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16

hihí nimbuthi káti kimässûғ lamîғngi, Iihi, nimpoosi kati kimehsoleminki.” yes, all right I embark, get into a boat fut. your boat (loc.) “All right, I’ll get in your boat.”

17

nehissá mátchikawƗtch tawalanikaniûғ ngish maaciihkaawaaci ataaweelénikaaninkiši. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. they head off to the trading post And they started off towards the trading post.

18

nähƯғssa taxtagíshing missolíngi nähínätch taahtakiihšinki mihsoolinki, neehineeci. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he lies down boat (loc.) he sings And then [Wiihsakacaakwa] lay down in the boat singing.

19

pakishingweló níka ämamûғ wia tcîғkaxkwä wiakiwá “Paakišiinkweelo, niihka! Eemamowia be quiet! my friend (voc.) cannibal monster, man-eater ciikaahkwe wiiyaahkiwa. nearby he stays “Be quiet, my friend, the man-eater lives nearby!

20

nûғ ndukiä kati kimamíkuna ilíkut Mätigûғ shali Noontoohke kati kimamikona,” iilikota if he hears you fut. he takes us (incl.) he (obv.) says to him meehtikoošiali. Frenchman (obv.) If he hears you, he’ll catch us!” the Frenchman said.

21

WîғssakatchƗk Ưғssalän’ni nundawassíkwƟ äғ yingi Ưshi nakitchitha Wiihsakacaakwa ihsa léni Wiihsakacaakwa new inf. apparently, as though noontawaahsiikwi. Eehinki iišinaakiici-’hsa. he does not hear him to where, to the end he sings thus - new inf. Wiihsakacaakwa didn’t seem to hear him. He sang that way to the end.

22

Kitilässa nundakǀwatch Manäғ towal. noontaakowaaci manetoowali. Kiihtile-’hsa sure enough - new inf. he (obv.) hears them manitou (obv.) Sure enough, the Manitou heard them.

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23

Nähissa mäғ mikuƗtch pändikîғssawƗtch Mätiknjsh sä’hkwätch. meemikowaaci Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he (obv.) takes them, catches them peentikiihsaawaaci. Meehtikoošia seehkweeci. they fall in, rush in Frenchman he weeps Then he caught them, and they fell into [his den]. The Frenchman wept.

24

Wissákatchak wawapándang tchäғ ki kíku Wiihsakacaakwa waawaapantanki ceeki kiikoo. Wiihsakacaakwa he looks at it (redup.) all thing Wiihsakacaakwa looked everything over.

25

nähíssak a “How much! How much!” hílƗtch ’híssakwa “How much? How much?” Neehi-’hsa-’hkwa: then, and - new inf. - habitual how much how much iilaaci ihsa-’hkwa. he says to him new inf. - habitual Again and again, “How much? How much?”, he said, again and again.8

26

nehissa nkäluläksíkwi [sic] swatässindepíkank9 [sic] manäғ tuwal keelolekohsiikwi Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he (obv.) does not speak to him swaahteethswintepikanka manetoowali. he is seven-headed manitou (obv.) The seven-headed manitou would not answer him.

27

Tikáwi kwässíkutch manäғ tuwali, Tikawi kweehsikoci manetoowali. a little bit he (obv.) is afraid of him manitou (obv.) The manitou was a little afraid of him.

28

kapûғ tuässa äғ yîxkwitch WissákatchƗғ kwa: eeyiihkwici wiihsakacaakwa. Kapootwe-’hsa after a while - new inf. he is hungry Wiihsakacaakwa After a while, Wiihsakacaakwa became hungry.

8

8. Note Wiihsakacaakwa lapsing into English here. Dunn has taaniswi instead of English how much. 9. Dunn has swatäғ tswƱndäpƱғkang for this, with overt tshwi- retained; I have chosen to base my phonemicization on Dunn’s form. Neither Gatschet nor Dunn give a final vowel for this verb; I assume that it is best interpreted as an AI participle.

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29

“hungel, húngel!” “Hungry, hungry! hungry hungry “Hungry! Hungry!10

30

nisimína kinaká niká ulawíkwa tawäliniáki shalíwaki. Nisimina, kiinaka, niihka, we (excl.) say so damn it my friend (voc.) oolawi-’hkwa ataaweeliniaki ought to, more - habitual merchants, traders ahšaliwaki.” they give out food We say, damn it, my friend, the shop-keepers ought to feed people.”

31

NähƯssa manätuáli kwaningwehamoko kiuäғ manetoowali: “Akwaniinkweehamooko Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. manitou (obv.) cover your faces! kiiyoowe!” yourselves And then the Manitou said “Cover your faces!”

32

nehíssa tchäғ ki häkwanahámwat11 [sic] wíyowä wapímuta-i ceeki eekwanahamoowaata awiiyoowe Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. all they cover it themselves waapimotayi. blanket And they all covered themselves with a blanket.

33

nähissa Wissakatchák kúla-i pûғ kgi niandsh(Ưssa) kämapámuatch wiihsakacaakwa ahkolayi Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. Wiihsakacaakwa his cape poohkahki. Niiyaanci(-’hsa) it has a hole through it from there - (new inf.) keemaapamaaci. he secretly watches him And so Wiihsakacaakwa’s cape had a hole in it. He secretly watched them through it.

8

10. Gatschet says that the speaker of this line is “trying to talk English to the man he thought to be the storekeeper.” Dunn instead has Nintayiihkwi, nintayiihkwi! here. 11. Gatschet’s häkwanahámwat ‘they cover it’ would seem to be missing a connective vowel after the m . Dunn likewise writes äkwánahámwat , but this is presumably just copied from Gatschet.

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napƗғ ssa ndásswi pakítäpîғnälidsh mtûғ ssäniahi Ưssa äғ mwalîdsh. Naahpa-’hsa ntaahswi pahkihteepineelici.12 Mihtohseeniahi but - new inf. how many he (obv.) starves people (obv.) 13 ihsa eemwaalici. new inf. he (obv.) eats him (obv.) But a number of them were starving. [The manitou] ate the people up.

35

Nähíssa mätchwäsinelƯdsh ápwä, pakingwäshinokó meehci weehsineelici, aapwe: Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. after he (obv.) eats back, in return “Paahkiinkweehšinooko!” lie with your faces uncovered! (pl.) And then, after he ate, he contined: “Uncover your faces!”

36

kapútuä ketángwangi minäғ tuwa [sic]. Kapootwe keetankwaanki manetoowa. after a while he is sleepy manitou After a while the Manitou became sleepy.

37

nähissa tchängwongepƯғtchi shikíwi nanamamkíki ceenkwankeepici. Ašiihkiwi Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he sits down with a rumble, roar earth naanaamaamihkiiki. there is an earthquake, the earth shakes Then, when he sat down, he made a great rumbling noise. The earth shook.14

38

Nehissa wäsh’shîғngi nungaháka nipäғ wa ishitähädsh Wissakatchákwa weešihšinki. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he lies down, settles into place Noonkaaha-’hka “nipeewa” iišiteeheeci now, at the same time - pot. he sleeps he thinks so wiihsakacaakwa. Wiihsakacaakwa He lay down. At that point, Wiihsakacaakwa thought “He’s asleep.”

12. The lack of initial change on pahkihteepineelici is unexplained; perhaps the particle ntaahswi is blocking initial change here. 13. The ending of eemwaalici marks action by an obviative subject (the manitou) on an obviative object (‘people’). 14. These two sentences are only found in Gatschet’s second version of this text.

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pässikwissatchƯs nanamákitchƯssa tchäғ -äki swátädshwí däpíkan(a); Naanaamaahkiici-’hsa ceeki Peesikwiihsaaci-’hsa. he gets up quickly - new inf. he shakes (something) - new inf. all swaahteethswi antepikana. seven (his) heads He sprang up. He shook all seven of [the Manitou’s] heads.

40

alwelítchƯssa kati matínatch Aalweelici-’hsa kati amatinaaci. he is unable, fails - new inf. fut. he wakes him up He couldn’t wake [the Manitou] up.

41

nähíssa paxkínang maxkátäwa15 [sic] tepandakansäғ ngi paahkinanki mahkateewa Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he opens it gunpowder (pl.?) teepantaakanhsenki. little keg (loc.) And so then he opened a keg of gunpowder.

42

sässikínangi däpikanîng menäғ túali [sic] Seehsiikinanki antepikaninki manetoowali. he pours it out (redup.) his head (loc.) manitou (obv.) He poured it out onto the Manitou’s heads.

43

Nähíssa tchäki nundiusekó ceeki: “Noontiohseeko!” Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. all get out! (pl.) And to all [the captives], he said “Get out!”

44

alínda náwi päktäpîғnuatch16 [sic] Aalinta naawi peehkihteepineewaaci. some almost they starve Some were almost starved.

45

alwelíwatch issa káti nundiúsewƗtch Aalweeliwaaci ihsa kati noontiohseewaaci. they are unable, fail new inf. fut. they get out They couldn’t get out.

15. This may be an error for usual mahkateewi. Dunn has mäkátawä here. 16. Dunn writes this as päktäpinäғ watc , with the expected vowels.

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Tchäki kíku ndásswi missáwînangi issamäғ ngi wíla, Ceeki kiikoo ntaahswi mihsawinanki ihsa meenki awiila.17 all thing so many he wants it new inf. he takes it he/him He took as much as he wanted of everything.

47

nähƯssa nanamekîғngi mäkatiapikínangi naanameekinki Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. rag meehkatiaapiikinanki. he rubs gunpowder in it, makes a fuse out of it And then he rubbed gunpowder into a rag.

48

nehíssa depíkaniungûnshi kwandemíngish ilapikatóki antepikanionkonci kwaanteeminkiši Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. from his head(s) towards the door iilaapiikatooki. he strings it out that way And he strung it out away from their heads, towards the door.

49

Nähíssa nundiússätch säғ k sangi18 [sic] maxkátiapíkwi noontiohseeci. Šaakosanki Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he goes out he sets fire to it, lights it mahkatiaapiikwi. fuse Then he got out. He lit the fuse.

50

sákatchiwetchƯssa Saakaciweeci-’hsa. he comes up out - new inf. Then he came out.

51

pikwakiûғ ngûnsh wapándangi ähi pangƯғsswatchi menäғ twal [sic]; Pihkwaahkionkonci waapantanki eehi pankiswaaci from the hill he looks at it where he blows him up Manetoowali. manitou (obv.) From a hilltop he watched where he was going to blow the manitou up.

8

17. It is not clear what purpose the pronoun awiila is serving here. 18. Gatschet’s sä- can only be interpreted as an error for * sha- . Note Dunn’s cakosángƱ and Gravier’s nichag8san ‘je le brusle’ (phomemic nišaakosaan).

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mäғ tchi pängisswatch tepändásswi pipûғ nwä Ưssa wéndeki nipi Meehci peenkiswaaci, teepi ntaahswi19 pipoonwe ihsa after he blows him up amount, how many year new inf. weenteeki nipi. it boils water After he blew him up, the water boiled for a certain number of years.

53

sakángi téksengi. Sakaanki teehkihsenki. after a while it cools off Eventually, it cooled off.

54

Nähíssa hápwä pendíkit shäk túki manäғ twa wíki aapwe peentikiita. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. back he enters Šeekwihtooki manetoowa awiiki. he seizes it, takes possession of it manitou his home, lodge And he went back in. He took possession of the manitou’s home.

55

wíla nûғ ngi täpälíndangi Awiila noonki teepeelintanki. he now he owns it, controls it Now he owned it.

56

Mäғ tchi tchäғ ki nûғ ndiaxkitch tchipayaxkána nähi manäғ towa kánna Meehci ceeki noontiaahkiici ciipaya ahkana neehi after all he throws out corpse his bones then, and manetoowa ahkana. manitou his bones Later, (Wiihsakacaakwa) threw out all the corpses’ bones and the manitou’s bones.

57

tetángunangi nä-axkítuk kati nia wiáxkitch Teetankonanki. Neehaahkitooki kati niiya wiiyaahkici. he clears it out he makes it nice fut. there he stays He cleaned it out. He made it nice, so as to live there.

58

Nehí ngúti kaxkíkwä nundiûғ ssätch nehí hassánsitch mätchíkilit säғ na Neehi nkóti kaahkiihkwe noontiohseeci. Neehi then, and one day he goes out then, and

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19. The collocation teepi ntaahswi is translated by Gatschet as ‘a few, some, several, a number’, and by Dunn as ‘many, several’.

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aahsansici meehcikilita ahsena.20 he sunbathes, basks in the sun he is big-bodied stone, rock Then one day he came out. And he sunned himself on a large rock. 59

Níaha tátakishing Niiyaaha taahtakiihšinki. there he lies down He was lying down there.

60

nehîssa näғ watch pa-íssahi neewaaci páyiihsahi. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he sees him dwarves (obv.) Then he saw some dwarves.

61

piálîtch häғ hi wáksingi sipíwi Pyaalici eehi waakihsenki siipiiwi. he (obv.) comes where it bends river They were coming from where there was a bend in the river.

62

hatchîғmwi näғ patch; Aacimwi neepaaci. pretendingly he is asleep He pretended to be asleep.

63

tánnishi tukikáti shilíniwatch,” ishítähätch. “Taaniši toki kati išiliniwaaci?” iišiteeheeci. how I wonder fut. they do so he thinks so “I wonder what they’ll do?” he thought.

64

NƟhîғsa pá-issaki ilítiwadsh: páyiihsaki iilitiiwaaci, Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. dwarves they say to each other And then the dwarves said to each another,

65

“náwa Wissakatchak á nipäғ wa säғ ningi: säkihaxkawí!” “Naawa wiihsakacaakwa, nipeewa ahseninki. there he is Wiihsakacaakwa he sleeps rock (loc.) Seekihaahkaawi!” we must scare him “There’s Wiihsakacaakwa, asleep on a rock. Let’s scare him!”

8

20. ‘Rock’ in this sentence lacks a locative (or obviative) ending.

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NƟhîғs(s)a kûғ kiwatch nipîғngi kookiiwaaci nipinki. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. they dive water (loc.) And they dove into the water.

67

tchîғkaxk ä mukiwatch thänali Ciikaahkwe moohkiiwaaci ahsenaali.21 near they emerge rock (obv.) Near a rock they emerged.

68

Nähissa ngúti níla kati bänmóa, nkóti: “Niila kati nimpemwaa.” Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. one I/me fut. I shoot him Then one [said], “I’ll shoot him.”

69

nähîғssa Wissákatchak nûғ ndawƗtch: wiihsakacaakwa noontawaaci. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. Wiihsakacaakwa he hears him And Wiihsakacaakwa heard him.

70

Hä’kwákinaka msawinamekwé wí’hkutamawissíwäk mílilakákukîғka “Eehkwa kiinaka! Mihsawinameekwe, still, hold on damn it if you (pl.) want it wiihkotamawihsiiweekwi.22 Miililakakoki-’hka.” you (pl.) do not ask me for it I give it to you (pl.) - pot. “Hold it, damn it! If you want [the cave], [why] didn’t you ask me for it? I’d give it to you.”

71

nähîғtha mässawinámang”; ilíkutch pa-issáhi: Neehi: “Meehsawinamaanki” iilikoci he (obv.) says to him then, and we (excl.) want it páyiihsahi. dwarves (obv.) Then the dwarves said, “We want it.”

72

Níshi níhi shímthiwek i Täshi pimuweyûғ ni “Niiši, niihi išimihsiiweekwi that way then, in any event you (pl.) do not say so to me

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21. Here ‘rock’ is marked obviative; the locational phrase ciikaahkwe ahsenaali ‘near the rock’ is discontinuous. This clause has a different word order in the Dunn version, which reverses the second and third words. 22. The juxtaposition of a conditional verb mihsawinameekwe followed by the negative verb wiihkotamawihsiiweekwi here is odd. The free translation given for this sentence is thus tentative, though it makes the most sense for the context.

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pimoweeyoni? teehši instead of shooting someone (indef. object nominalization) “Well, anyway, [why] didn’t you tell me, instead of shooting? 73

punamulákûki kat(i) näғ hi ka mátchikan maaciihkaani.” Poonamoolakoki kati, neehi-’hka I give it up to you (pl.) fut. then, and - pot. I go away I’ll give it up to you, and then I’ll go away.”

74

NähƯssa pa-issáki täpälindamûғ atchí páyiihsaki teepeelintamoowaaci. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. dwarves they own it, control it So then the dwarves became its owners.

75

hä’kwa mitäғ loä päpamikawewadshí pá-issaki peepaamihkaweewaaci páyiihsaki. Eehkwa mihtelowe still plainly visible they make tracks, footprints dwarves The footprints of the dwarves are still plainly visible.

76

Häғ yingi hä’hkwapikassîғdshi Wissakatchákwa. Eehinki at where (‘up to here’) eehkwaapiikaasici Wiihsakacaakwa. he (e.g., string) extends so far, is of such a length Wiihsakacaakwa That’s as far as Wiihsakacaakwa goes.

77

Wissakatchákwa ísa päғ mbalidsh, 23 peempaalici. Wiihsakacaakwa ihsa Wiihsakacaakwa new inf. he walks along Wiihsakacaakwa was walking along.

78

nähíssa mäғ k kawƗtch nížwi kíusháki kekipîғngwäwƗtch meehkohkawaaci niišwi kíyošiaki24 Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he encounters him two old men keekiipiinkweewaaci. they are blind And then he came across two old blind men.

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23. The section of the story from line 77 to the end was elicited by Gatschet on a separate occasion from lines 1–76, and could be considered a separate story. 24. Obviative kíyošiahi would be expected here, unless niišwi kíyošiaki in fact serves as the subject of keekiipiinkweewaaci rather than the object of meehkohkawaaci.

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tchängwepíwƗtch säkinäkinítiwƗtch Ceenkweepiwaaci seekinehkiinitiiwaaci. they sit they grasp each other’s hands They were sitting down, holding onto each other’s hands.

80

Nähítha Wissákatchak pändíkitch wäkíwi wikáwe wiihsakacaakwa peentikiici weekiwi Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. Wiihsakacaakwa he enters slowly, stealthily awiikawe. their lodge Then Wiihsakacaakwa quietly sneaked into their lodge.

81

nähitha ngóti kíushal näғ ’ki päkámatch, nkóti kíyošiali anehki peekamaaci. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. one old man (obv.) his hand he strikes him And then he hit one of the old men with his hand.

82

néhissa kíushƗk pûғ nnitíwƗtch kíyošiaki poonitiiwaaci. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. old men they let go of each other And the old men let go of each other.

83

Ápûsh nûғ ki kutákal kíushal päkámatch nä’ki Aapooši noohki kotakali kíyošiali peekamaaci again still other (obv.) old man (obv.) he strikes him anehki. his hand Once again, he hit the other old man with his hand.

84

Nehíssa ngûғ ti kíyûsh: “Ketúensh kíla pakamían?” níka ílat kutáka [sic] kíushal; nkóti kíyošia: “Keetoweenci kiila Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. one old man why you 25 pakamiyani, niihka?” iilaata kotaka kíyošiali. you strike me my friend he says to him other old man (obv.) Then one old man said to the other old man, “Why are you hitting me, my friend?”

85

nehíssa kíla ma’htámi päkámian, “Kiila mahtami peekamiyani!” Neehi-’hsa: then, and - new inf. you first you strike me “You hit me first!”

8

25. Obviative kotakali would be expected here.

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86

nehíssa tchäғ ki pässikwissawƗtch mäkalítiwƗtch ceeki peesikwiihsaawaaci. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. all (both) they spring up, jump up Meekaalitiiwaaci. they fight each other And then they both jumped up and started fighting.

87

Kapûғ twässa ngúti alángwätch: nkóti aalaankweeci. Kapootwe-’hsa after a while - new inf. one he is tired After a while, one of them got tired.

88

“häkwá kinaká níka Kûssämínna kináka26 län’ni (u)wáha wíakiwa; “Eehkwa, kiinaka, niihka, koohsemina still, hold on damn it my friend (voc.) our (incl.) grandchild kiinaka léni oowaaha wiiyaahkiwa.” perhaps, supposing as though here he stays “Hold on, damn it, my friend, it seems as though our grandchild is staying here.”

89

nähíssa ngúti kíyûsh íta: “kipwíssadshe27 kwándem”, nkóti kíyošia iita: “Kipwihsaace Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. one old man he says let it slam shut kwaanteemi.” door Then one of the old men said “Let the door slam shut.”

90

nähissa kƯғp’sak, kwándem. Wissákatchak kipáhûnnsh kiipwihsaaki kwaanteemi. Wiihsakacaakwa Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. it slams shut door Wiihsakacaakwa kiipahonci. he is locked in, shut in And then the door slammed shut. Wiihsakacaakwa was locked in.

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26. Dunn glosses the first instance of kiinaka here as ‘damn it’, and the second instance as ‘I suspect’. Dunn describes the particle kiinaka in the latter meaning as “equivalent to ‘suppose’, in proposing anything.” 27. Gatschet glosses this word as ‘he closed’, but Dunn more accurately glosses it ‘let it close itself’.

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kíushƗk nännatwáhawatch Kíyošiaki neenatwahwaawaaci.28 old men they thrust sticks around looking for him (redup.) The old men jabbed sticks around looking for him.

92

Kapûғ twä Wissakatch a [sic] halángwetchi Kapootwe wiihsakacaakwa aalaankweeci. after a while Wiihsakacaakwa he is tired After a while Wiihsakacaakwa got tired.

93

nähíssa sennaxkweleshíkûnsh [sic]: seenaahkweeleešikoonci.29 Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he is cornered And then he got cornered.

94

“äkwa! nimeshumîғnga ngi-issokó! “Eehkwa! Nimehšoominka, ankihihsooko! hold it! my grandfathers (voc.) don’t (pl.) kill me! “Hold it! My grandfathers, don’t kill me!

95

kitakginílemwa katí kitayalimitulímwa katí ngi-ithiwäғ kwä Kitaahkohkinilemwa kati, kitaayaalimiihtoolimwa kati, I take care of you (pl.) fut. I cook it for you (pl.) (redup.) fut. ankihihsiiweekwe.” if you (pl.) do not kill me I’ll wait on you and cook for you if you don’t kill me!”

96

Nehîғssa kiusháki nƯshi luässíwan(i) kíyošiaki: “Niiši ilweehsiiwani? Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. old men that way, thus you do not say so Then the old men said, “Why didn’t you say so?

97

níshi läshi papílutawiángi kitimakissiángi nûғ ssä ilindshƯssa 8 Wissákatchak a Niiši léhši paahpilotawiaanki. thus for no reason you make fun of us, ridicule us

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28. Gravier glosses the corresponding nonreduplicated verb ninat8ah8a as ‘I look for animals with a stick’ (‘je cherche le beste avec un baston’). 29. The etymology of this word is unclear; Gatschet glosses it as ‘became cornered up (in a corner of the lodge)’. An aw-final stem shape is confirmed by his form sennakweleshíkawaka . The medial here is unidentified; compare Dunn’s reinterpreted seenaahkweeleehseehonci sänakwƱläsähóndjƱ ‘he is smothered’, with the medial -(i)leehsee- ‘breathe’.

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Kiitimaakisiaanki, noohse,” iilinci-’hsa we (excl.) are pitiful my grandchild (voc.) he is told - new inf. wiihsakacaakwa. Wiihsakacaakwa You made fun of us for no reason. We are helpless, grandchild,” Wiihsakacaakwa was told. 98

íhiƟ, ayalamítawikangé; nûssé “Iihiye, aayaalimiihtawiihkaanke, noohse.” yes you must cook it for us (redup.) my grandchild (voc.) “Yes, you must cook for us, grandchild.”

99

nehƯғssa níaha wéyaxkitch wetchíkimatch; kíushahi ák ginatchi niiyaaha weeyaahkici. Weecikiimaaci Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. there he stays he lives with him kíyošiahi. Aahkohkinaaci. old men (obv.) he takes care of him So there he stayed. He lived with the old men. He took care of them.

100

Kapútuäs a’hkwakilímatch kîғushahi Kapootwe-’hsa aahkwaahkiilimaaci kíyošiahi. later - new inf. he gets tired of him old men (obv.) After a while, [Wiihsakacaakwa] got tired of the old men.

101

Nehíssa káti nakálatch kati nakalaaci. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. fut. he leaves him And then he wanted to leave them.

102

nähí kíushƗki mazána=pikwƗl nipîғngîsh ílapikalawƗtch íshika wáyuwassik nipi natíwatch Neehi kíyošiaki masaanaapiikwali nipinkiši then, and old men rope (obv.) to the water iilaapiikalaawaaci, iši-’hka waayowaahsiikwi nipi they string him along so thus - pot. they do not get lost water naatiwaaci. they fetch it The old men had stretched ropes towards the water, so that they wouldn’t get lost when they went to fetch water.

8

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103

nehíssa Wîғssakatchak kutakîғngish ílapikalatch mazánapikwƗl, (h)ähish(i) kikatäғ xkik; wiihsakacaakwa kotakinkiši Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. Wiihsakacaakwa in the other direction iilaapiikalaaci masaanaapiikwali eehiši he strings him along so rope (obv.) to where kiihkatehkiki. it is a steep bank So Wiihsakacaakwa stretched out the ropes in the other direction towards a steep bank.

104

nehíssa matchíxkatch näkálatch kíushahi maaciihkaaci. Neekalaaci kíyošiahi. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he goes away he leaves him old men (obv.) And then he went away. He left the old men.

105

kapútuäs hähi’hkwíwƗtch kíushaki eeyiihkwiwaaci kíyošiaki. Kapootwe-’hsa after a while - new inf. they are hungry old men After a while, the old men became hungry.

106

nähi ngúti: kíla níka, nípi natîғlû Neehi nkóti: “Kiila, niihka, nipi naatilo! then, and one you my friend (voc.) water fetch it! And one said, “You, my friend, fetch some water!

107

alemîғtukawi kûғ ssemƯn(a) pƯғtchi kinakalekúnna; Aalimiihtoohkaawi. Koohsemina piici we must cook it our (incl.) grandchild apparently kinakalekona.” he leaves us (incl.) Let’s cook something. It looks like our grandchild has deserted us.”

108

nehissa ngúti kíûsh nípi natƯk(i) nkóti kíyošia nipi naatiki. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. one old man water he fetches it So one of the old men went to get water.

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109

mazánapikwƗl wéyƗtch30 [sic] Masaanaapiikwali weeyawaaci. rope (obv.) he follows him He followed the rope.

110

kítile papíndshing wassate’hkiûғ ngûnsh. paapincinki waahsatehkionkonci. Kiihtile sure enough he falls down from the cliff Sure enough, he fell down the cliff.

111

Nehíssa alwelídshi káti k’gatchíwätch ápwe aalweelici kati kahkaciweeci Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he is unable, fails fut. he climbs, goes uphill aapwe. back And he couldn’t climb back up.

112

néhissa nanundáxkwätch wí’hkanal näғ ndumƗtch naanoontaahkweeci awiihkaanali. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he shouts (redup.) his friend Neentomaaci. he calls him, summons him And he shouted and shouted to his friend. He called him.

113

néhissa piálitch pyaalici. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he (obv.) comes And then he came.

114

wäkíwi pialó kipal’hka káti Kipalihka kati! “Weekiwi pyaalo! slowly come (imp.) you stumble on it, misstep fut. [He said] “Be careful, you’ll slip!

115

kussämin íssa kwäxkapíkshimƗtch masánapikwal kutakingishi Koohsemina ihsa kweehkaapiikihšimaaci our (incl.) grandchild new inf. he rearranges him (ropes) masaanaapiikwali kotakinkiši.” rope (obv.) in another direction Our grandchild has rearranged the ropes in another direction.”

30. This is probably an error for * wéyawƗtch , a stem shape which is confirmed by Gatschet’s weyáwaka ‘I follow him’ (weeyawaka), as well as Dunn’s transcription wäғ yawatc .

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Nähîғssa sakángi masanapikwƗl mäkúnnƗtch sakaanki masaanaapiikwali Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. after a while rope (obv.) meehkonaaci. he finds him with his hand Then after a while he started to feel around for the ropes.

117

säkinatch ngúti kíush twa-twakiûғ ngi [sic] Seekiinaaci nkóti kíyošia twaahkionki.31 he holds, grasps him one old man hollow, ditch (loc.) The old man grabbed onto one, down in the hollow.

118

nehíssa sakatchiwétchi (h)ápwä, saakaciweeci aapwe. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he comes out back And then he crawled back out.

119

tchéki péndikiwƗtch wikawángi; Ceeki peentikiiwaaci awiikawaanki. all they enter their lodge (loc.) They both went into their lodge.

120

nehissá taxpisuatáwi kussämína Wissákatchakwa. “Ataahpiswaataawi32 Neehi-’hsa: then, and - new inf. let's draw him in by smoke (heat)! koohsemina wiihsakacaakwa.” our (incl.) grandchild Wiihsakacaakwa And then [one said]: “Let’s draw in our grandchild Wiihsakacaakwa by smoke.”

121

nehissa pwakánal welxkinálawƗtch ahpwaakanali weelahkinalaawaaci. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. pipe (obv.) they fill him up So they filled up the pipe.

122

ngúti sa sä’hkáwatch pwakánal; seehkahwaaci ahpwaakanali. Nkóti-’hsa one - new inf. he lights him pipe (obv.) One of them lit the pipe.

31. The double twa in Gatschet’s transcription of this word is probably incorrect. 32. In his Peoria filecards, Gatschet glosses this stem as ‘draw him in (by sorcery) by using a pipe’.

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níka ta’hpíswi kussämína pakilaxkawí piluƯғši “Niihka, ataahpiswi my friend (voc.) draw him in by smoke (heat)! pilowiši. koohsemina. Pakilaahkaawi our (incl.) grandchild we must throw him (to) far away He said, “My friend, draw our grandchild near. Let’s throw him far away.

124

áshkie wanímaxkawí Wissákatchak a. Aašihke wanimaahkaawi wiihsakacaakwa.” in turn we must trick him Wiihsakacaakwa It’s our turn to fool Wiihsakacaakwa.”

125

Kîғtilä ápwä wák setch nehí piádshi ápwä pyaaci Kiihtile aapwe waakohseeci. Neehi sure enough back he walks in a circle then, and he comes aapwe. back Sure enough, [Wiihsakacaakwa] circled back. And he returned.

126

Nehíssa kîusháhi: kietûғ -enshi k kapiksetawiángi mazánapikwa?” Ưliknjtch kíusha(hi) kíyošiahi: “Keetoweenci Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. old men (obv.) why kohkaapiikihsetawiaanki33 masaanaapiikwa?” you rearrange it (the rope) on us rope iilikoci kíyošiahi. he (obv.) says to him old men (obv.) And then, the old men said to him, “Why did you move the rope on us?”

127

nähíssa wenipílakian káti hapolapíkshimák ähi matchí’kan mazanapíkwa “Weenipiilakiaani kati Neehi-’hsa: then, and - new inf. I forget fut. aapoolaapiikihšimaki eehi maaciihkaani I put him (rope) back when/where I go away masaanaapiikwa!”34 rope

8

8

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33. Gatschet has this verb as unchanged, though Dunn marks it as changed. 34. In Michelson’s version, this line is followed by two extra lines spoken by the old men, which are missing from both Gatschet’s and Dunn’s version.

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And [Wiihsakacaakwa] said, “I forgot to put the rope back the same way when I left!” 128

Nemä’hka wetchíkimatch kiusháhi; Namehka35 weecikiimaaci kíyošiahi. a short time he lives with him old men (obv.) [Wiihsakacaakwa] lived with the old men a short time.

129

kapûғ twässa tepingûғ ka nûғ thä nawi thäғ kinatch tchäkíshi hämbáwetchik maxkíkûngi; “Teepi-nko-’hka noohse Kapootwe-’hsa, after a while - new inf. can - interrog. - pot. my grandson (voc.) nawi seekiinaci ceekiši eempahweeciki mahkiikonki?” go and you catch him all kinds those who fly lake (loc.) Then, after a while [the old men asked], “Grandson, can’t you go and catch us all kinds of birds out on the lake?”

130

Wissákatchak a nähíssa “tannƯshƯshi kasakínak?” hílatch kiusháhi. “Taaniši iši-’hka Wiihsakacaakwa neehi-’hsa: Wiihsakacaakwa then, and - new inf. how thus - pot. sakiinaki?” iilaaci kíyošiahi. I catch him he says to him old men (obv.) Then Wiihsakacaakwa said to the old men, “How am I supposed to catch them?”

131

“wƯғssa wikápa pshinándo!” pihšiinanto. “Wiihsa wiikapa many pieces of basswood bark peel the bark off it! “Peel a bunch of basswood bark off the trees.

132

nehí kuki’hkáni maxkíkûng(i) Neehi kookiihkani mahkiikonki. then, and you must dive lake (loc.) Then you have to dive into the lake.

133

nähí wikápa k’pítukáni katawangîғ. Neehi wiikapa kihpitoohkani then, and pieces of basswood bark you must tie it ahkaatawaanki. their feet (loc.) Then tie the basswood-bark to their feet.

8

35. Dunn has i for the first vowel of this word in his version of this text.

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néhi wƯғssa mäғ tchi k’pituyáne katáwangi kpitukáni kipakwandiunängí, Neehi wiihsa meehci kihpitooyani36 ahkaatawaanki, then, and many after you tie it their feet (loc.) kihpitoohkani kipakwantionenki. you must tie it your belt (loc.) And after you have tied it to the feet of several of them, you must tie them to your belt.

135

nähí psáka ma’hkíkwi mukikáni pahsaahka mahkiikwi moohkiihkani. Neehi then, and middle lake you must emerge Then you must come to the surface in the middle of the lake.

136

tchäғ ki ngukáti37 ayíxkwä mitusseniwí-i [sic]38 ú-aha, hilaxkáni 8 îlíkutch kiusháhi Wissákatchakw . ‘Ceeki-nko kati aayiihkwe mihtohseeniwiyii[kwi] all - neg. fut. forever you (pl.) live oowaaha!’ ilaahkani” iilikoci kíyošiahi here you must tell him he (obv.) tells him old men (obv.) Wiihsakacaakwa. Wiihsakacaakwa Then tell them ‘You can’t all live here forever!’”, the old men told Wiihsakacaakwa.

137

nehissa nƯshi ishílenitch kíusháhi Ưshi wîғndamakǀtch niiši iišilenici kíyošiahi Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. that way he does so old men (obv.) iiši-wiintamaakoci. how he (obv.) tells him And so he did as the old men told him.

36. In this clause, meehci seems to be bearing the initial change that would normally appear on kihpitooyani. 37. Gatschet glosses ngukáti as ‘cannot’; the negative particle (i)nko is apparently being used as a negative clitic here, even though it is otherwise always sentence-initial (see Costa 2008:126–28). 38. Gatschet’s transcription of the verb mitusseniwí-i seems to be erroneous, missing part of its ending. The full ending can be restored by comparison with Wiihsakacaakwa’s repetition of this remark in line 144 below.

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138

wƯssa tchäkíshi shishipƗki päkissak tƟpáthiƗk [sic] wƗpangiaki, tchäғ ki änswikatehólat Wiihsa ceekiši šiihšiipaki, peehkiihsaki, tapaahsiaki, many all kinds ducks brants Canada geese waapankiaki, ceeki eenswikaateeholaata. swans all he ties his feet together All kinds of ducks, brants, Canada geese, swans, he tied their feet all together.

139

Äkwi nänžwi katehólat Ưғssa namäғ ’ka sakikulehákuk ihsa Eehkwi neešwikaateeholaata39 when, while he ties two of them together at the feet new inf. namehka saakikoleehakoki. shortly he floats with his nose sticking out Every time he tied two of them together, for a short time he would come up with only his nose out of the water.

140

äkwkitchahákulitch Eehkohkicahakolici.40 he (obv.) floats behind his tail He floated behind their tails.

141

nehƯғssakwa näғ näsätch, neeneehseeci. Neehi-’hsa-’hkwa then, and - new inf. - habitual he breathes (redup.) And then he would take another breath.

142

nähíssa mäғ tchi tchäғ ki kipílat psáka mú’hkitch makíkûng meehci ceeki kiihpilaata pahsaahka Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. after all he ties him middle moohkiici mahkiikonki. he emerges lake (loc.) And after he tied them all, he emerged in the middle of the lake.

143

Kíushahi ishi mäkǀtch ishílänitch Kíyošiahi iišimekoci iišilenici. old men (obv.) he (obv.) says so to him he does so He did what the old men had told him.

39. Dunn repeats eenswikaateeholaata here. 40. Dunn has a verb with a different final here, eekohkicahwilici (same meaning).

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144

“tchäki ngukáti kílwa mtussäniwí-ikwi wáhan!” “Ceeki-nko kati kiilwa mihtohseeniwiyiikwi waaha!” all - neg. fut. you (pl.) you (pl.) live here “You can’t all live here!” [he said].

145

nehítha tchäғ ki ämbáhwilitch ceeki eempahwilici. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. all he (obv.) flies up And then they all flew up.

146

sakinápaka napƗғ tha ämbawalíknjtch Naahpa-’hsa Sakiinaahpa-’hka. he catches him (preterit) - pot. but - new inf. eempahwalikoci. he (obv.) carries him upward He meant to catch them. Instead, they carried him up.

147

nehíssa piluƯғshi häwálekûtch pilowiši eewalekoci. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. (to) far away he (obv.) takes him, carries him And so he was carried far away.

148

kapútuäs halángwätch: aalaankweeci. Kapootwe-’hsa after a while - new inf. he is tired After a while he got tired.

149

“windshamatchí pakí’hkak wikápa Ưtchi ssa “Wincamaaci pahkihkaaki wiikapa” desiderative it breaks pieces of basswood bark iici-’hsa. he says - new inf. “I wish the pieces of bark would break,” said [Wiihsakacaakwa].

150

Nehíssa päғ kikak kítilä papîғndshing peehkihkaaki. Kiihtile paapincinki. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. it breaks surely he falls down Then they broke. Sure enough, [Wiihsakacaakwa] fell.

151

häғ kwi pimísatch; windshámatchi kinûғ ngiä ähi píssan; Eehkwi pimihsaaci, “Wiincamaaci kinoonke eehi while he flies past desiderative deep place where

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ahpiihsaani.” I land there While he fell [he said] “I hope I land in deep water.”41 152

nehissa niáha häpîғssatch mialámekwala [sic] päktekáwƗtch niiyaaha eehpiihsaaci myaalameekwali. Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. there he lands there catfish (obv.) Peehkihteehkawaaci. he kills him by landing on him And there he fell on a catfish. He killed it when he landed on it.

153

Nehissa sakatchí-ulatch sipiûғ ngûnsh saakaciolaaci Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. he takes him out, pulls him ashore siipionkonci. from the river And he took it out from the river.

154

nehissa pukídshishwatch Neehi-’hsa poohkiciišwaaci. then, and - new inf. he cuts his body open And then he cut it open.

155

napƗғ ssa maxkúli mäkûғ shwatch tchengwepílitch Naahpa-’hsa mahkooli but - new inf. bear (obv.) meehkošwaaci he cuts into him unintentionally, finds him by cutting ceenkweepilici. he (obv.) sits But he cut into a bear sitting inside.

156

Nehissa níaha wéyaxkitchi täpindásswi kîғlsohi niiyaaha weeyaahkici teepi ntaahswi Neehi-’hsa then, and - new inf. there he stays enough so many kiilhsoohi. months (obv.) So [Wiihsakacaakwa] lived there several months.

41. The quoted speech in this sentence more literally translates as ‘hopefully it’s deep where I land’.

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sakángi tchiäkámuatch maxkúli néhi mialamekwali Sakaanki ceekam[w]aaci42 mahkooli neehi after a while he eats him all up bear (obv.) then, and myaalameekwali. catfish (obv.) Eventually, he ate up the bear and the catfish.

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42. One would expect this verb to be *ceekamaaci, as confirmed by Gatschet’s tchiäkámaka ‘I eat him all up’ (ceekamaka) and the Kickapoo TA stem þaakam- ‘eat him up’. If tchiäkámuatch (ceekam[w]aaci) is not an error, perhaps it has been reshaped on basis of amw- ‘eat him’.

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Editing and Using Arapaho-Language Manuscript Sources: A Comparative Perspective

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Andrew Cowell A number of different manuscript sources document the Arapaho language before the 1940s, when ZdenČk Salzmann began the first truly modern linguistic study of the language. These sources vary widely in the quality of transcription and translation (if any), as well as in the quality of the original performance which was transcribed, and they raise a variety of issues for those interested in examining these early examples of Arapaho language, narrative traditions, verbal performance, linguistic acculturation, and other language behaviors. The three main sources are as follows: missionary-era texts (1880–1920) produced either by missionaries working with Arapaho consultants or by Arapaho catechists themselves; texts collected by A. L. Kroeber (1899–1901); and texts collected by Truman Michelson (roughly 1910–30). In this chapter, I consider all three sources, though I focus principally on comparing a representative text of Kroeber’s with one of Michelson’s. The chapter is written in the context of efforts to retranscribe and retranslate the texts specifically for a reservation audience of either Arapaho speakers or Arapaho language learners, with the goal of disseminating the texts on the reservation rapidly and inexpensively. At the same time, I take account of linguists’ potential interest in using these texts as well. Arapaho missionary-era texts derive from the Episcopal Mission (St. Michael’s) in Ethete, Wyoming, and the Catholic Mission (St. Stephen’s) near Arapahoe, Wyoming.1 I am not aware of any texts produced in Oklahoma, though I have not had the chance to do extensive archival work there. The Episcopal texts were produced by the missionary John Roberts as well as a number of Arapaho catechists, including Fremont Arthur, Michael Whitehawk, and others (Markley and Crofts 1997:83–97). The Catholic texts were produced by the Jesuit missionary John Sifton, and by at least one other anonymous 1. See Fowler (1982) for details on the establishment of missions at Wind River. Markley and Crofts (1997) focus specifically on the Episcopal mission.

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source. The texts are all translations of English or Latin material, and are they are excellent examples of linguistic acculturation, deserving further study from an anthropological perspective (see Anderson 2001 for one example of such a use of one of these texts). The texts produced by Sifton and Roberts (or at least claimed by them) are grammatically quite good, and show overall fluency, both on the level of individual words (derivational and inflectional morphology, semantics), and on the level of syntax and overall discourse, within the limits of the obvious problem of translating Christian doctrine into Arapaho language and culture.2 On the other hand, Sifton’s ear and orthography are far superior to Roberts’s. Surprisingly, the texts produced by Fremont Arthur, an Arapaho catechist, are quite awkward: they show numerous errors in use of the obviative, singular-plural agreement, and the nonaffirmative order, and are clumsy and simplistic in their use of tense and aspect affixes, proclitics and particles, as well as in their overall syntax, showing evidence of a word-by-word translation style.3 An attempt at translating the Book of Common Prayer into Arapaho is in this same style and shows even more problems.4 2. Markley and Crofts (1997:172–75) also present some texts produced by John Roberts—an Arapaho vocabulary, the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostle’s Creed, and “Gloria in Excelsis.” There are probably additional texts in Roberts’s letters and journals, which I have not examined. Texts produced by Sifton are a translation of “Long Live the Pope” from 1908 (item 274 in Salzmann 1988), and “The Sign of the Cross,” the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Doxology, the Apostle’s Creed, and the Ten Commandments, all from an unpublished manuscript (item 420 in Salzmann 1988). Sifton may also be the translator of a printed version of “Venite Exultemus Domine” (item 320 in Salzmann 1988). There are also additional, printed versions of the Sign of the Cross, the Lord’s Prayer, the Hail Mary, and the Apostle’s Creed by someone other than Sifton, of very poor quality in both transcription and grammar (not mentioned in Salzmann’s Bibliography; I found copies at Wind River Tribal College). All of these texts have been retranscribed and retranslated for publication and distribution on the Wind River Reservation (Cowell and Moss 2004a). 3. “Questions and Answers in Arapahoe. Nunaae Nodawa nau Hauchaneheet [HinonoҲeinottowoo noh hooxoeenihiit ‘Arapaho question[s] and answer[s]’]. By Fremont Arthur / Jaitahait [CeiҲtehҲeit = big/round belly].” (no date). This is a small, twenty-page, printed pamphlet, dating from the early twentieth century. It is Salzmann’s (1988) item 12, and is a bilingual Episcopal catechism. It has been retranscribed and retranslated for publication and distribution on the Wind River Reservation (Cowell and Moss 2004b). 4. “Ve-vith-ha Hin-nen-nau Hin-nen-it-dah-need [Biibi3ehoo HinonoҲei Hineniteeniit ‘prayer[s] [for the] Arapaho people’]” (anonymous, no date). This is a small, twelve-page, printed pamphlet, dating from the late nineteenth or early twentieth century (item 206 in Salzmann 1988). The orthography generally resembles that used by identified Episcopal sources. It has been partially retranscribed and retranslated by Andrew Cowell and Alonzo Moss, Sr., and the contents are identifiable as selections from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. It lacks any original translations, and this

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Clearly, this is exactly the reverse of what one might expect from texts produced by missionaries and catechists. I do not know why this is; it could reflect poor knowledge of English on the part of the catechists, or conversely, imperfect knowledge of Arapaho, due to time spent at boarding schools such as Carlisle, Pennsylvania, where Arapahos are known to have attended.5 There is certainly room for much more research in the area of Arapaho language and early missionization, but that is not the focus of this chapter, so I simply provide these comparative judgments of the material from a linguist’s perspective. However, it should be noted that the Arapaho translation of the Book of Luke by Michael Whitehawk (1903) is quite fluent. Materials collected by Kroeber and Michelson consist largely of Arapaho traditional narratives; these are the focus of my interest here. I should first also mention that an Oklahoma Arapaho, Jesse Rowlodge, collaborated with Michelson, and collected a number of texts on his own, using an ad hoc orthography. The orthography is a syllable-bysyllable format, with preverbs often detached from verbs, and it is often inconsistent, changing literally from day to day in the manuscript in some cases. However, the two most extensive texts Rowlodge collected are autobiographical narratives, and as such are unique within the Arapaho corpus for documenting vocabulary related to traditional material culture and everyday subsistence activities, which is otherwise very rare or absent in the corpus.6 Though a few brief Arapaho texts were collected by Albert Gaschet in the 1880s and 1890s (National Anthropological Archives, MS 231), A. L. Kroeber was the first person to collect extensive Arapaho texts, working in both Wyoming and Oklahoma from 1899 to 1901. His texts are notable for the relatively poor quality of their phonetic transcription. Kroeber overspecifies sound distinctions in many cases, while underspecifying them in others, particularly in relation to the vowels. He seems to have had particular difficulty distinguishing long from short vowels. This problem arises most often with e, and less often with o and u, while he virtually always distinguishes between long and short i. As it turns out, this pattern matches the relative degree of is the main obstacle to full retranscription: given the poor quality of the orthography (and grammar), parts remain mysterious. 5. A few of the Arapaho texts collected by Truman Michelson and now at the National Anthropological Archives are noted by him as having been collected at Carlisle School. 6. These two long autobiographies are at the National Anthropological Archives, MSS 2182 (Mrs. White Bear) and 2267 (Medicine Grass). Both have been published and distributed on the Wind River Reservation (Cowell and Moss 2007a, 2007b). Rowlodge also collected a few other short texts, which Michelson either retranscribed or reelicited, as they occur in both Rowlodge’s and Michelson’s orthography.

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difference in quality (as opposed to quantity) in Arapaho long and short vowels: the difference is least for e, greatest for i. In addition, he hears length as nasalization much of the time, while also hearing syllable-final h and Ҍ following short vowels as vowel length. He often hears secondary release breathing following consonants as a vowel. He consistently fails to hear h syllable-finally and preconsonantally, Ҍ everywhere, and w and y in certain environments. The following opening of a prayer illustrates these problems. Kroeber’s original transcription of the first words of the text edited for this chapter is shown in angle brackets in the first line of (1), followed by the modern retranscription.7 (1)

nänäғ nƟnihiiçƗғ Ķ hänäғ Ķtcîi niitcihҳäĶ

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nenihii3oo heneeceiniiciiheheҲ neneeҲ [this is] it what I am saying at buffalo bull river This is what I mention; from the Cimarron River . . . [K 1–2]

Long and short e are not distinguished in neneeҲ; glottal stops are not heard at the end of the first and third words; long e and o are heard as short and nasalized in nenihii3oo and heneecei-; and intervocalic h is not heard at the end of heneeceiniiciiheheҲ. Other, lesser problems seen in this example include the failure to distinguish ei from ii (the former often shifts to the latter in modern Arapaho, both in rapid speech and in some family usages generally), and the secondary problem that failure to hear intervocalic h at the end of the final word leads Kroeber to hear the two short e sounds as nasalized (i.e., in his system, effectively as a long vowel). While such problems can obviously make Kroeber’s texts difficult to reconstitute, his texts nonetheless are extremely rich in their multilevel rhetorical organization and in the complexity of the polysynthetic forms that appear in them—certainly rich enough to merit additional work beyond what I have done. Consequently, my approach to these texts in working with contemporary consultants has been to reconstruct exactly what was originally said as precisely as possible, rather than to try and reelicit the texts. Fortunately, despite ambiguities of transcription, this is feasible for Arapaho, since the morphology and phonology of the language have changed relatively little since the time of Kroeber’s work (while performance styles and polysynthetic lexical items have undergone somewhat more extensive changes in usage). 7. Pitch accent marks are omitted from retranscriptions in this chapter, as they are inconsistently marked in the early sources, and there is no way to reconstruct them— reelicitation today would simply produce today’s patterns. These are likely similar or even identical to those of the early twentieth century, but we have no firm way of verifying this.

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An edited version of the entire name-changing prayer whose first line is cited above appears at the end of this chapter. A division of the prayer into nine principal sections can be justified on the basis both of content and of formal parallelisms, as is shown in the rhetorical analysis below. SECTION 1 Opening line (line K 1): neneeҲ ne-nihii3oo ‘this is what I am saying’ Function: sets location as Cimarron River, Turkey Hills Addressees: Seven Old Men, Seven Old Women, Found-in-the-Grass, the Myths Comments: Note the presence of the number seven; seven and four are the two sacred Arapaho numbers. SECTION 2 Opening line (line K 4): ciҲ-ceeseҲ neneeҲ ne-nihii3oo ‘this is another thing that I am saying’ Addressees: seven sweatlodges, rivers/water, land/earth Content: request for health for the tribe Comments: Sections 1 and 2 have closely parallel opening lines, and both involve seven addressees. Section 2 also establishes a duality between land and water. SECTION 3 Direct imperative (line K 8): cih-tokoohob-eiҲee! cih-Ҳowouunon-eiҲee! cih-Ҳowouunon-in! ‘look down on us! [or ‘watch over us!’] have pity for us! have pity for me!’ Addressees: Sun/Creator/Daytime Content: request for help for the tribe; request for help for the young man whose name is being changed

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Comments: Note the parallel imperatives in the opening line. SECTION 4 Direct imperative (line K 10): cih-cehҲe3tii-Ҳ! ‘listen!’ Addressees: Stars, Animals of the Night, Morning Star/Creator [i.e. Nighttime] Content: request for health, long life, and wealth for the young man Comments: The opening line of this section parallels that of the preceding one; sections 3 and 4 establish the duality between day and night. SECTION 5 Direct imperative (line K 12b): cih-beh-cehҲe3tii-Ҳ! ‘you all listen!’ Addressees: Animals below the Ground, Animals on the Ground, Animals of the Water

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Arapaho

Content: request for a good name for the young man Comments: The opening of this section repeats that of the preceding sections almost exactly. In this section, the duality of land and water is expanded to a tripartite division of land, water, and the area below earth. For the first time, the specific purpose of the prayer is mentioned. SECTION 6 Direct imperative (line K 14c): cih-beh-cehҲe3tii-Ҳ! ‘you all listen!’ Addressees: the people of the tribe, by their various ages and genders Content: request for help for the young man Comments: Again the opening imperative virtually repeats that of the preceding section. For the first time, the people of the tribe are addressed, descending through a lengthy hierarchy of addressees.

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SECTION 7 Direct imperative (line K 16): cih-tokoohob-eҲ! ‘look down on him!, watch over him!’ Addressees: the different age-grade societies of the tribe Content: request that the young man be recognized as Sun Child Comments: In this section the actual new name of the person is finally stated. In addition, the invocation used on behalf of the entire tribe in section 3 is now used specifically for the young man (‘look down on, watch over’), echoing the request in section three for pity, first for the tribe, then for the young man. The rest of this section consists of directions to the tribe as a whole as to the name, followed by five closely parallel phrases, all using the iterative, and concluding with the name again, but with the directions now addressed to the individual; this repeats for a third time the move from tribe to individual (using the TA verb -ii3- ‘to say’ on both occasions). SECTION 8 Direct imperative (line K 19): woow hiten-oo ‘now take it!’ Addressee: the young man Content: ‘you have your new name, the old name is left behind here’ SECTION 9 Affirmation (lines K 24–25): woow neniitobee-nee ‘now you (pl.) have heard it’, woow heeҲinonee-n ‘now you (sg.) are known’ Addressees: Christ Jesus, Father God, Thunderbird Content: ‘you have heard this new name’ Comments: Close parallelism between this and the preceding section is established through the use of the perfective particle woow. The shift from second person plural -nee to the second person singular -n

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represents a fourth example of the move from collective to individual within the prayer.

Although Kroeber states that he collected this prayer as a “hypothetical” example (1983:313), it is clearly the product of a very fully developed performance tradition—likely a “citation-style” performance in which the speaker was producing a text “for the record.”8 The prayer is rich in intriguing vocabulary items and word-level constructions—for instance, a secondary TI verb with an unusual inanimate object (2), and an interesting use of both an instrumental preverb and a directional preverb to render the goal of the prayer especially explicit (3). (2)

(3)

heetih-neeҲee-nihiҲnee-cebixoot-oҲ hiineҲetiit so that-thus-intensely-walk(TI)-3S life(NI) let him walk thusly, strongly through his life [K 8] heniҲ-hihc-owooyeiti3-e3enee

INSTR-upwards-pray.to.s.o.(TA)-1S/2P

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this is the reason I am sending my prayers up to you all [K 10]

Most striking are several uses of the preverb nohku-, which refers to action in conjunction with a subsidiary participant (as opposed to the comitative preverb nii3i-, which refers to joint, equal-participation or reciprocal action).9 Not only do three instances of this preverb appear in the prayer (a much higher frequency than in the many narrative texts or conversations documented for Arapaho), but each usage is slightly different semantically. In (4), the man praying speaks with the implicit approval and reinforcement of divine elements. Example (5) involves action literally or metaphorically in company with other real people (referred to verbally), while (6) treats the man’s new name as a subsidiary partner in his action. (4)

hiisiҲ nonohku-nihiit-owoo day with.it-say.s.t.(TI)-1S I speak in conjunction with (the spirit of) the daytime [K 6a]

(5)

heenee3oҲouni-t however.related.to.people(AI)-3S heetih-nohku-niҲ-cebisee-t so.that-with it-good-walk(AI)-3S

8. Baumann and Briggs (1990) discusses in particular the implications and characteristics of performances which are intended to be “entextualized.” 9. This preverb and construction are discussed by Cowell and Moss (2008:347– 48).

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let him walk well (through life) in company with his relatives [K 11a]

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(6)

hiisiis teiҲyooneheҲ neece-nohku-ce3eiҲoo! sun child go.on.again-with.it-depart(AI) set off again (on your life journey) with the name of Sun Child [K 21]

It is almost as if the speaker wanted to show off the different semantic nuances he could give to this relatively uncommon preverb and larger construction. Of course, he thereby also grammatically emphasizes the theme of connectivity and even more specifically the theme of carefully-constrained, hierarchical mutuality which is a central element of the prayer. In summary, Kroeber’s text shows elaborate organizational and performative structure. In editing this text specifically for a reservation audience, I have decided to represent this organization graphically on the page through varying levels of indentation as a way of underlining the formality of the text, and even to provide some basic labeling of the parts of the prayer, on the assumption that such prayers may not be familiar to many people in Wyoming and especially Oklahoma today. The full ceremonial and religious implications certainly warrant further elaboration. In the version included with this chapter, I add the following features not included in the general-purpose reservation version: a line for linguistic analysis between text and free translation; hyphens within the Arapaho forms to aid the analysis; and numbering of lines. (This latter version will also be available on the reservation, for consultation by students and teachers, but this type of format is generally not welcomed by fluent speakers trying to use the materials.) The second text presented here is a brief narrative collected by Truman Michelson. Michelson has the reputation of having been a somewhat better linguist than Kroeber. But his texts actually show— though to a lesser extent—all the difficulties of transcription found in Kroeber’s texts. In addition, they are much less rhetorically elaborate, and also occasionally contain surprising grammatical errors. These errors are also more noticeable and harder to discount than in Kroeber’s texts. In the latter, features such as under- or overspecification of vowels, writing of release vowels, and missing glottal stops can result in ambiguity, making it difficult to determine just what the inflectional endings are; in Michelson’s texts, however, one sometimes finds an unambiguously written but seemingly erroneous ending. The text in question is “Nih‫ތ‬oo3oo and His Friend the Beaver Catcher,” collected on 21 September 1910 from John Goggles.10 10. The text appears in MSS 2707 and 2708 (two copies of the same original text) in the National Anthropological Archives.

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Michelson’s transcriptions, like Kroeber’s, show a number of problems. These include failure to hear h before consonants and wordfinally; intermittent failure to hear the glottal stop; hearing vowel length as nasalization; failure to distinguish long and short e and o; failure to distinguish short e from short i, and ei from ii; and hearing Vh as a long vowel. A glance at the discussion of Kroeber’s transcriptions above shows that Michelson’s transcriptions have virtually the same problems as Kroeber’s, though to a somewhat lesser degree. Kroeber misses virtually all instances of h and the glottal stop; Michelson does hear h word-initially and between vowels, and hears glottal stops intermittently. On the grammatical level, Michelson’s text displays occasional examples of incorrect person and number inflections, and missing locative and obviative inflections. In (7), both contemporary Arapaho consultants and many other Arapaho texts suggest that ‘tree’ should have locative inflection (added in brackets in the example), but it does not. Moreover, throughout the text, the trickster is treated as proximate, while his friend is obviative (as in ‘climbed up’). This makes it seem highly unlikely that the second verb, referring to the nonhuman (though animate) tree, would be proximate, rather than obviative (I have again added the obviative marker in brackets in the example).

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(7)

heҲneҲ-nohoҲouuhu-ni3 hohoot-[iҲ] then-climb.up(AI)-4S.OBV tree-LOC heҲih-ҲoneҲeekuu-[n] NPAST-stand.bent(AI)-4S.OBV Then [the man] climbed up a tree. It stood bent [out] over [the ice]. [M 10–11]

Neither of the phrases in (7) is absolutely ungrammatical, but the two problematic forms are at the least unusual, and the alternate forms proposed here are preferred by consultants. Similarly, in line 9 of the text, a noun is inflected as obviative on its first occurrence; it is then repeated with a modifier, but inflected as possibly proximate, though Michelson’s writing of final long o as nasalized may simply represent a confusion of this sound with final on. The switch from obviative to proximate is not completely impossible in Arapaho, as the second occurrence of the noun is an apostrophic one, outside the structure of the verb phrase, but this is nevertheless disfavored by consultants. There are also some completely unambiguous errors, such as (8).

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(8)

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heҲih-xook-tone3eih-oҲ.

NPAST-through-create.a.hole.by.collision(TI)-3S

He [dived in and] broke through [the ice]. [M 16]

In this case, the narrative past preverb heҲih- requires nonaffirmative person inflections, yet the following verb has an affirmative-order inflection; the correct inflection would be tone3eih. A similar problem occurs in line 18, where a third person plural ending occurs instead of third person singular. Finally, there are cases where problems of phonological transcription interact with the intermittent real or suspected morphological errors. In (9), the verb should certainly be marked for obviative agreement, and failure to do so is ungrammatical.

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(9)

hinen-in heҲih-noҲusee-[n?] man-OBV NPAST-arrive(AI)-3S.OBV A man (obviative) arrived. [M 2]

Michelson transcribes the verb ‘arrive’ with final eĶ —his normal transcription for long ee. For this reason, I retranscribe the verb as noҲusee. But in this case, one must wonder if Michelson really did hear a final -een, and not just -ee. There is simply no way to tell, however: since he hears long vowels (especially word-finally) as nasalized in all cases, the distinction is underspecified in his transcription. This may also be part of the problem in the second line of example (7) as well. And to the first line of (7) we can compare line 18 of the text, where Michelson hears hoo3iihiҲ as xâþƯi . Thus he not only misses the final glottal stop (and intervening /h/), but barely hears the final syllable. Thus it would not be especially surprising if he missed a final locative inflection -iҲ on ‘tree’ as well. Given the combination of transcriptional problems and grammatical errors in Michelson’s texts, there is simply no way to know in some cases whether we are dealing with an error by the speaker or a mishearing by the linguist. Some problems look like mishearings, some look more like speaker errors, and some could be either. Certainly one cannot rely on Michelson’s texts for the documentation of unusual grammatical or phonological features that might be indicators of dialectical differences in Arapaho—they simply are not trustworthy enough. For publication for use on reservations by Arapaho learners, the best solution seems to be simply to correct to the standard of modern consultants in retranscription and retranslation, rather than to slavishly follow the originals. Obviously, a scholarly edition will notate all apparent or potential problem areas.

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One potential explanation for the problems in Michelson’s texts— or at least the one presented here—is that he apparently elicited his narratives word by word, obtaining a translation of one Arapaho word before going on to elicit the next. This at least is suggested by the appearance of his field notes for this text. Each Arapaho word is followed on the very same line by an English gloss, followed (if there is space) by the next Arapaho word, followed by another English gloss, and so on; the words are perfectly evenly spaced, without crowding or gaps. Thus it is impossible that he could have recorded only Arapaho, leaving spaces between the words, and written in the English later; in that case, some English glosses would inevitably have been too long or too short. Such an elicitation procedure would tend to produce many of the errors found in his text, as speakers would lose track of the larger grammatical structure and relationship of elements in a clause. On the other hand, in some cases Michelson’s notes first present an Arapahoonly version of a narrative, followed by the Arapaho-English-ArapahoEnglish format, as in the version of “Found in the Grass” in MS 2708. Perhaps not surprisingly, this text seems to have fewer grammatical errors. Michelson’s elicitation method (if my guess about it is correct) would also at least partially explain the other important weakness in his texts: their striking lack of performative quality. When his versions of narratives are compared to the ones published by Dorsey and Kroeber (1997), they are almost always markedly shorter, and show much less rhetorical complexity. “The Beaver Catcher” amounts to only twentyfive brief lines, without a single subordinate clause, for example; compare this to Dorsey and Kroeber’s stories 57, 58, and 59, which are versions of the same general narrative, but contain several dozen English sentences. To be sure, at the level of the line, Michelson’s texts show the features typical of Arapaho traditional narratives: every line is marked by the use of narrative past heҲih- (‘it is said that . . .’), narrative heҲneҲ- (‘so then, and then’), or some variant of the quotatives hee3oohok (‘proximate said to obviative’) or hee3eihok (‘obviative said to proximate’). The texts are thus remarkably consistent, and in a sense deceptively well-organized and divisible according to the “line and verse” criteria popularized by Dell Hymes and others (Hymes 1981, especially pp. 309–41). However, the texts lack much in the way of larger-scale organization. Arapaho texts are normally divided into sections, with discourse particles introducing each new section;11 sections often have an 11. These particles include wohei ‘well, then, so’, niineҲeehek ‘here he is. . .’ and variants, niiyou ‘here it is. . .’ and variants, and howoo ‘and also, in addition’.

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explicit concluding formula as well.12 Various temporal sequencing particles also frequently introduce sections.13 Formulaic opening and closing phrases often begin and end a text as well.14 Michelson’s texts (in particular, the one presented here, but the same is true of most of his other texts) largely lack these features. In “The Beaver Catcher,” there are no internal sections, only minimal formulaic openings and closings, and virtually no overt marking of temporal sequencing. To be sure, sentence-initial noh ‘and’ with the meaning ‘so then, and next’ occurs in several lines of the text, but these largely reinforce or complement the preverb heҲneҲ-.15 The text also lacks the kind of elements that William Labov calls “evaluative” and shows to be crucial to narrative performance (Labov 1972:370–96); in Arapaho, these are represented by particles such as huutouuk ‘sure enough!’ and woҲoҲotoҲ ‘right then and there’. Thus, except for the use of the narrative past tense, direct quotations, and the special quotative form unique to narratives, the text collected by Michelson is only minimally performative, in the sense that Dell Hymes uses this term (1981:79– 86), and takes the form more of a plot summary than of an elaborated narrative. For this reason, I have decided to present the text for its intended reservation audience in a prose format, with paragraphs determined by shifts to direct discourse or the use of forms such as heҲneҲ- ‘and then.’ One could certainly still present the text in a poetic line format, but I believe this would be deceptive in suggesting a higher degree of performativity and organization than the text actually shows. It would also suggest to reservation readers that the text is in some way comparable rhetorically to the name-changing prayer recorded by Kroeber, which it certainly is not. This decision accords with my policy, discussed above, of silently correcting apparent grammatical errors in Michelson’s text based on current speaker judgment, rather than leaving the text as is. There is no reason to regard this text as a 12. These formulas include hiҲin neneeҲ ‘that’s it’, neeҲeesiini ‘that’s how it is’, neҲnihҲiisiini ‘that’s how it was’, noh neeҲeesooҲ ‘and that’s how it is’, and other variants employing the back-reference proclitic neҲ=. 13. There include hoonii ‘after a long time’, heihii ‘soon’, beexoo3iihiҲ ‘a little while later’, hoo3iihiҲ ‘later’, and heҲiicis(iihiҲ) ‘after an indeterminate time’. 14. Openings include teecxoҲ ‘long ago’ and heҲihҲoowuniihisee ‘X was going down a river’ and variants. Closings include nohuusohoҲ ‘that it, that’s the way it was’ and neeҲeiҲiseҲ ‘that’s how far it lies, how it ends’. 15. It is worth wondering whether these examples of noh might be metadiscursive by-products of the elicitation style suggested for this text—in other words, not part of the actual narrative, but extranarrative elements directed towards the elicitor and elicitation context, meaning something like ‘and [then the next line goes] . . .’. The use of noh as a line or strophe marker is not especially common in highly elaborate Arapaho performances.

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particularly careful or elaborate performance, something that the narrator apparently did not intend it as. I tend to agree with scholars such as William Clements (1996:32–40) that while it is important to use old records to recover texts, we need to be aware of the limitations of such records as well. As I have shown with other Arapaho material, lesselaborated performances do indeed show structure, but that structure is specifically a structure of plot summary, and not at all representative of the structures of full performance (Cowell 2002). But the very weaknesses of Michelson’s texts for admirers of Arapaho rhetoric and performance are ironically strengths in another way: his texts are very useful for children and learners. They contain a limited, highly repetitive set of structures, which make it easy to recognize affixes and relatively easy to isolate verb stems. One can also track proximate and obviative marking fairly easily. Indeed, the text is told as if intended for a small child with an imperfect command of the language, which is of course a style one might expect in an anthropological elicitation setting. (This makes it all the more imperative to correct apparent grammatical errors.) It seems best to take this text exactly for what it likely was, with today’s children now replacing the anthropologist of one hundred years ago as the “beginning language learners.” Below, I present the two texts in their reservation format, designed to be made accessible as quickly and cheaply as possible to interested Arapaho learners and users, in the context of language preservation efforts, bearing in mind Leanne Hinton’s observation that the speedy availability of materials desired by indigenous communities often conflicts with academic goals (Hinton and Weigel 2002:167). A format, as preceding remarks in the paper make clear, is inevitably a form of interpretation, both of the texts and of the possible intentions behind the texts as they were produced at the turn of the twentieth century. The format is also inevitably at least partially a prescription, in relation to present usage and audiences. It suggests how the texts might be used, specifically at Wind River and specifically in the early twentyfirst century, and imagines the larger cultural “meaning” and “work” which they are most likely to accomplish in this context. For the benefit of Algonquian scholars (given the context of this chapter, and since it is relatively short), Michelson’s text is presented in a second, analytic format as well; its free translation is given only with this format. I also include notes on specific linguistic forms and problems.

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Abbreviations and conventions Abbreviations used in grammatical glosses. 0 inanimate marker; 1 first person; ; 12 first person plural inclusive; 2 second person; 3 third person; 4 obviative (“fourth person”); AI animate-subject intransitive verb; EMPH emphatic; FUT future tense; II inanimate-subject intransitive verb; IMPERF imperfective aspect; INSTR instrumental; ITER iterative mode; LOC locative; NPAST narrative past tense; NEG negative; NUM narrative past tense used specifically with number verbs; OBV obviative; PL plural; REDUP reduplication; S singular; s.o. someone; s.t. something; SUGG suggestive imperative; TA transitive verb with animate object; TI transitive verb with inanimate object; VENT ventive. Other abbreviations. In line numbering, K stands for the text collected by Kroeber (“A Name-Changing Prayer”), M for the one collected by Michelson (“Nih‫ތ‬oo3oo and His Friend the Beaver Catcher: Diving Through the Ice”). Transcription. In the modern practical orthography for Arapaho used here, 3 is the voiceless interdental fricative [ș], the apostrophe Ҳ is the glottal stop [‫]ݦ‬, and doubling of vowels represents length. Pitch accent is left unmarked (see n. 7 above).

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References Anderson, Jeffrey 2001 Northern Arapaho Conversion of a Christian Text. Ethnohistory 48:689–714. Bauman, Richard and Charles L. Briggs 1990 Poetics and Performance as Cultural Perspectives on Language and Social Life. Annual Review of Anthropology 19:59–88. Clements, William M. 1996 Native American Verbal Art: Texts and Contexts. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Cowell, Andrew 2002 The Poetics of Arapaho Storytelling: From Salvage to Performance. Oral Tradition 17: 18–52. Cowell, Andrew, and Alonzo Moss, Sr. 2008 The Arapaho Language. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Cowell, Andrew, and Alonzo Moss, Sr., eds. 2004a Arapaho Prayers, Hymns, and Scriptures: The Catholic and Episcopal Religious Traditions. Boulder: Center for the Study of Indigenous Languages of the West, University of Colorado. 2004b Questions and Answers in Arapahoe: By Fremont Arthur. Boulder: Center for the Study of Indigenous Languages of the West, University of Colorado.

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2007a

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Life of Mrs. White Bear, Southern Arapaho. Boulder: Center for the Study of Indigenous Languages of the West, University of Colorado. 2007b Life of Medicine Grass. Boulder: Center for the Study of Indigenous Languages of the West, University of Colorado. Dorsey, George A. and Alfred L. Kroeber, eds. 1997[1903] Traditions of the Arapaho. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Fowler, Loretta 1982 Arapahoe Politics, 1851–1978: Symbols in Crises of Authority. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Hinton, Leanne, and William F. Weigel 2002 A Dictionary for Whom? Tensions between Academic and Nonacademic Lexicography. In Making Dictionaries: Preserving Indigenous Languages of the Americas, edited by William Frawley, Kenneth C. Hill, and Pamela Munro, 155–70. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hymes, Dell 1981 “In Vain I Tried to Tell You”: Essays in Native American Ethnopoetics. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Kroeber, A. L. 1983[1902–7] The Arapaho. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Labov, William 1972 Language in the Inner City: Studies in the Black English Vernacular. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Markley, Elinor R., and Beatrice Crofts 1997 Walk Softly, This is God’s Country. Mortimore, Wyo.: Mortimore Publishing. Salzmann, ZdenČk 1988 The Arapaho Indians: A Research Guide and Bibliography. New York: Greenwood Press. Whitehawk, Michael 1903 Hethadenee Waunauyaunee Vadan Luke VanenƗna: The Gospel According to Saint Luke. New York: American Bible Society.



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Arapaho texts A Name-Changing Prayer National Anthropological Archives MS 2560. Collected by A. L. Kroeber from Cleaver Warden, 14 August 1899, Darlington, Oklahoma. Each numbered line of the text contains the following components: Kroeber’s original transcription (in angle brackets); a modern retranscription, with stems and affixes separated by dashes; glossing of stems and affixes; and a free translation.

 ͳǣ   K1

nänäғ nƟnihiiçƗғ Ķ neneeҲ ne-nihii3oo; it 1S-thing.said This is what I mention;

K2

hänäғ Ķtcîi niitcihäࡅ ғ äĶ bäestcenäätcƗƗĶä tih’na’káĶhûûtÕࡃ nғ aĶ waҩtääĶt heneecei-niiciiheheҲ beescenee-coҲoneҲ tih-noҲkoohuutii-noo buffalo.bull-river turkey-hill when-bring(AI)-1S woҲoteeet, black.paint From the Cimarron River in Turkey Hills I brought back black paint in victory,

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tƝianҳhaaĶ hôt’niÕࡃ iғ áĶçii teiҲyoonohҲ-oҲ hot-niҲiiiҲoo-3iҲ. child-PL so.that-grow.well(AI)-3PL so that the children grow well. K3

niisaĶtôx bäখiaĶ niisaĶtôx bätabÕࡅ ғhaaĶ bƯăxǎyƗғ Ķ niisootox behҲeihohoҲ, niisootox betebihohoҲ, seven old.men seven old.women biiҲoxuyoo, Found.in.the.grass Seven old men, seven old women, Found-in-the-Grass,

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naਏ’äätäғ ätaĶna noh heeteetoo-no, and myth-PL and all the myths, häĶtíxiiçetin hinentänƯi hänäätc xƗғ ĶyeinaĶ hinenteenii[t] heeneecxooyeihiinoo-Ҳ. heetih-Ҳi3etini-Ҳ so.that-good(II)-0S population whatever.age(II)-0S may they be for the good of the people of all ages.  ʹǣ  K4

tciitcäғ ĶsE nän‫ۓ‬ғE nénihiiçaĶ ciҲ-ceeseҲ neneeҲ ne-nihii3oo; also-one it 1S-thing.said There is something else I mention;

K5

niitcƯnƟtcÕࡃ nғ E tih'niisaĶtaxöғ i tciibäғ äĶtinaĶ tih-niisootoxei-Ҳi ciibeet-ino, when-seven(II)-0PL sweatlodge-PL When there were seven sweatlodges at Sand Creek,1 nii-cii-neciini-Ҳ

IMPERF-NEG-water(II)-0S

K 6a

hÕࡃ iғ cƱ nanaxkǎni hiitҳwa HiisiҲ nonohku-nihiit-owoo, day with-say(TI)-1S And I say this in conjunction with the day,

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K 6b

niitcÕࡃ hғ aĶhaĶ nanaxkǎғ ni hiitҳwaĶ niiciihoho nonohku-nihiit-owoo, rivers with-say(TI)-1S I say this in conjunction with rivers,

K 6c

nah୹ biitaƗғ wu noh biitoҲowuҲ, and earth And with the earth,

1. It is unclear exactly what this remark refers to. Seven, along with four, is a sacred number among the Arapaho. The Sand Creek referred to is in southeast Colorado.

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häĶtí tciixaĶ anখinaĶ kanƗanӕçƗbä heetih-ciixoҲoneihiinoo-Ҳ konooҲono3oobe-Ҳ2 so.that-chased.far.away(II)-1P plague/illness(II)-0S may sickness be removed far away.  K7

 ͵ǣ  nôçan näbêciwaĶ hiiciís nƯhantcäࡅ bÕࡅ ғsäĶ no3oon nebesiiwoo! hiisiis, niihoon-cebisee-n, instead grandfather! sun yellow-walk(AI)-2S Instead, Grandfather! the sun, you who walk yellow, tcixtakaĶhabখiäĶ tciਏ awu naneíäĶ tciਏ ҳwu nanín cih-Ҳowouunon-eiҲee! cih-tokoohob-eiҲee! to.here-look.upon(TA)-1PL to.here-take.pity(TA)-1PL cih-Ҳowouunon-in! to.here-take.pity(TA)-3 look down at us! have mercy on us! have mercy on him!

K8

näғ hä hanҳxaä bäyaĶ yêniiçäࡅ ғ äknjࡂt beeyoo yenii3eҲeekuu-t, neheҲ honohҲe this young.man perfectly stand.towards.there(AI)-3S May this young man facing straight off in that direction to the east bäࡃ ғ bäࡅ (t) (h)äĶtí-n‫ۓ‬äࡅ nƱhƯínäĶ tcäbixaĶtaĶ íinäätÕࡃ iғ t

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hiineҲetiit. beebeet heetih-neeҲee-nihiҲnee-cebixoot-oҲ just so.that-thus-intense-walk.through(TI)-3S life be helped to walk steadily in his life.

K9

 Ͷǣ   hixtcäࡅ bää niiçখi naha ‫ۓ‬äࡅ ғ sëࡅ hiin bƯikáĶ biikoo, hihcebeҲ nii3eiҲ-nohҲeeseihi-n above how.many-illuminated(AI)-2S at.night To all those that shine above at night,

2. The literal meaning of this form (not recognized by current speakers) seems to be ‘difficult breathing’. Cf. hoowu-3oow- ‘breath’, with the final element shared in common with the form in the prayer (3oob-), followed by a common II final, -ee-.

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tcäsEëࡅ ғ hi täғ tcäE näࡅ ғ nƯhänÕࡅ ғhi nƯƱhÕࡃ çғ än ceseҲeihii teceҲ neniihenihi-Ҳ niihii3-een. animals night owned(II)-0S say.to(TA)-1PL/2S to the animals by whom the night is owned, we pray to you.3 K 10

naĶkáǂު naĶ nƝix··äғ Ķ tcix’tcäࡅ äࡅ ғ tƯ nookoox noh neixoo! cih-cehҲe3tii-Ҳ! morning.star and my.father! to.here-listen(AI)-2PL Morning Star and Father! Listen! häĶyaĶtcƗғ aĶ hƗĶwăçƗғ Ķwu bänäêsaĶ hiinäätÕࡃ iғ t heeyooceiҲoo-Ҳ hoowu3oow, beneesoo-Ҳ hiineҲetiit, long.time(II)-0S breath big(AI)-0S life For long breath and a full life, (h)äniihixtcaĶwayeitiçänä heniҲ-hihcowooyeiti3-eenee.

INSTR-pray.upwards(TA)-1PL/2PL

We are praying to you. K 11a

naha anҳxaä naxkûࡃ ғ ûhû iniitaéinaĶ hänäĶçaĶ৒ûwit nohkuuhuҲ hini-itoҲei-no noh honohҲe and young.man with 3S-relative-OBV.PL heenee3oҲouwu-t, however.related(AI)-3S And may this young man, with all his relatives

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häĶti naxkǎғ nii tcäbƱғsät h‫ۓ‬Ķ tíçƝti heetih-nohku-niҲi-cebisee-t heet-i3eti-Ҳ; so.that-with-good-walk(AI)-3S where-good(II)-0S do well and be walking where it is good; K 11b

bƯƱçÕࡅ ғb tcƯiyƗғ aĶ bäĶçiyáĶ hƱwăxuhƗғ x bii3ib ciiyoow, bee3iyoo, hiwoxhoox food surplus possession horse where there is plenty of food, clothing,

3. The nouns in 9 and 12 are singular, as are the verbs, but in most cases I translate them as plural.

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häғ äĶt tc‫ۓ‬äĶtcƟƱғxăĶäࡅ heet-cee-ceҲexoneih[i-t] where-REDUP-different.colors(AI)-3S and many horses of different colors, K 11c

nîÕࡂ hғ i h‫ۓ‬ĶtnÕࡃ äғ ࡅ tô௬ ûhût niiҲeihii heet-niҲetouuhu-t, bird where-call.good(AI)-3S where birds sing sweetly,

K 11d

hÕࡃ ғ ƱcƱ kanôûtáĶtäĶ hiisiҲ konoutootee-Ҳ, day last.long.time(II)-0S where the day is long

K 11e

häĶtÕࡅ ғçƟti äseisƟn heseisen. heet-i3eti-Ҳ where-good(II)-0S wind and where the wind is good.  ͷǣ 

K 12a

tcäsäëғ ਏii naxǎғ tăĶƗĶwnjû häĶçӃnaĶaĶwûinƯihÕࡅ ғn ceseҲeihii noҲxuutoҲowu-uҲ hee3eiҲ-nohҲoowuuniihi-n, animal on.land-LOC how.many-move.on.land(AI)-2S You all animals who move across the ground,4

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K 12b

tcäsëäғ ਏii içaĶwăƗĶwûғ û näࡅ ғ tci hԅnƱtƗғ aĶtăw heenitoot-ow, ceseҲeihii hi3oowoҲowu-uҲ, nec-iҲ animal under.ground-LOC water-LOC located.there(TI)-2S animals who live underground, and animals who live in the water, tcƱxtcäࡅ häࡃ ғ çƱtƯ tci’bähiicitcäࡅ hääࡅ ғ çitiit cih-cehҲe3tii! cih-behiis-cehҲe3tii-Ҳ! to.here-listen(AI) to.here-all-listen(AI)-2PL Listen to me! You, all, listen to me!

4. The most literal sense of the Arapaho is ‘you animal who move across the ground’, but this is used in the same way that English the person who is ill doesn’t feel well can effectively mean ‘people who are ill don’t feel well’.

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K 13

COWELL

nähää çiaĶkúit näníi tawuinখinäĶ hƯÕࡅ ғçetƱni nƯƱcƱxÕࡃ iғ t neheҲ 3iiҲookuut neniiitowuun-einee hii3etini-Ҳ niisihҲiit. this stand(AI)-3S ask.for.s.t.(TA)-3S/2PL good(II)-0S name The one, who is standing here, is asking you for the name that would be good.  ͸ǣ

K 14a

tƝiaĶnҳhăă hänäätc’xaĶyখhin teiҲyoonohҲ-oҲ heeneecxooyeihi-n, child-PL whatever.age(AI)-2S Children, of whatever age you are,

K 14b

hanáxaä hÕࡅ ғsƝi hiitƟғ iaĶ hänäätc’xƗĶyখhin hiseihiiteiҲyoo heeneecxooyeihi-n, honohҲe, young.man girl whatever.age(AI)-2S young men and young women of whatever age you are,

K 14c

bäࡅ täࡅ bÕࡅ ғ bäxäখi hänäätc’xƗĶyখhƱn tci bäࡅ ުtcäࡅ häࡅ äࡅ ғ ç tii betebi, behҲeihehiҲ heeneecxooyeihi-n, old.woman old.man whatever.age(AI)-2S cih-beh-cehҲe3tii-Ҳ! to.here-all-listen(AI)-2PL old women, old men of whatever age you are, you, all listen to me!

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nƗĶhҳbä nähä ănҳxăä niäࡃ ғ ‫ۓ‬näࡅ ғ bä háwuunҳnä niҲeeneb-eҲ! noohob-eҲ! neheҲ honohҲe see(TA)-2PL this young.man like(TA)-2PL howouunon-eҲ! have.mercy.on(TA)-2PL Look at this young man! Do him good! Be kind to him! K 15

bänäғ ätaĶ bäࡅ h’Ɲiäࡅ ĶhখnƱt beneetoh-behҲeihehiini-t. want.to-be.old.man(AI)-3S He desires to be an old man.

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Arapaho

 K 16

111

 ͹ǣ  bäniinƟғ naĶ nääniic tƗғ nä nҳhăă nҳxăäࡅ tcixtakaĶhҳbäĶ beniiinen-no neeneistoo-nee, neheҲ member.of.organization-PL whatever.do(AI)-2PL this honohҲe cih-tokoohob-eҲ! young.man to.here-look.down.on(TA)-2PL Men of whatever Age Society you are, look at this young man!

K 17a

hiiciíc teࡅ ғ ianäĶ häĶteiçƗғ näĶ Hiisiis TeiҲyooneheҲ heet-ii3-oonee5 sun child FUT-say.to(TA)-2PL/3 Call him Sun Child

K 17b

haĶçiäࡃ ғ ĶwaĶnƱғi hoo3iҲeew-ooneiҲi, ask.to.do.s.t.(TA)-2PL/3.ITER whenever you give him commands,

K 17c

häĶtƱғçaĶnƝi heeti3-ooneiҲi call.to(TA)-2PL/3.ITER whenever you invite him to your place,

K 17d

haĶx··ҳwaĶnƝi

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hooxow-ooneiҲi, feed(TA)-2PL/3.ITER whenever you give him food, K 17e

nänei aĶhҳwaĶnƝi neneiҲoohow-ooneiҲi, look.at(TA)-2PL/3.ITER whenever you see him,

K 17f

hiitäғ xaĶnei hiitex-ooneiҲi come.upon/meet(TA)-2PL/3.ITER whenever you meet him.

5. The verbs -ii- ‘say’ (AI), -ii3- ‘say to’ (TA), and -iit- ‘say’ (TI) are all aberrant in Arapaho in that they do not take initial epenthetic n after the future tense prefix heet-/hoot-.

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 K 18 

K 19

COWELL

 ͺǣ hiiciic tƝhianäғ hä haĶtanÕࡃ Ʊғ çӃn, hôtc‫ ۓ‬Õࡅ ғtin hƝităখit‫ۓ‬Ķ Hiisiis Tei஛yoonehe஛ hooton-ni஛ii3eihi-n, hot-cee஛itii-n FUT-called(AI)-2S so.that-distribute(AI)-2S sun child he-ito஛eiteen. 2S-band Sun Child, thus you will be called, in order that you can provide better for your kin.6 näࡃ ғ äࡅ cÕࡅ ғhƱƱn wƗғ Ķwux hƱtäࡅ naĶ woow, hiten-oo! neeҲeesihҲi-n thus.named(AI)-2S now take(TI)-0S You have your name now, take it!

K 20

hanaĶsaatiitcaӕtäĶyaĶ nänääçƗғ aĶtäĶ (h)Õࡂࡃ iғ t Honoosootii-coҲoteyoo-Ҳ nenee3ootee-‚ hiit, rain-mountain(II)-0S remain.behind(II)-0S here Rainy Mountain remains behind here,

K 21

hiiciic tëhiaĶnäғ ä n‫ۓ‬Ķtcäࡅ naުkஎtcƟғ çƝiaĶ h‫ۓ‬nƯƱcƱh’Õࡃ iғ t Hiisiis TeiҲyooneheҲ neece-nohku-ce3eiҲoo he-niisihҲiit. sun.child go.on-with-depart(AI) 2S-name Go forth in life now with your name, Sun Child!



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K 22

 ͻǣ   neix··aĶ hixtcäғ bä niáĶçaĶ säĶiçÕࡃ Ưғ xahun neixoo hihcebeҲ nihҲoo3oo seeҲi3iixohu-n! my.father! above white.man/trickster crucified(AI)-2S Father Christ in Heaven,

K 23

neix··aĶ h৒u tcäĶíibät nƯƟғ hi niiҲeihii; neixoo houu, ceeҲiibee-t my.father! God have.round.beak(AI)-3 bird/eagle Father Creator, and the Thunderbird;

6. Names were often changed to change an individual’s fortunes, bringing better health or success in life.

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wƗғ Ķwux näniităbänä woow neniitobee-nee. now hear.something(AI)-2PL now you have all heard it. K 24

wăĶhëғ i wƗғ Ķwஎx h‫ۓ‬ĶƱnҳn‫ۓ‬n bäғ äni Wohei, woow heeҲinonee-n, beenii. well now known(AI)-2S friend! Wohei, now they know about you, friend.

Nih‫ތ‬oo3oo and His Friend the Beaver Catcher: Diving through the Ice National Anthropological Archives MSS 2707 and 2708. Collected by Truman Michelson from John Goggles, September 21, 1910. (1) Version for current reservation readers (modern Arapaho orthography, in paragraph format) NihҲoo3oo heҲihҲootii too3iihiҲ niiciiheheҲ. Hinenin heҲihnoҲuseen. HeҲihnoҲuceitooneҲ. “Heebe.” HiiyohouҲ hebii3hiit,” hee3oohok. “Hee,” hee3eihok. “Ceisin heniitou3oo.” Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

“Hee,” hee3oohok hiniitehҲeiho. Noh heҲihbiinee hiniitou3oon, hixonkokuyon. HeҲneҲnohҲohouuhuni3 hohootiҲ. HeҲihҲoneҲeekuun. Noh neheҲ hinen heҲihneeniitouu3eiҲi. Yein heҲihniitouu3eiҲi. Noh yein heҲihnebihce. Noh heҲneҲoowucenoҲoot nuhuҲ woҲowuҲ. HeҲihxooktone3eih. HeҲihҲinowukoo neheҲ hinen, Noh hoo3iihiҲ, hoo3itetoҲ. HeҲihcihbisisee nohkuuhuҲ hebesii hehniisini3i. Noh hee3eihok, “Beenii, hiineҲeenoҲ hebesii. HehҲiiyeihe3,” hee3eihok. “Tousoo?” “NehkoҲyouhu,” hee3eihok hiniitehҲeiho. “Hootneeciseenoo,” hee3eihok.

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Noh heҲneҲce3eiҲooni3.

(2) Scholarly version Each numbered line of the text (line numbers and divisions are supplied by the editor) contains the following components: Michelson’s original transcription, in angle brackets; a modern retranscription, with stems and affixes set off by dashes; glossing of stems and affixes; and a free translation. In the original transcription, all orthographic symbols reproduce those in Michelson’s manuscript. In the modern retranscription, square brackets indicate elements added by the editors that are required to render the sentence grammatical. In the glosses, “[sic]” after an element indicates that it is ungrammatical; in all cases, this involves use of affirmative inflections on verbs which have the prefix heҲih-, which requires nonaffirmative inflections.

M1

níhaĶþaĶ hĊƯâdƯ dǀþƯ níjƯi too3iihiҲ niicii[heh-eҲ]. nihҲoo3oo heҲih-Ҳootii trickster NPAST-camp(AI) near river-LOC Nih‫ތ‬oo3oo was camping near a river.

M2

hinäғ nin hĊࡃ ƯnânjseĶ hinen-in heҲih-noҲusee-[n]. man-OBV NPAST-arrive(AI)-4S A man arrived.

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M3

hĊࡃ ƯnâĂjƝdânéA heҲih-noҲu-ceitoon-eҲ. NPAST-VENT-visit(TA)-4/3S The man had come to visit him.

M4

hâbää heebe. hello.friend “Hello friend,” said the man.

M5

hƯyAhAuu hebƝþÕࡃ tғ . hĊࡃ þâhuk he-bii3hiit, hee3-oohok. hiiyohou-Ҳ there.is.none(II)-0S 2S-food say.to(TA)-3S/4 “There is nothing here for you to eat,” Nih‫ތ‬oo3oo said to him.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Arapaho

M6

115

hĊࡃ hĊþÕࡃ hғ uk, hee, hee3-eihok. yes say.to(TA)-4/3S “Yes,” the man said to Nih‫ތ‬oo3oo.

M7

jখsin hƝnƯtAnjþâ ceis-in he-niitou3oo. bring(TA)-3 2S-whistle “Bring your whistle,” the man said to Nih‫ތ‬oo3oo.

M8

hĊࡃ , hĊþƯhuk hinƯdde·Õࡃ hғ â hini-itehҲei-ho; hee, hee3-oohok yes say.to(TA)-3S/4 3S-friend-OBV “Yes,” Nih‫ތ‬oo3oo said to his friend.

M9

nâ hĊࡂ·ibƯine hƝnƯit୾Anjþҩn ͹ hixkonkoknjiyaĶ hi-niitou3oo-n, hixon-kokuy-o[n] noh heҲih-biin-ee and NPAST-give(TA)-3S/4 3S-whistle-OBV bone-whistle-OBV And he gave him his whistle, a bone whistle.

M 10

henäғ enaahAnjhiniþ hAhât heҲneҲ-nohҲohouuhu-ni3 hohoot-[iҲ]. then-climb.upward(AI)-4S tree-LOC Then the man climbed up into a tree.8

M 11

hĊࡃ ғ ·ƯnAnâ·Ɲ·gú heҲih-ҲoneҲeekuu-[n].

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NPAST-stand.bent.down-4S

It stood bent over.

7. The t in this word has a small d written above it. 8. It is possible that ‘tree’ (without locative marking) should be in the following sentence, in which case it could be treated as proximate, and the obviative (“fourth person”) singular marking would not be needed on the verb of 11. Grammatically, however, it would be very strange to treat the tree as proximate for a single line, when otherwise Nih’oo3oo is consistently treated as proximate and his friend as obviative throughout this narrative. Semantically, it would also seem strange to say ‘he climbed upwards’ without specifying into what, and then introduce ‘tree’ in the next sentence (‘a tree was standing bent over [the water]’) though this is certainly possible.

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M 12

nҩ nehe inén hĊࡃ ·ƯnĊࡃ ғ e nƯtAnjþƯd noh neheҲ hinen heҲi-nee-niitouu3ei-t. And this man NPAST-REDUP-whistle(AI)-3S And [when he got up there], that's when he blew the whistle.

M 13

yƝinhĊࡃ ·Ư nƯt୾AnjþÕࡃ dғ ͻ yein heҲi-niitouu3ei-t. four.[times] NPAST-whistle(AI)-3S He blew the whistle four times.

M 14

nâ yখn hƝ·ƯnebƯjA noh yein heҲih-nebihce. and four [times] NPAST-make.as.if.to.jump(AI) And four times he made as if to jump.

M 15

nâ hĊİneâwAjénât nnjғ hǎ wââwஎ noh heҲneҲ-oowucenoҲoo-t nuhuҲ woҲow-uҲ. and then-jump.down(AI)-3S this ice-LOC And then he jumped down on the ice.

M 16

hĊࡃ AƯx ҕâkdAneþÕࡃ oғ heҲih-xook-tone3eih-oҲ. NPAST-through-break.hole(TI)-3S [sic] He broke a hole through the ice.

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M 17

hĊࡃ ғ iinÁwugâ ne·i· hinén neheҲ hinen, heҲih-Ҳinowukoo NPAST- quickly.disappear.below.the.surface(AI) this man The man quickly disappeared below the water.

M 18

nâ x ҕҩþƯi hҩþdetu. noh hoo3iihiҲ, hoo3-itet-[oҲ]. and later later-reach(TI)-3S And a while later, he reached [the hole] again.

M 19

hĊࡃ ijibisísse nâxgnju hébesi hĊnƯғsiniþƯ heҲih-cih-bisisee

NPAST-to.here-appear(AI)

nohkuuhuҲ hebes-ii with beaver-OBV.PL

9. The t in this word has a small d written above it.

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heh-niisi-ni3i. NUM-two(AI)-4PL He reappeared with two beavers. M 20

nҩheþÕࡃ hғ ok bĊࡃ ғ nƯ hƯne·änҩA hébesƯ noh hee3-eihok, beenii, hiineҲee-noҲ hebes-ii. and say.to(TA)-4/3S friend! here.are-PL beaver-PL And he said to Nih‫ތ‬oo3oo, “Friend, here are two beavers!”

M 21

hƝyƯhéþ heþÕࡃ hғ ok hee3-eihok. heh-Ҳiiyeih-e3 2S.SUGG-do.favor(TA)-1S say.to(TA)-4/3S “Let me do you a favor,” his friend said to him.

M 22

dAnjғ saĶ tousoo? how.be(II) “How's that?” asked Nih‫ތ‬oo3oo.

M 23

neko·ynjhu heþƯhok hƯnƯde·Õࡃ hғ â neh-koҲyouhu, hee3-eihok hini-itehҲei-ho. EMPH-put.in.kettle(AI) say.to(TA)-4/3S 3S-friend-OBV “You better cook them [before you eat them],” his friend said to him.

M 24

hâtnĊࡃ jisenâ heþÕࡃ hғ ok

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hoot-neecisee-noo, hee3-eihok. FUT-go.on(AI)-1S say.to(TA)-4/3S “I'm going to go on,” the visitor said to him. M 25

nâ hĊnejéþƯâniþ noh heҲneҲ-ce3eiҲoo-ni3. and then-depart(AI)-4S And then he set off on his way.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Highlighting Rhetorical Structure through Syntactic Analysis: An Illustrated Meskwaki Text by Alfred Kiyana

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Amy Dahlstrom 1. Introduction. The study of Algonquian languages and their Algic relatives in California has traditionally involved not only face-to-face elicitation with speakers but also the collection of texts, as the chapters in this volume attest. For the Plains dialect of Cree, for example, we are fortunate to have not only Bloomfield’s two published volumes (Bloomfield 1930, 1934) but also the recent series of volumes edited by H.C. Wolfart and Freda Ahenakew (e.g. Wolfart and Ahenakew 2000). For Meskwaki (Fox) there is the enormous corpus of texts written early in the twentieth century in the Meskwaki syllabary, now stored in the National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. About half the corpus of approximately twenty thousand pages was produced by Alfred Kiyana, an extremely accomplished writer, as the discussion of syntactic and rhetorical features below demonstrates.1 The text presented here is by Kiyana and includes ten illustrations drawn by him.2 Despite the textual resources available for at least some of the languages of the family, it can be daunting for scholars to make use of this material. Bloomfield’s Cree volumes, for example, present pages of Cree on the left, arranged into paragraphs, with paragraphs of English translation on the opposing pages, with no glossing of individual words. A linguist investigating a specific issue (e.g., is there a basic, unmarked word order for Cree?) cannot easily see the patterns of interest. Moreover, questions of artistry and rhetorical style, the sorts of issues explored by Hymes’s work on ethnopoetics (e.g. Hymes 1981) are masked by the denseness of the paragraphs. In the text presented here, therefore, I have chosen to present the Meskwaki in 1. Thomason’s chapter in this volume presents a text by another Meskwaki writer, Bill Leaf, who was evidently less skilled in storytelling. 2. The text is National Anthropological Archive manuscript number 2664–2. The late Adeline Wanatee provided insight in the meaning of numerous items in the text, for which I am very grateful. Many thanks also to Ives Goddard for extensive discussion of all aspects of this text and to Lucy Thomason for shedding light on some of the remaining lexical puzzles.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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119

short lines of roughly a clause apiece, with glosses of stems, inflectional material, and uninflected words. Segmenting the text in this way throws into relief a number of formal patterns, both syntactic and rhetorical. The discussion below gives a sense of the richness of information that can be gleaned from the text, once its patterns are brought to light. The Meskwaki syllabary does not write vowel length or h, two phonemic features of the language. Nor does the syllabary make use of punctuation other than a word boundary symbol. In editing the text I have therefore indicated the contrast between long and short vowels and inserted h where needed; all punctuation marks are likewise supplied by me. A syntactic issue that arises in editing texts written with no punctuation is how to determine clause boundaries—how does one know whether a given noun should be taken to be an argument of the preceding verb or of the following verb? I have discussed this question and other related issues elsewhere (Dahlstrom 2006), as well as the puzzle of determining what sort of clause each clause is— whether it is a main clause, an adverbial clause, a relative clause and so on. These problems are not only practical ones, for the editor of a text, but also problems with real theoretical consequences, for the syntactic analysis of the language itself and for crosslinguistic typological comparison. The text under examination here is me·hkate·wi·ta našawaye neniwa ‘A man who fasted long ago’ (Kiyana 1912) and is presented in full at the end of this chapter. Briefly, the story tells of a young man who fasts for a vision and who receives a blessing from the thunderers. He gains the ability to predict the weather and to know when someone will die; he furthermore is protected in war by the thunderers. After ten years of traveling with a friend he sets out alone to fast again. He ends up stranded on an iceberg, from which he is rescued by an eagle. Back home he fasts again, and this time has an encounter with an evil spirit (maþi-maneto·ha) who offers him a staff which will allow him to kill people, to succeed in war, and to have any woman that he desires. Just as the hero accepts the staff, the thunderers appear and kill the evil spirit with lightning. The thunderers tell the hero to stop fasting, get married and to make a drum with which to cure people. The hero does these things, but his story ends badly. Women are envious of his wife; a woman causes the hero’s death by violating a menstrual taboo; then their son also meets an early death, apparently caused by people who know bad medicine. Finally an evil spirit causes the grief-stricken widow to go insane: the formerly morally upright woman exposes herself in public and is an object of ridicule before she herself dies. Though Kiyana does not explicate the reasons for the tragedies which

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befall the hero and his family, we may speculate that it is the hero’s acceptance of the staff which brings about the later events. The story thus manifests a larger theme, seen in other stories by Kiyana, of the hazards of fasting too long: one needs to know when to cease from the pursuit of mystical powers lest one encounter malevolent, dangerous spirits (cf. the texts presented in Dahlstrom 1996, 2003, among others). A striking feature of this text is Kiyana’s ten illustrations. See below for discussion of how Kiyana’s comments about the drawings differ linguistically from his narration; much more could be said about the illustrations themselves but that is beyond the scope of the present chapter. 2. Syntactic phenomena. I turn now to a consideration of some of the syntactic constructions found in the text which the clause-by-clause presentation allows us to observe. Most clauses in the text exhibit very simple structure: some consist only of a verb, others of a verb plus a single argument. Such clauses may also have a conjunction or adverb (or both) appearing clause-initially. Consider, for example, the passage in (1).3

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(1)

e·hso·kihto·þi oþi·ma·ni, e·hašike·þi. o·ni ki·šike·þi, e·hni·sa·wata·soþi. o·ni e·h-so·kiht-o·þi o-þi·ma·n-i, e·h-ašike·-þi. AOR-tie-3>0/AOR 3-canoe-SG AOR-build.house-3/AOR and IC-ki·šike·-þi, e·h-ni·sa·wata·so-þi. IC-finish.build.house-3/CH.C AOR-take.down.one’s.things-3/AOR He tied up his canoe, and built a house. And after he built his house, he unloaded his things. [12V–13C]

The subject of all four clauses is the young man who is the hero of the story. Since the character has already been introduced, the agreement morphology on the verbs functions as a pronominal subject in all four clauses. The only noun in this passage is oþi·ma·ni ‘his canoe’, which appears to the right of the verb in the first clause of (1) in the canonical position for overt noun phrase (NP) objects which are neither topic nor focus, as discussed further below. Additional examples of clauses containing only a single argument are seen in the sections below. It is worth noting here, however, that an NP in construction with a verb can be used to indicate only a portion of a plural argument, as in 28F and (2). 3. See the “Abbreviations and conventions” at the end of this chapter for the format of examples and for abbreviations used in grammatical glosses. All examples in this chapter are from the text; their locations are indicated in brackets at the end of examples.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

(2)

121

o·ni e·ha·mi·wa·þi owi·hka·nani o·ni e·h-a·mi·-wa·þi ow-i·hka·n-ani and.then AOR-move.camp-3P/AOR 3-friend-OBV And then he and his friend moved camp. [10I]

Note that owi·hka·nani ‘his friend’ is singular and obviative while the verb is inflected for a third person proximate plural subject, resulting in a gloss of ‘he and his friend’. Since the plural set includes the proximate third person, the hero of the story, the plural inflection on the verb is proximate as well. (Obviation is discussed further below.) Another frequently encountered construction in this and other Meskwaki texts is an equational sentence with a zero copula. Within the present text, the explanations of the various illustrations typically take this form, as in (3). (3)

ma·haniþa·hi e·yohayo·þini ma·hani=þa·hi IC-ayoh-ay-o·þini. these.INAN=so IC-REDUP-use-3>0/PART/0P And these are the things that he used. [6B]

The demonstrative pronoun on the left side is equated to the headless relative clause on the right side. 2.1. Overt topics. In Meskwaki, as in many other languages, a new or shifted discourse topic may be announced with an overt NP at the very beginning of a sentence. For example, in (4) the hero introduces a new topic in his conversation with the evil spirit, departing from the previous topic which was the thunderers who had blessed him earlier:

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(4)

na·hka ketiwa, meneseki e·hawiya·ni, nepye·nekwa. na·hka ketiw-a, menes-eki e·h-awi-ya·ni, also eagle-ANIM.SG island-LOC AOR-be.there-1/AOR ne-pye·n-ekwa. 1-bring-3>1/IND And also an eagle, when I was on an island, he brought me back. [20A–C]

The topic position is outside the clause proper, as can be seen from the fact that a temporal adverbial clause containing no reference to the eagle (meneseki e·hawiya·ni ‘when I was on an island’) intervenes between the topic and the main clause in (4). Topic shifts sometimes co-occur with a shift in proximate status, as in (5).

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(5)

i·nikike·hi, “aya·pami·yakwe ki·hnawaþi-memekwatahwa·pena,” e·hiyowa·þi. i·niki=ke·hi, “aya·pami·-yakwe those.PROX.ANIM=moreover go.back-21/SUBJNCT ke-i·h-nawaþi–memekwatahw-a·pena,” e·h-iy-owa·þi. 2-FUT-stop.to–beat.up-21>3/IND AOR-say.thus-3P/AOR And those [Sioux]: “When we go back we’ll stop to beat him up,” they said. [13L–M]

Earlier in the story this group of Sioux is referred to with obviative NPs but here, where their speech and point of view are represented, they gain proximate status. Obviative NPs, however, may also appear as overt topics; a·hkwamataminiþihi ‘those (obv.) who were sick’ in 5E is an example. 2.2. Focused elements. Another discourse function associated with material to the left of the verb is focus.4 An NP in focus appears to the right of a negative word, if there is one, and to the left of an oblique argument, if present. The clearest examples of focused elements are found when two participants are contrasted with each other. For example, in (6) the emphatic pronoun ni·na ‘I’ is in focus position, expressing the contrast between the father’s view that the hero is already a good warrior (expressed earlier in 17A) and the hero’s own assessment.

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(6)

a·kwiþa·hni·na pašimeko-we·ta·se·we·netama·nini ni·yawi. a·kwi=þa·hi=ni·na paši–=meko –we·ta·se·we·net-ama·nini not=so=I at.all–=EMPH –consider.O.warrior-1>0/NEG ni·yawi. myself But I don’t even consider myself a warrior at all. [17C]

Another example can be seen in (7), where the hero is contrasted with his friend.5 (7)

wi·na e·hpwa·wi-owi·wiþi wi·na e·h-pwa·wi–owi·wi-þi he AOR-not–have.wife-3/AOR

4. More specifically, the discourse function associated with the position between negative elements and oblique arguments is argument-focus, in the typology of Lambrecht 1994. 5. Independent personal pronouns such as ni·na ‘I’ and wi·na ‘he/she’ are exclusively used for the discourse functions of topic and focus (Dahlstrom 1988).

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[One of the two young men got married] but the other didn’t marry . . . [12D]

Also frequently found in focus position are indefinite pronouns such as owiye·ha ‘someone, anyone’, as in (8). (8)

. . . a·kwi owiye·hani ki·wi-wi·te·ma·wa·þini. . . . a·kwi owiye·h-ani ki·wi–wi·te·m-a·wa·þini. not someone-OBV around–accompany-3P>3ƍ/NEG . . . they didn’t travel with anyone else. [11G]

Similar examples may be found in 20P, 21M, 22Q, and 23P.

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2.3. Position of obliques. Oblique arguments in Meskwaki nearly always appear immediately to the left of the verb. There are numerous examples of this pattern in the text excerpt considered here, exemplifying a range of semantic types of obliques. For example, (9) and (10) each contain an oblique argument expressing stationary location. (9)

mešemeko·nahi taši-nesekwihkapa i·ni mehtekwi, . . . mehtekwi, . . . meše=meko=i·nahi taši–nes-ekwihkapa i·ni any=EMPH=there there–kill-0>2/POT that.INAN stick-SG That staff could kill you, just any place, . . . [24O]

(10)

ahpemekiþa·hi awiwaki ke·teminawiþiki. IC-keteminaw-iþiki. ahpemeki=þa·hi awi-waki up.above=so be.there-3P/IND IC-bless-3P>1/PART/3P For the ones that blessed me live up above. [19J]

Obliques are often associated with a “relative root” initial or preverb, such as taši- ‘there’ in 24O (the initial form of this relative root is tan-). However awi- ‘be (there)’ in 19J demonstrates that it is also possible for verbs to be subcategorized for an oblique argument without containing a relative root morpheme. Other semantic types of obliques may be seen in 11I with an oblique expressing goal of motion (relative root in- as initial, iši as preverb), 15B with a source oblique (relative root ot-/oþi), 1E and all other clauses with quoting verbs, which take the quote as an oblique argument of manner (the manner relative root is homophonous with the goal of motion relative root: in-/iši), 8L, which contains an oblique expressing extent (relative root ahpi·ht-), 20M, with an oblique expressing length (ahkw-), 12Q, with an oblique of number (tasw-), and 12T, with an oblique of size (inekihkw-).

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As stated above, obliques nearly always appear immediately to the left of the verb in Meskwaki, but see the discussion below of chiastic word order for an instance of an oblique appearing to the right of the verb. 2.4. Postverbal constituents. In contrast to the oblique arguments, whose unmarked position is to the left of the verb, the unmarked position for all nonoblique arguments—subject, object, second object, and complement clauses—to the right of the verb. Numerous examples of this pattern can be found in this text excerpt, such as (11) which contains a verb followed by a direct object. (11)

ašemeko e·hki·wi-wa·patamowa·þi kehþikami·wi. aše=meko e·h-ki·wi–wa·pat-amowa·þi kehþikami·w-i. just=EMPH AOR-around–look.at-3P>0/AOR great.lake-SG They just went around looking at the great lake [probably Lake Michigan]. [11H]

In the examples discussed above we have also seen a postverbal object in 12V and 17C and postverbal subjects in 10I, 24O, and 19J. Example (12) demonstrates the preference for complement clauses to follow the matrix verb. Within the complement clause, we see a transitive subject following the verb.

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(12)

. . . e·hkehke·netama·ni e·hkemo·temiwa·tehe aša·haki. . . . e·h-kehke·net-ama·ni e·h-kemo·tem-iwa·tehe AOR-know-1>0/AOR AOR-steal.O2.from-3P>1/PAST.AOR aša·h-aki Sioux-PL . . . I realized that the Sioux had stolen it from me. [15J]

The generalization that the unmarked position for nonobliques is after the verb thus accounts for both levels of this embedded structure. Note, however, that if a matrix verb contains the manner relative root in-/iši ‘thus’ the clausal argument bears the oblique grammatical function and therefore appears to the left of the verb, as in (13). (13)

ašemekopi wi·ha·þimoniþi e·hine·nema·þi aše=meko=ipi wi·h-a·þimo-niþi e·h-ine·nem-a·þi just=EMPH=HRSY FUT-narrate-3ƍ/AOR AOR-think.thus.of-3>3ƍ/AOR because, it’s said, he just wanted him to tell the story [7H]

Clauses with two lexical arguments appearing to the right of the verb are much less frequent than those with one or zero lexical

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arguments but a few instances may be found in our text. For example, in (14) the verb is followed by a subject and what I classify as a second object: the nonsubject argument of an AI+O (animate intransitive plus object) type verb (cf. Dahlstrom 2009). (14)

e·howi·wiþi nekoti e·škimeko-ki·šiki·hiniþini e·h-owi·wi-þi nekoti IC-aški–=meko AOR-have.O2.as.wife-3/AOR one IC-for.first.time–=EMPH –ki·šiki-·hi-niþini –mature-DIM-3ƍ/PART/3ƍ one of them got married to a young girl who had just come of age [12B–C]

See also the discussion below of copying to object for an example of a verb followed by an object and a complement clause. In the text, note line 27K, an unusual example of a proximate second object preceding an obviative first object. 2.5. Discontinuous NPs and discontinuous preverb-verb compounds. Another stylistically marked construction in Meskwaki and other Algonquian languages is the separation of a demonstrative, quantifier, or relative clause from the head noun it modifies, creating a discontinuous structure. This text contains numerous examples of this construction, including the two adjacent lines reproduced in (15). The portions of the split NPs are in bold type.

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(15)

“še·ški mani ki·hawato·pena þi·ma·ni,” e·hiyowa·þi we·þi- i·ni awatawoþi oþi·ma·ni. “še·ški mani ke-i·h-awat-o·pena þi·ma·n-i,” only this.INAN 2-FUT-take.along-21>0/IND canoe-SG IC-oþi– i·ni e·h-iy-owa·þi AOR-say.thus-3P/AOR IC-from– that.INAN –awataw-eþi o-þi·ma·n-i. –take.O’S.O2-X>3/PART/OBL 3-canoe-SG Because they said, “We’ll take only this canoe,” is why his canoe was taken from him. [13N–O]

13O not only contains a discontinuous NP but also exhibits the phenomenon of a preverb appearing syntactically separated from the remainder of its verb. (See Dahlstrom 1995, 2000 for discussion.) The combination of two types of discontinuity in 13M creates a wonderfully complex structure.

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2.6. “Copying to object” matrix verbs. Algonquian languages display a syntactic construction labeled “copying to object” (Frantz 1978, Dahlstrom 1991) or “long distance agreement” (Branigan and MacKenzie 2002), in which a verb requiring a clausal complement, such as ‘think’ or ‘know’, is inflected for an object that agrees with one of the arguments of the lower clause. An excellent example of this construction is seen in (16). (16)

ke·hke·nema·ta owiye·hani na·hina·hi wi·hnepeniþi IC-kehke·nem-a·ta owiye·h-ani na·hina·hi wi·h-nep-niþi IC-know-3>3ƍ/PART/3 someone-OBV when FUT-die-3ƍ/AOR the one who knew when someone would die [12E–F]

Here owiye·hani ‘someone (obv.)’ is both object of the matrix verb ‘know’ and subject of the lower verb ‘die’. Note that the position of the NP suggests that it is indeed the object of the matrix verb: it is to the right of the matrix verb and to the left of the clause-initial adverb na·hina·hi ‘when’, which belongs to the lower clause. In other words, it is not just that the features of owiye·hani have been copied to be realized as object agreement in the higher clause, but rather that the NP itself occupies the object position.

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3. Rhetorical and narrative structure. The discussion so far has considered word order at the clause level and pointed out some of the factors which determine the placement of lexical NPs in relation to the verb of the clause. We turn now to an examination of some of the stylistic features of this text which contribute to its rhetorical or narrative structure. The phenomena discussed below range over more than a single clause, helping to cohere the clauses into episodes, or exhibiting variation between clauses. 3.1. Chiasmus. Elements which ordinarily appear near the left edge of the clause, such as oblique arguments or adverbs, may also in some contexts appear to the right of the verb. The presentation of the text given here highlights such marked word orders. In some cases the unusual position of the adverb or oblique gives rise to chiasmus—socalled because if lines are drawn connecting the recurring elements of each clause the lines will form an X, the Greek letter chi. An example is seen in (17). (17)

. . . ke·htenameko e·hpwa·wi-nepo·hiniþi e·hne·se·niþimeko ke·htena. . . . ke·htena=meko e·h-pwa·wi–nep-o·hi-niþi, truly=EMPH AOR-not–die-DIM-3ƍ/AOR

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e·h-ne·se·-niþi=meko

ke·htena truly . . . and sure enough, they did not die, they recovered indeed. [5G–H]

AOR-live.on-3ƍ/AOR=EMPH

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In the first clause of (17) the adverb ke·htena ‘truly’ is in the typical clause-initial position, while in the following clause it is repeated clause-finally. Note too that the verbs of the two clauses are nearsynonyms: the effect of the chiastic pattern is to highlight the slight difference of the verb of the second clause. Both clauses also contain the emphatic enclitic =meko, which attaches to the first phonological word of each clause: the adverb in 5G and the verb in 5H. Another example of chiasmus, involving oblique arguments and verbs, can be found in the text in 15C–D. 3.2. Lexical families. Other stylistic patterns observable in the text are similar to chiasmus in that they present a configuration of similarity and contrast. The repeated material serves to make the portion of the text cohesive; the part that is different is highlighted and emphasized. We can observe this device at a lexical level, with verb stems containing the same final being used in close proximity. For example, the final -aho ‘paddle’ occurs in pemaho- ‘paddle’ or ‘paddle along’ in 10J and elsewhere, ki·waho- ‘paddle around’ in 11C, inaho- ‘paddle thither’ in 11I, we·paho- ‘start paddling’ in 12P, and anemaho- ‘paddle yonder’ or ‘continue paddling’ in 12Q. These verb stems not only contribute specific lexical meaning to the clauses they appear in but also knit these passages of the text together with the repetition of the final. It is not only finals which may be reiterated for cohesive purposes. The classificatory medial -a·hkw- ‘wood’ appears in 24S, 24U, 25A, and 25D in a passage discussing sticks and trees. Furthermore, the elements manifested as initials or preverbs, depending upon what they combine with, may serve this function as well. Note, for example, the initial ki·w- ‘around’ in 11C, the same initial in 11E two lines down, the preverb ki·wi in 11G and again in 11H. As observed for the finals, repetition of initials and preverbs serves a dual role, providing specific lexical information for each clause and also creating cohesion at the rhetorical level. 3.3. Reduplication. Cohesion may be achieved not only by the repetition of specific lexical elements but also by the repeated use of formal devices, such as reduplication. Meskwaki exhibits two formally distinct reduplicative strategies expressing aspectual notions such as continuing, iterated, or distributed actions (Dahlstrom 1997).

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Reduplication often occurs in clusters of lines, serving the same sort of cohesive function that we observed with the repetition of finals, medials, and initials. See, for example, 24DE, describing the death throes of the bad spirit, and 31F–H, describing men’s efforts to court the hero’s widow. 3.4. Obviation strategies. A well-known feature of Algonquian languages is the distinction within third person of proximate and obviative: in contexts containing more than one third person referent the third person most central to the discourse is referred to with unmarked third person forms (proximate) while the more peripheral third persons are referred to with marked obviative forms. In certain syntactic contexts (e.g., transitive verbs, nouns possessed by a third person) obviation marking is obligatory; in other contexts the speaker or writer has more choice in how to deploy obviation as a stylistic resource. I have discussed in Dahlstrom (1996) and elsewhere that obviation strategies seem to correlate with episode structure: some episodes, at least in Kiyana’s texts, maintain a single character as proximate throughout. Other episodes exhibit multiple proximates, with multiple characters gaining proximate status if the syntax permits it. In the text under discussion here we can observe that the hero’s friend, the one he travels with early on, is nearly equal in proximate status with the hero. In line 8C, which presents the friend’s thoughts, the friend is proximate. Line 12B, which reports the marriage of the hero’s friend, likewise has the friend as proximate. In contrast, the eagle who rescues the stranded hero is introduced as obviative in line 14A and remains obviative throughout (last mentioned in 15D). It is interesting to look at the treatment of the enemy Sioux in terms of obviation. In the account of the hero’s battle exploits (6A–10F) the Sioux are uniformly obviative. The Sioux who steal the hero’s canoe are likewise first mentioned as obviative in 13E. But in 13L—the example of an overt topic discussed above—the Sioux are promoted to proximate status, when the narrator presents what the Sioux must have said. The intransitive verbs of speaking in lines M and N are inflected for proximate subjects; in line O, Kiyana chooses to inflect the verb as having an unspecified subject rather than having the verb agree with the Sioux as subject. The motivation here must be that the object of the verb is the proximate hero: using the unspecified subject form of the verb avoids putting the Sioux back in obviative status at this point in the story. The hero also enjoys proximate status throughout most of the episode in which he encounters the evil spirit, but the assignment of proximate and obviative status shifts briefly at two points: in 19M and

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20N the hero is obviative and the evil spirit is proximate. The verbs in these clauses are quoting verbs, and the preceding quote in each instance conveys important information. In the first instance the hero informs the evil spirit that he has already been blessed by the thunderers; a few pages later, the thunderers bring about the death of the evil spirit. The second point at which there is a brief shift in proximate-obviative status is when the evil spirit begins to tell the hero about the magical powers of the staff he is offering the hero. The hero ends up accepting the staff and the evil spirit’s blessing, which evidently is the cause of the tragedies which later befall the hero and his family. Other brief shifts in proximate-obviative status are described in Dahlstrom (1996) for a different text by Kiyana, functioning in a similar way to draw attention to crucial points in the plot of a story. The last section of the story, about the hero’s marriage and the deaths of the hero and his family, displays some structural differences from the earlier sections, as discussed below. In terms of obviation, multiple characters appear in proximate status: first the hero (27G– 28I), then the wife (28J–29D), then the couple together (29E–30E). In 30G–L the women who hate the wife are proximate; from 30M to 31E the woman, or the woman and man, are proximate. Men trying to court the widowed woman are proximate in 31F–H, the woman returns as proximate in 31I–J, then her son is proximate in 31K–32D. The last lines of the story, 32E–M, have the woman as proximate. 3.5. Textual constituents and narrative voice. Section 2 investigated the arrangement of the constituents of a clause: the position of elements such as subject and oblique with respect to the verb. Stories themselves can be viewed as having constituent structure, with distinct opening and closing formulae and episode structure within the story proper. In the text under consideration here lines 1A–E may be taken as the introduction, with the cluster of particles in 1F, i·niþa·hipi ‘So then, it’s said,’ marking the beginning of the story proper. The end of the story is announced simply by i·ni ‘That’s it’ in 32O. The story itself seems to fall into four sections: the hero’s first fasting and the powers he gains thereby; his journey to the iceberg; his encounter with the evil spirit; his marriage and untimely death. This four-part structure reflects the importance of the culture-number four, evident throughout the story (see 2G, 12G, 22B–D, 27D, etc.) Note that the first three sections end with the thunderers rescuing the hero: first from the Sioux surrounding him, then from the iceberg where he is stranded, then from the evil spirit. In the last section, however, there is no rescue: the hero and his loved ones all die.

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Crosscutting the episode structure of the story itself is a different opposition: Kiyana’s commentary on the illustrations he provides versus clauses advancing the plot. The explanations of the drawings use the proximal demonstratives mani ‘this (inanimate)’ or mana ‘this (animate)’ to refer to the depictions placed below the explanation (e.g. 1I, 2G); when referring back to a picture Kiyana uses i·ni ‘that (inan.)’ (3AB, referring to the picture on the preceding page of Kiyana’s manuscript). These demonstratives reflect Kiyana’s orientation to the drawings as he was producing the text: they are not oriented to the deictic center of the world of the story. Within the story itself there is naturally a distinction between the utterances presented as direct quotations versus the narration: the quotations display the full range of verbal inflection found in face-toface conversation (imperatives, prohibitives, potential verbs, etc.), while the narrative clauses are typically in the aorist conjunct, used for stories that are not one’s own direct experiences. However, at times in the narrative portion of the text Kiyana seems to step out of the role of narrator and provide a more direct comment on the plot. That is, there are clauses within the text that are neither direct quotes attributed to a character in the story nor comments on one of the illustrations, but which nevertheless depart from the convention of using the aorist conjunct to narrate the story. This can be seen most clearly with negated clauses. In the narrative mode, clauses are negated with the negative preverb pwa·wi ‘not’; verbs containing this preverb are inflected in the aorist conjunct (e.g. 8Q). In face-to-face conversation, on the other hand, main clauses are negated with a·kwi ‘not’ plus the negative mode of inflection on the verb. In the earlier portions of the text Kiyana occasionally departs from the narrative voice to speak more directly, using a·kwi for negation rather than pwa·wi (e.g. 11G). The last portion of the text, describing the hero’s marriage and the deaths of the hero and his family, is markedly different from the earlier portions of the story. Most of the instances of clauses containing a·kwi are found on lines 28A–32O of the manuscript; this portion is also noteworthy for the frequent appearance of the hearsay evidential =ipi. In contrast, =ipi is used quite sparingly in the earlier portions of the story, with its evidential function having scope over the entire episode which follows. Together with the multiple-proximate obviation strategy found in this portion of the text, the effect here is to make the last section less like a traditional story and more like face-to-face conversation. 4. Conclusion. The strategy of presenting a text in lines of roughly a clause apiece throws into relief any syntactic deviation from the typical

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pattern of an adverb, verb, and perhaps one argument; moreover, such a presentation points up the instances where the narrator adopts a different voice in the recounting of the story. The juxtaposition of short lines also makes visible the narrator’s use of chiasmus and facilitates the recognition of other rhetorical structures, from the cohesive repetition of elements smaller than a full verb stem to patterns of obviation that may span many clauses. I hope that the commentary above on a sampling of syntactic and discourse-pragmatic issues demonstrates the rich potential of texts for increasing our understanding of the marvelously complex Algonquian languages.

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Abbreviations and conventions Abbreviations. Grammatical abbreviations used here are: 0 inanimate, 0ƍ inanimate obviative, 1 first person, 2 second person, 21 first person inclusive plural, 3 third person animate, 3ƍ (third person) animate obviative, ABSENT absentative, ANIM animate, AOR aorist prefix (on left of word) or aorist conjunct verbal mode (on right of word), AOR.INTERR aorist interrogative, CH.C changed conjunct, CH.INTERR changed interrogative, DIM diminutive, EMPH emphatic, EXCL exclusive (in first person plural), EXPL expletive, FUT future, HRSY hearsay evidential, IC initial change (ablaut of vowel in initial syllable), IND independent indicative, INTERR interrogative, INT.PART interrogative participle, ITER iterative, LOC locative, NEG negative, O object, O2 second object, OBL oblique, OBV obviative, P plural (in glosses of pronominal categories), PART participle, PAST.AOR past aorist conjunct, PERF perfective, PL plural, POT potential, PROHIB prohibitive, PROX proximate, REDUP reduplication, SG singular, SUBJNCT subjunctive, VOC vocative, X unspecified subject. On transitive verbs, subject and object features are separated by “>”: e.g., “1>3” indicates a first person singular subject acting upon an animate third person singular object. Following the indication of subject (and object) agreement, the inflectional mode of the verb is indicated after a slash (e.g., “/CH.C” changed conjunct). Participles, the verb form used in relative clauses, have a further indication of the head of the relative clause (e.g., “3/PART/3”—a participle inflected for a third person singular subject and a third person singular head of the relative clause). Conventions and symbols. In the line numbering of the text as presented here, numerals (1, 2, etc.) correspond to pages of the original manuscript; roughly clause-level units are identified by letters (1A, 1B, etc.) Kiyana’s descriptions of his illustrations are set off here by extra indentation and spacing (not in the manuscript). These descriptions are sometimes separated from the illustrations, as is the case for figures 7 and 8 in this text. Possibly in such cases he first drew the picture and then went back and filled the space remaining above it with text.

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In the lines of text, the italicized first line is essentially the syllabic text transliterated with roman orthography, with vowel length and h indicated, and with punctuation supplied. The word boundary symbol of the syllabic text is rendered by a space between words, or a hyphen between preverb and verb (or between prenoun and noun). No technical linguistic symbols (e.g., = for clitic boundary) appear in the first line, in order to keep it as readable as possible for native speakers. The second line of each clause provides a full indication of boundaries for affixes (the hyphen -), clitics (=), and preverbs and prenouns (the dash –), as well as philological information. An underline _ means that Kiyana wrote no word boundary symbol between words or between a preverb and verb. The pipe symbol | indicates the end of a line if no word boundary symbol was written (an environment in which Kiyana often omits word boundaries). The end of a page is indicated by a double pipe ||. (The underline and pipe symbols are omitted from examples cited in the discussion above.)

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References Bloomfield, Leonard 1930 Sacred Stories of the Sweet Grass Cree. Ottawa: National Museum of Canada, Bulletin no. 60. 1934 Plains Cree Texts. American Ethnological Society 16. G. E. Stechert. Branigan, Phil, and Marguerite MacKenzie 2002 Altruism, Ɩ-Movement, and Object Agreement in Innu-aimûn. Linguistic Inquiry 33:385-407. Dahlstrom, Amy 1988 Independent Pronouns in Fox. In In Honor of Mary Haas, edited by William Shipley, 165–94. Berlin: Mouton. 1991 Plains Cree Morphosyntax. New York: Garland. 1995 Topic, Focus and Other Word Order Problems in Algonquian. The Belcourt Lecture. Winnipeg: Voices of Rupert’s Land. 1996 Narrative Structure of a Fox Text. In Nikotwâsik iskwâhtêm, pâskihtêpayih! Studies in Honour of H.C. Wolfart, edited by John D. Nichols and Arden C. Ogg, 113–62. Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics Memoir 13. Winnipeg. 1997 Fox (Mesquakie) Reduplication. International Journal of American Linguistics 63:205–26. 2000 Morphosyntactic Mismatches in Algonquian: Affixal Predicates and Discontinuous Verbs. In CLS 36. Part 2: The Panels, edited by Arika Okrent and John Boyle, 63–87. Chicago: Chicago Linguistic Society. 2003 Warrior Powers from an Underwater Spirit: Cultural and Linguistic Aspects of an Illustrated Meskwaki Text. Anthropological Linguistics 45:1–56.

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The Syntax of Algonquian Ethnopoetics. In Actes du 37e Congrès des Algonquinistes, edited by H. C. Wolfart, 131–47. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba. 2009 OBJș without OBJ: A Typology of Meskwaki Objects. In OnLine Proceedings of the LFG09 Conference, edited by Miriam Butt and Tracy Holloway King, 222–39. Stanford: CSLI Publications. Frantz, Donald G. 1978 Copying from Complements in Blackfoot. In Linguistic Studies of Native Canada, edited by Eung-Do Cook and Jonathan Kaye, pp. 89–109. Lisse: Peter de Ridder Press; Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Hymes, Dell 1981 “In Vain I Tried to Tell You”: Essays in Native American Ethnopoetics. University of Pennsylvania Press. Kiyana, Alfred 1912 mekatewita nadawaye neniwa [A Man Who Fasted Long Ago]. MS 2664–2, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C. Lambrecht, Knud 1994 Information Structure and Sentence Form: Topic, Focus, and the Mental Representations of Discourse Referents. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wolfart, H. Christoph, and Freda Ahenakew 2000 âh-âyîtaw isi ê-kî-kiskêyihtahkik maskihkiy: They Knew Both Sides of Medicine: Cree Tales of Curing and Cursing Told by Alice Ahenakew. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press.

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Meskwaki text A Man Who Fasted Long Ago Written by Alfred Kiyana, ca. 1912. National Anthropological Archives manuscript 2664–2. All illustrations are taken from that manuscript.

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[TITLE] me·hkate·wi·ta našawaye neniwa. IC-mahkate·wi·-ta našawaye neniw-a. IC-fast-3/PART/3 long.ago man-SG A man who fasted long ago. 1A

našawaye neno·te·wa e·hma·mahkate·wi·þi. našawaye neno·te·w-a| e·h-ma·-mahkate·wi·-þi. AOR-REDUP-fast-3/AOR long.ago Indian-SG Long ago an Indian was fasting.

1B

e·hpwa·wimeko-kehke·netaki e·h-pwa·wi–=meko –kehke·net-aki_ AOR-not–=EMPH –know-3>0/AOR Because he had no idea

1C

na·hina·hi wi·hahkwi-mehtose·neniwikwe·ni, na·hina·hi wi·h-ahkwi–mehtose·neniwi-kwe·ni, FUT-so.long–be.person-3/INT.PART/OBL time when the end of his life would be,

1D

na·hka mehto·þimeko na·no·make·we e·hmehtose·neniwiniþi mehtose·neniwahi. na·hka| mehto·þi=meko na·-no·make·we also like=EMPH REDUP-for.short.time e·h-mehtose·neniwi-niþi mehtose·neniw-ahi. AOR-be.person-3ƍ/AOR person-OBV.PL and also because it seems as if people are alive only for a short time each,

1E

“we·nahi! awita maneto·wa ki·šihiwe·sa!”e·hišite·he·þi. “we·nahi! awita maneto·w-a ki·šihiwe·-sa!” I.see.now not.POT spirit-SG create.people-3/POT

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e·h-išite·he·-þi.

AOR-think.thus-3/AOR

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he thought, “It couldn’t be the spirit who created us!” 1F

i·niþa·hipi e·hma·mahkate·wi·þi we·pi. i·ni=þa·hi=ipi e·h-ma·-mahkate·wi·-þi_ we·pi. then=so=HRSY AOR-REDUP-fast-3/AOR begin So then, it’s said, he started to fast.

1G

atehþimeko e·hmawi-owi·kiþi, atehþi=meko e·h-mawi–owi·ki-þi, away=EMPH AOR-go.and–dwell-3/AOR He went to live in some lonely place,

1H

nye·wawahi·me atehþi e·howi·kiþi. nye·wawahi·me atehþi e·h-owi·ki-þi. four.years away AOR-dwell-3/AOR and for four years he lived by himself.

1I

[Description of figure 1:] mani me·hkate·wi·ta e·howi·kiþi mahkate·wi·wika·ni; IC-mahkate·wi·-ta| e·h-owi·ki-þi mani_ this.INAN IC-fast-3/PART/3 AOR-dwell-3/PART/LOC mahkate·wi·wika·n-i; fasting.house-SG This is the fasting-house where the one who was fasting lived;

1J

manihi kenwe·ši me·hkate·wi·þiki e·šikeniki e·howi·kiwa·þi. manihi kenwe·ši IC-mahka||te·wi·-þiki this.INAN long.time IC-fast-3P/PART/3P IC-išiken-niki| e·h-owi·ki-wa·þi. IC-be.thus-0ƍ/PART/OBL AOR-dwell-3P/PART/LOC this is the kind in which people who fast for a long time live.

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Figure 1. Illustration at the bottom of p. 1 of Kiyana’s manuscript; see 1I–J. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution. 2A

pe·po·nikini IC-pepo·-nikini IC-be.winter-0ƍ /ITER In the wintertime

2B

a·kwi nana·ši pwa·wi-mahkate·wi·wa·þini. a·kwi nana·ši pwa·wi–mahkate·wi·-wa·þini._ not ever not–fast-3P/NEG they never fail to fast.

2C

o·ni na·hina·hi maneto·wani e·hketemina·koþi, o·ni na·hina·hi maneto·w-ani e·h-keteminaw-ekoþi, and time spirit-OBV AOR-bless-3 >3/AOR And at the time when a spirit blessed him,

2D

e·ha·hpawa·wa·þi e·hketemina·koþi maneto·wani. e·h-a·hpawa·w-a·þi e·h-keteminaw-ekoþi maneto·w-ani. AOR-dream-3>3 /AOR AOR-bless-3 >3/AOR spirit-OBV he had a dream that he was blessed by the spirit.

2E

na·hina·hi e·hmenwimeko-ketemina·koþi, na·hina·hi e·h-menwi–=meko –keteminaw-ekoþi, time AOR-well-=EMPH –bless-3 >3/AOR At the time when [the spirit] blessed him in a good way,

2F

e·šimeko-natawe·netaki e·hiši-ketemina·koþi. IC-iši–=meko –natawe·net-aki e·h-iši–keteminaw-ekoþi. IC-thus–=EMPH –seek-3>0/PART/OBL AOR-thus–bless-3 >3/AOR [the spirit] blessed him just the way he wanted.

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137

2G

[Description of figure 2:] manaha nye·wawahi·me pe·mi-mahkate·wi·ta; manaha_ nye·wawahi·me IC-pemi|–mahkate·wi·-ta;| this.ANIM four.years IC-along–fast-3/PART/3 This is the one who fasted for four years;

2H

manaha kekimesimeko maneto·wahi ke·temina·kota. manaha kekimesi=meko maneto·w-ahi || this.ANIM each.one=EMPH spirit-OBV.PL IC-keteminaw-ekota. IC-bless-3 >3/PART/3 this is the one who was blessed by each one of the spirits.

Figure 2. Illustration at the bottom of p. 2 of Kiyana’s manuscript; see 2G–H. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.

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3A

i·ni nekotimeko maneto·wa, i·ni nekoti=meko maneto·w-a,| that.INAN one=EMPH spirit-SG That [illustration on the previous page of Kiyana’s manuscript (figure 2)] was of one spirit,

3B

me·yakikeno·hiki aša·ti·hi i·ni. IC-mayakiken-o·hi-ki aša·ti·h-i_ i·ni. IC-be.strange-DIM-0/PART/0 headed.arrow-SG that.INAN and that was kind of a strange arrow.

3C

kehþi-maneto·wa o·ni kotakaki i·nini otahi·hemwa·wani,1 i·nini kehþi–maneto·w-a| o·ni_ kotak-aki great–spirit-SG and other-ANIM.PL those.INAN o-ta·hi·hem-wa·w-ani, 3-thing-3P-INAN.PL They are things that belong to the Great Spirit and other spirits,

3D

a·kwi aša·ti·hiwinikini. a·kwi| aša·ti·hiwi-nikini. be.headed.arrow-0ƍ/NEG not they aren’t really arrows.

3E

pe·hkimeko e·hþa·ki-ketemina·koþi maneto·wahi ma·makekineniþihi: pe·hki=meko e·h-þa·ki–keteminaw-ekoþi maneto·w-ahi really=EMPH AOR-all–bless-3ƍ>3/AOR spirit-OBV.PL IC-mama·kekin-niþihi: IC-REDUP.be.big-3ƍ/PART/3ƍP All of the great spirits really blessed him:

3F

menwi-maneto·wahi me·nwikiniþihi, menwi–maneto·w-ahi IC-menwiki-niþihi, good–spirit-OBV.PL IC-be.good-3ƍ/PART/3ƍP the good spirits who are good,

3G

mya·tesiniþihi a·kwi maþi-maneto·he·hahi. a·kwi| maþi–maneto·h-e·h-ahi. not bad–spirit.DIM- DIM-OBV.PL not the little evil spirits who are bad.

IC-mya·tesi-niþihi IC-be.bad-3ƍ/PART/3ƍP

1. Kiyana wrote o te i e mwa wa ni .

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3H

kehþi-maneto·wameko owi·hka·nahi i·nihi ke·hkinawa·þikiniþihi kehþi–maneto·w-a=meko ow-i·hka·n-ahi i·nihi| great–spirit-SG=EMPH 3-friend-OBV.PL those.OBV IC-kehkinawa·þiki-niþihi IC-be.marked-3ƍ/PART/3ƍP The friends of the Great Spirit himself are the ones who are marked

3I

kehþi-maneto·wa e·no·hka·na·þihi. kehþi–maneto·w-a IC-ano·hka·n-a·þihi. great–spirit-SG IC-give.job.to-3>3ƍ/PART/3ƍP as being sent by the Great Spirit.

3J

a·kwi ke·ko·hi iši-wa·waneška·hi-maneto·wiwa·þini i·niki ke·hkinawa·þihþika·soþiki. a·kwi ke·ko·hi| iši–wa·waneška·hi–maneto·wi-wa·þini not any.way thus–immoral–be.spirit-3P/NEG i·niki IC-kehkinawa·þihþika·so-þiki. those.ANIM IC-be.made.with.such.markings-3P/PART/3P The ones who are made with such markings are not immoral spirits, in any way.

3K

kehþi-maneto·wa taswi e·no·hka·na·þi i·nimeko e·šihþika·soniþi. IC-ano·hka·n-a·þi kehþi–maneto·w-a taswi great–spirit-SG as.many IC-give.job.to-3>3ƍ/PART/OBL i·ni=meko IC-išihþika·so-niþi. that.way=EMPH IC-be.made.thus-3ƍ/PART/OBL All of the ones that the Great Spirit sends, that’s how they are made.

3L

wi·sahke·hana·hkaþi e·no·hka·na·þihi, wi·sahke·ha=na·hkaþi || IC-ano·hka·n-a·þihi, W=also IC-give.job.to-3>3ƍ/PART/3ƍP And also the ones that Wisahkeha sends,

4A

i·nimeko e·ši-kehkinawa·þiha·soniþi IC-iši–kehkinawa·þiha·so-niþi i·ni=meko that.way=EMPH IC-thus–be.marked-3ƍ/PART/OBL they are marked in the same way

4B

o·ni wi·sahke·ha aša·ti·himeko e·ye·ki. o·ni_ wi·sahke·ha aša·ti·h-i=meko| e·ye·ki. and W headed.arrow-SG=EMPH as.well as is Wisahkeha, and the arrow as well.

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4C

i·niþa·hipi·na te·kwimeko-ketemina·koþini kehþi-maneto·wani. IC-takwi–=meko i·ni=þa·hi=ipi=i·na that.INAN=so=HRSY=that.ANIM IC-join.with–=EMPH –keteminaw-ekoþini kehþi–maneto·w-ani. –bless-3ƍ>3/PART/3ƍ great–spirit-OBV So, it’s said, it was the Great Spirit who blessed him together with that [arrow].

4D

i·nike·hi asenimeko e·pehkwe·hiþi. IC-apehkwe·hi-þi. i·ni=ke·hi asen-i=meko that.INAN=moreover stone-SG=EMPH IC-place.head.on.O2-3/PART/0 And that stone is what he used as a pillow.

4E

o·ni e·howi·ke·hiþi ki·škitepe·hikani e·hneno·te·wina·kwateniki. ki·škitepe·hikan-i o·ni e·h-owi·k-e·hi-þi| and AOR-dwell-DIM-3/PART/LOC stump-SG e·h-neno·te·wina·kwat-niki. AOR-look.like.Indian-0ƍ/AOR And at the place he was living there was a stump that looked like a person.

4F

e·hnahimeko-kakano·neti·hekwiþi, e·h-nahi–=meko –kakano·neti·h-ekwiþi, AOR-know.how–=EMPH –converse.with-0>3/AOR It was able to talk to him,

4G

e·hnahimeko-a·þimohekwiþi e·h-nahi–=meko –a·þimoh-ekwiþi| AOR-know.how–=EMPH –inform-0>3/AOR and it was able to tell him

4H

ni·ka·ni wi·hanemi-išikeniki, ni·ka·ni IC-wi·h-anemi|–išiken-niki, ahead IC-FUT-go.on–be.thus-0ƍ/PART/OBL what will happen in the future,

4I

na·hkaþi wi·hanemiši-wa·se·ya·niki. na·hkaþi| IC-wi·h-anemi–’ši–wa·se·ya·-niki. also IC-FUT-go.on–thus–be.light-0ƍ/PART/OBL and also the way the days will be.

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Meskwaki

4J

e·hkehke·netakimeko wi·hanemiši-ki·šekateniki. IC-wi·h-anemi–’ši|–ki·šekat-niki. e·h-kehke·net-aki=meko AOR-know-3>0/AOR=EMPH IC-FUT-go.on–thus–be.day-0/PART/OBL He knew exactly what the day would be like.

4K

na·hkaþi na·hina·hi wi·hnepeniþi owiye·hani e·hkehke·nema·þimeko, na·hkaþi na·hina·hi wi·h-nep-niþi owiye·h-ani FUT-die-3ƍ/AOR someone-OBV also time e·h-kehke·nem-a·þi=meko, AOR-know-3>3ƍ/AOR=EMPH He also knew exactly when someone was going to die,

4L

wi·hihpene·niþina·hka. IC-wi·h-ihpene·-niþi=na·hka. IC-FUT-die.thus-3ƍ/PART/OBL=also and what they would die of.

4M

e·ha·þimoha·þimeko, e·h-a·þimoh-a·þi=meko, AOR-inform-3>3ƍ/AOR=EMPH He would tell them outright,

4N

e·hpwa·wi-nahi-pašitowe·þi, e·h-pwa·wi–||nahi–pašitowe·-þi, AOR-not–be.given.to–tell.lie-3/AOR he never lied,

5A

ke·htenameko e·hanemi-te·pwe·þi. ke·htena=meko e·h-anemi–te·pwe·-þi. truly=EMPH AOR-go.on–speak.truth-3/AOR and surely he always turned out to be right.

5B

i·nimeko e·hanemišawiniþi e·na·þini owiye·hani. i·ni=meko e·h-anemi–’šawiniþi that=EMPH AOR-go.on–fare.thus-3ƍ/AOR IC-in-a·þini owiye·h-ani. IC-say.thus.about 3>3ƍ/PART/OBL someone-OBV The things he said about someone happened to them, just as he said.

5C

“mani·nina·hþa·h wi·hnepo·hiþi,” e·hina·þi, “mani=i·nina·hi=þa·hi_ wi·h-nep-o·hi-þi,” FUT-die-DIM-3/AOR this=that.time=so

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e·h-in-a·þi,|

AOR-say.thus.about-3>3ƍ/AOR

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“This is the time when he will die,” he said about them, 5D

i·nina·hmeko e·hnepo·hiniþi. i·nina·hi=meko e·h-nep-o·hi-niþi. at.that.time=EMPH AOR-die-DIM-3ƍ/AOR and just at that time they would die.

5E

a·hkwamataminiþihina·hkaþi, IC-a·hkwamat-aminiþihi=na·hkaþi, IC-be.sick-3ƍ>0/PART/3ƍP=also Also, regarding those who were sick,

5F

a·neta, “a·kwiþa·h wi·hnepo·hiþini,” e·hina·þi, a·neta, “a·kwi=þa·h_ wi·h-nep-o·hi-þini,” FUT-die-DIM-3ƍ/NEG some not=so e·h-in-a·þi, AOR-say.thus.about-3>3ƍ/AOR about some he would say, “He will not die,”

5G

ke·htenameko e·hpwa·wi-nepo·hiniþi, ke·htena=meko e·h-pwa·wi–nep-o·hi-niþi, truly=EMPH AOR-not–die-DIM-3ƍ/AOR and sure enough, they did not die,

5H

e·hne·se·niþimeko ke·htena. ke·htena. e·h-ne·se·-niþi=meko_ AOR-live.on-3ƍ/AOR=EMPH truly they recovered indeed.

5I

“mani·nina·hi wi·hne·se·þi,” e·hina·þi, “mani=i·nina·hi wi·h-ne·se·-þi,” this.INAN=that.time FUT-live.on-3/AOR e·h-in-a·þi, AOR-say.thus.about-3>3ƍ/AOR “This is the time when he will recover,” he would say,

5J

i·nina·hmeko e·hne·se·niþi. i·nina·hi=meko e·h-ne·se·-niþi. at.that.time=EMPH AOR-live.on-3ƍ/AOR and right at that time they recovered.

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Meskwaki

5K

na·hkaþi e·hpwa·wimeko-paši-a·hkwamataminiþi, na·hkaþi e·h-pwa·wi–=meko –paši–a·hkwamat-aminiþi,| again AOR-not–=EMPH –at.all–be.sick-3ƍ>0/AOR And again, when someone was not sick at all,

5L

e·ha·þimoþipa·pehe, e·h-a·þimo-þi=ipi=a·pehe AOR-narrate-3/AOR=HRSY=usually he would say, it’s said,

5M

“mani·nina·hi wi·hnepo·hiþi,” e·hiþi “mani=i·nina·hi wi·h-nep-o·hi-þi,” e·h-i-þi, this.INAN=that.time FUT-die-DIM-3/AOR AOR-say.thus-3/AOR “This is when he will die,”

5N

i·nina·hmeko e·hnepo·hiniþi. i·nina·hi=meko e·h-nep-o·hi-niþi. at.that.time=EMPH AOR-die-DIM-3ƍ/AOR and right then they would die.

6A

o·ni e·hmi·ka·ti·þi aša·hahi. o·ni e·h-mi·ka·ti·-þi || aša·h-ahi. and AOR-fight(.O2)-3/AOR Sioux-OBV.PL And he fought against the Sioux.

6B

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[Description of figure 3:] ma·haniþa·hi e·yohayo·þini. ma·hani=þa·hi| IC-ayoh-ay-o·þini. these.INAN=so IC-REDUP-use-3>0/PART/0P And these are the things that he used.

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Figure 3. Illustration on p. 6 of Kiyana’s manuscript (placed between the two words of line 6B, q.v.). National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution. 6C

mama·nemeko e·hnesa·þi ma-ma·ne=meko e·h-nes-a·þi REDUP-many=EMPH AOR-kill-3>3 /AOR He killed many of them each time

6D

ma·hani e·hayo·þi. ma·hani e·h-ay-o·þi.| these.INAN AOR-use-3>0/AOR using these things.

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145

6E

mani taswi. mani_ taswi. this.INAN so.much This was all.

6F

mama·nemeko e·hþa·katahwa·þi owi·þi·škwe·hahi. ma-ma·ne=meko e·h-þa·katahw-a·þi ow-i·þi·||škwe·h-ahi. REDUP-many=EMPH AOR-thrash-3>3ƍ/AOR 3-enemy-OBV.PL He thrashed many of his enemies each time.

7A

a·kwike·hipimekowi·na nahi-mešokoþini, a·kwi=ke·hi=ipi=meko=wi·na nahi–mešw-ekoþini, not=moreover=HRSY=EMPH=he be.given.to–shoot-3ƍ>3/NEG But, it’s said, he himself was never shot by them,

7B

e·hnekoti·hiþi e·hmi·ka·ti·þi. e·h-nekoti-·hi-þi e·h-mi·ka·ti·-þi. AOR-be.one-DIM-3/AOR AOR-fight-3/AOR although he was fighting alone.

7C

nekotenwimeko nekoti e·hkehekwiþi. nekotenwi=meko nekoti e·h-kehekwi-þi. AOR-lose.O2.as captive-3/AOR one.time=EMPH one There was just one time when one of the enemy slipped away from him.

7D

nekoti kehþi-ma·wa·kani e·hma·nwikamikesiniþi aša·hahi, e·h-ma·nwikamikesi-niþi nekoti_ kehþi–ma·wa·kan-i one great–winter.camp-SG AOR-have.many.houses-3ƍ/PART/LOC aša·h-ahi, Sioux-OBV.PL It was at a big winter camp, where the Sioux had many houses,

7E

nekotimeko e·hkehekwiþi. nekoti=meko e·h-kehekwi-þi. AOR-lose.O2.as captive-3/AOR one=EMPH and he had one of them get away.

7F

i·nimeko iši-nekoti. i·ni=meko iši–nekoti. that=EMPH thus–one That was the only one.

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7G

oškinawe·he·hanipi ke·hekwiþini. IC-kehekwi-þini. oškinawe·h-e·h-ani=ipi young.man-DIM-OBV=HRSY IC-lose.O2.as.captive-3/PART/3ƍ It was a young teenage boy, it’s said, who gave him the slip.

7H

ašemekopi wi·ha·þimoniþi e·hine·nema·þi aše=meko=ipi wi·h-a·þimo-niþi| e·h-ine·nem-a·þi just=EMPH=HRSY FUT-narrate-3ƍ/AOR AOR-think.thus.of-3>3ƍ/AOR Because, it’s said, he just wanted him to tell the story,

7I

we·þi-pwa·wi-mawi-nesa·þi. IC-oþi|–pwa·wi–mawi–nes-a·þi. IC-from–not–go.and–kill-3>3ƍ/PART/OBL is why he didn’t go and kill him.

7J

e·hkwi·þimeko, e·hmašamašahkwa·šike·þi, IC-ahkwi·-þi=meko, e·h-maša-mašahkwa·šike·-þi, IC-reach.end-3/PART/OBL=EMPH AOR-REDUP-do.scalping-3/AOR He took scalps to his heart’s content,

7K

meše·nahmeko nekoto·wane, meše=i·nahi=meko nekoto·wane, as.may.be=EMPH one.bag maybe one bagful,

7L

e·hawato·taki owi·šehkwayani. owi·šehkway-ani. e·h-awato·t-aki AOR-take.O.away.on.back-3>0/AOR scalp-INAN.PL and carried the scalps home on his back.

7M

e·hma·mata·nahki·wihto·wa·þi, e·h-ma·mata·nahki·wiht-o·wa·þi, AOR-celebrate-3P>0/AOR They had a big celebration,

7N

kenwe·šimeko e·hna·ni·miwa·þi. kenwe·ši=meko e·h-na·-ni·mi-wa·þi. || long.time=EMPH AOR-REDUP-dance-3P/AOR and were dancing and dancing for a very long time.

8A

we·wi·þi·škwe·hiþihi e·hkepoška·koþi mehtose·neniwahi. IC-owi·þi·škwe·hi-þihi e·h-kepoškaw-ekoþi IC-have.O2.as.enemy-3/PART/3ƍP AOR-surround-3ƍ>3/AOR

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Meskwaki

mehtose·neniw-ahi. person-OBV.PL The people who were his enemies surrounded him. 8B

“me·me·þikimeko wi·hnesa·pi!” “me·me·þiki=meko wi·h-nes-a·pi!” FUT-kill-X>3/IND.IND I’m.sure=EMPH “Surely he will be killed!”

8C

e·hišite·he·þi we·wi·hka·nita. IC-owi·hka·ni-ta. e·h-išite·he·-þi AOR-think.thus-3/AOR IC-have.O2.as.friend-3/PART/3 thought his friend.

8D

we·pi-kanakanawiþi, IC-we·pi–kana-kanawi-þi, IC-begin–REDUP-speak-3/CH.C

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He began to make a speech, 8E

kenwe·šimeko e·hkanakanawiþi, kenwe·ši=meko e·h-kana-kanawi-þi, long.time=EMPH AOR-REDUP-speak-3/AOR speaking for a very long time,

8F

maniwi·na: e·htaši-pi·pemoþi mani=wi·na: e·h-taši–pi·-pemw-eþi this.INAN=but AOR-be.engaged.in–REDUP-shoot-X>3/AOR But here’s the thing: as he was being shot at

8G

wa·natohkameko e·htana·naketone·moþi.2 wa·natohka=meko e·h-tana·naketone·mo-þi. nonchalantly=EMPH AOR-be.engaged.in.talking-3/AOR he continued with the speech as if nothing were wrong.

8H

ki·šetone·moþi, IC-ki·šetone·mo-þi, IC-finish.talking-3/CH.C

When he finished his speech,

2. Kiyana wrote e ta na ne ke to ne mo tti .

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DAHLSTROM

8I

e·hwe·pimeko-kemiya·niki. e·h-we·pi–=meko –kemiya·-niki. AOR-begin–=EMPH –rain-0ƍ/AOR right away it started to rain.

8J

e·hapa·sete·nikike·hwi·na, e·h-apa·sete·-niki=ke·hi=wi·na, AOR-be.sunny-0ƍ/AOR=moreover=but It was even a sunny day,

8K

šewe·na e·hkemiya·nikimeko. šewe·na e·h-kemiya·-niki=meko. but AOR-rain-0ƍ/AOR=EMPH but it was raining indeed.

8L

e·škamimeko e·hanemi-ahpi·hþi-kemiya·niki, e·škami=meko e·h-anemi–ahpi·hþi|–kemiya·-niki increasingly=EMPH AOR-go.on–to.such.extent–rain-0ƍ/AOR It began to rain harder and harder,

8M

kapo·twemeko e·hkehþi-kemiya·hiniki. kapo·twe=meko e·h-kehþi–kemiya·-·hi-niki. at.some.point=EMPH AOR-greatly–rain-DIM-0ƍ/AOR and at one point there was a brief downpour.

8N

wi·nake·hi þe·winehki e·hawihawiþi. wi·na=ke·hi þe·winehki e·h-awih-awi-þi. he=moreover in.middle AOR-REDUP-be.there-3/AOR But as for him, he stayed right in the middle.

8O

e·hkosekoþike·hwi·nameko owi·þi·škwe·hahi, e·h-kos-ekoþi=ke·h=wi·na=meko ow-i·þi·škwe·h-ahi, AOR-fear-3ƍ>3/AOR=moreover=but=EMPH 3-enemy.OBV.PL His enemies, though, were afraid of him,

8P

e·hkosekoþimeko, e·h-kos-ekoþi=meko, AOR-fear-3ƍ>3/AOR=EMPH they were really afraid of him,

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Meskwaki

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8Q

149

e·hpwa·wi-maþina·koþi. e·h-pwa·wi|–maþinaw-ekoþi. || AOR-not–dare.with.regard.to-3ƍ >3/AOR and they didn’t dare go against him.

9A

[Description of figure 4:] e·šina·kwateniki e·hana·hpawa·þi. IC-išina·kwat-niki e·h-ana·hpawa·-þi. IC-appear.thus-0 /PART/OBL AOR-recite.one’s.dream-3/AOR The way it looked when he summoned his dream-power.

9B

e·hþa·katahama·koþi nenemehkiwahi kotwa·šikenwi. e·h-þa·katahamaw-ekoþi| nenemehkiw-ahi.| kotwa·šikenwi AOR-thrash.O2.for-3 >3/AOR thunderer-OBV.PL six.times The thunderers blasted them for him six times.

9C

mani e·ši-pa·pa·hketoniþi mani IC-iši–pa·-pa·hketon-niþi this.INAN IC-thus–REDUP-open.mouth-3 /CH.C As the lightning flashed

9D

e·hþa·ki-nepeniþi ke·poška·koþihi aša·hahi. e·h-þa·ki|–nep-niþi IC-kepoškaw-ekoþihi aša·h-ahi. || AOR-all–die-3 /AOR IC-surround-3 >3/PART/3 P Sioux.OBV.PL all of the Sioux who were surrounding him died.

Figure 4. Illustration at the bottom of p. 9 of Kiyana’s manuscript; see 9A–D. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.

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DAHLSTROM

10A

aya·pami e·hpya·þi owi·hka·nani e·hawiniþi, ow-i·hka·n-ani aya·pami e·h-pya·-þi back AOR-come-3/AOR 3-friend-OBV e·h-awi-niþi, AOR-be.there-3ƍ/PART/LOC He came back to where his friend was staying,

10B

e·hmi·ša·te·nemoniþi. e·h-mi·ša·te·nemo-niþi. AOR-be.pleased-3ƍ/AOR and [his friend] was glad.

10C

e·ha·þimoþi e·šawiþi, IC-išawi-þi, e·h-a·þimo-þi AOR-narrate-3/AOR IC-fare.thus-3/PART/OBL He explained what happened to him,

10D

e·ha·totamawa·þi e·ši-ana·hpawa·þi. e·h-a·totamaw-a·þi AOR-inform.about-3>3ƍ/AOR IC-iši–ana·hpawa·-þi. IC-thus–recite.one’s.dream-3/PART/OBL and told him about the way he had summoned his dream-power.

10E

nenemehkiwahi e·hana·hpawa·na·þi nenemehki-wahi e·h-ana·hpawa·n-a·þi thunderer-OBV.PL AOR-recite.one’s.dream.of.O-3>3ƍ/AOR He summoned the thunderers by reciting his dream of them,

10F

e·hþa·katahwa·niþi. e·h-þa·katahw-a·niþi. AOR-thrash-3ƍ>3Ǝ/AOR and they blasted the others.

10G

“šepawi·hta nemešo·mesaki neþa·katahama·ko·ki,” “šepawi·hta ne-mešo·mes-aki ne-þa·katahamaw-eko·ki,” fortunately 1-grandfather-PL 1-thrash.O2.for-3P>1/IND “It’s fortunate that my grandfathers blasted them for me,”

10H

e·hina·þi. e·h-in-a·þi. AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR he said to him.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

10I

o·ni e·ha·mi·wa·þi owi·hka·nani. o·ni e·h-a·mi·-wa·þi ow-i·hka·n-ani. and.then AOR-move.camp-3P/AOR 3-friend-OBV And then he and his friend moved camp.

10J

aškaþi e·hpemahowa·þi, aškaþi e·h-pemaho-wa·þi,| later AOR-paddle-3P/AOR Later they started canoeing,

10K

ašemeko e·ha·mi·wa·þi. aše=meko e·h-a·mi·-wa·þi. just=EMPH AOR-move.camp-3P/AOR they would move on whenever they felt like it.

10L

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151

[Description of figures 5 and 6:] manike·hi e·yo·wa·þi þi·ma·ni, mani=ke·hi IC-ay-o·wa·þi þi·ma·n-i, this.INAN=moreover IC-use-3P>0/PART/0 canoe-SG This is the canoe they used,

Figure 5. Illustration at the bottom of p. 10 of Kiyana’s manuscript; see 10L. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution. 11A

o·ni ma·hani apwi·hani. o·ni_ ma·hani apwi·h-ani. and these.INAN paddle-PL and these paddles.

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152

11B

DAHLSTROM

mani ahkowi pe·mahota e·šikeniki, manihi. mani ahkowi IC-pemaho-ta_ IC-išiken-niki, this.INAN behind IC-paddle-3/PART/3 IC-be.thus-0 /PART/0 manihi. this.INAN This is the kind for the person paddling in back, like this.

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Figure 6. Illustration on p. 11 of Kiyana’s manuscript; see 11A–B (lines 11C– 11G are written around it). National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution. 11C

meta·swawahi·me e·hki·wahowa·þi. meta·swawahi·me| e·h-ki·waho-wa·þi. AOR-paddle.around-3P/AOR ten.years For ten years they traveled around by canoe.

11D

e·hoškinawe·hiwa·þike·hi, e·h-oškinawe·hi-wa·þi=ke·hi, AOR-be.young.man-3P/AOR=moreover And they were young men,

11E

mešemeko e·hki·waki·wahowa·þi. meše=meko e·h-ki·wa-ki·waho-wa·þi. freely=EMPH AOR-REDUP-paddle.around-3P/AOR they kept on paddling around, just any place.

11F

wi·nwa·wake·hmeko i·ni e·hiši-ni·ši·hiwa·þi, wi·nwa·wa=ke·hi=meko i·ni e·h-iši–ni·ši-·hi-wa·þi, they=moreover=EMPH that.INAN AOR-thus–be.two –DIM-3P/AOR But it was just the two of them, by themselves,

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Meskwaki

11G

a·kwi owiye·hani ki·wi-wi·te·ma·wa·þini. a·kwi_ owiye·h-ani ki·wi–wi·te·m-a·wa·þini.| not someone-OBV around–accompany-3P>3ƍ/NEG they didn’t travel with anyone else.

11H

ašemeko e·hki·wi-wa·patamowa·þi kehþikami·wi. aše=meko_ e·h-ki·wi–wa·pat-amowa·þi kehþikami·w-i. just=EMPH AOR-around–look.at-3P>0/AOR great.lake-SG They just went around looking at the great lake [probably Lake Michigan].

11I

ahpene·þimeko þi·ki-kehþikami·we e·hpeminahowa·þi, ahpene·þi=meko| þi·ki–kehþikami·we| every.time=EMPH by–great.lake e·h-pemi–inaho-wa·þi, AOR-along–paddle.thither-3P/AOR Every time they would paddle over to the next place on the shore,

11J

ahpene·þike·hmeko e·ha·mi·wa·þi. ahpene·þi=ke·hi=meko e·h-a·mi·-wa·þi. every.time=moreover=EMPH AOR-move.camp-3P/AOR and then they would move on again.

11K

me·ta·swawahi·makateniki IC-meta·swawahi·makat-niki IC-be.ten.years-0ƍ/CH.C After ten years

11L

aya·pami e·hpya·wa·þi we·þi·wa·þi. IC-oþi·-wa·þi. aya·pami_ e·h-pya·-wa·þi| back AOR-come-3P/AOR IC-be.from-3P/PART/OBL they came back to where they were from.

11M aye·niwemeko e·hahpihahpi·hþina·kosiwa·þi, aye·niwe=meko e·h-ahpih-ahpi·hþina·kosi-wa·þi, unchanged=EMPH AOR-REDUP-appear.to.such.extent-3P/AOR Each of them still looked exactly the same, 11N

e·hpwa·wi-kehtesiwa·þi, e·h-pwa·wi–kehtesi-wa·þi, AOR-not–be.old-3P/AOR they hadn’t aged,

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154

DAHLSTROM

11O

e·haškiki·hiwa·þimeko. e·h-aškiki-·hi-wa·þi=meko. || AOR-be.young-DIM-3P/AOR=EMPH they were very young.

12A

aya·pami pye·ya·wa·þi, aya·pami_ IC-pya·-wa·þi,| back IC-come-3P/CH.C When they came back,

12B

e·howi·wiþi nekoti e·h-owi·wi-þi_ nekoti AOR-have.O2.as.wife-3/AOR one one of them got married

12C

e·škimeko-ki·šiki·hiniþini, IC-aški–=meko –ki·šiki-·hi-niþini, IC-for.first.time–=EMPH –mature-DIM-3ƍ/PART/3ƍ to a young girl who had just come of age,

12D

wi·na e·hpwa·wi-owi·wiþi, wi·na e·h-pwa·wi|–owi·wi-þi, he AOR-not–have.wife-3/AOR but the other didn’t marry,

12E

ke·hke·nema·ta owiye·hani IC-kehke·nem-a·ta| owiye·h-ani IC-know-3>3ƍ/PART/3 someone-OBV the one who knew

12F

na·hina·hi wi·hnepeniþi. na·hina·hi| wi·h-nep-niþi. FUT-die-3ƍ/AOR when when someone would die.

12G

o·ni nye·wawahi·makateniki IC-nye·wawahi·makat-niki o·ni| and.then IC-be.four.years-0ƍ/CH.C And then, after four years,

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Meskwaki

155

12H

e·ha·mi·þi. e·h-a·mi·-þi. AOR-move.camp-3/AOR he moved.

12I

i·niyemeko e·hayo·þi þi·ma·ni. i·niye=meko e·h-ay-o·þi þi·ma·n-i._ that.INAN.ABSENT=EMPH AOR-use-3>0/AOR canoe-SG He used the same canoe.

12J

e·ha·þimoþi, e·h-a·þimo-þi, AOR-narrate-3/AOR He explained,

12K

“nahi, me·meþine·hi ni·hmawi-mahkate·wi “nahi,_ me·meþine·hi ne-i·h-mawi–mahkate·wi-Ø well for.last.time 1-FUT-go.and–fast-1/IND “Well, I’m going to fast for the last time,

12L

ayo·hi kehþikami·ki meneseki,” e·hiþi. ayo·hi kehþikamiw-eki menes-eki,” e·h-i-þi. this.LOC great.lake-LOC island-LOC AOR-say.thus-3/AOR on an island in this great lake,” he said.

12M “i·nimeko wi·htahitane·nemiye·kwe,” “i·ni=meko wi·h-tahi-tane·nem-iye·kwe,” that=EMPH FUT-REDUP-think.of.O.there-2P>1/AOR “You should think about me being right there,” Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

12N

e·hina·þi þi·nawe·ma·þihi. e·h-in-a·þi AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR he said to his relatives.

IC-þi·nawe·m-a·þihi. IC-be.related.to-3>3ƍ/PART/3ƍP

12 O “hao,” e·hineþi. “hao,” e·h-in-eþi. all.right AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR “All right,” he was told.

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12P

e·hwe·pahoþi, e·h-we·paho-þi, AOR-start.paddle-3/AOR He started paddling,

12Q

šwa·šika tasokoni e·hanemahoþi. šwa·šika tasokoni e·h-anemaho-þi. eight so.many.days AOR-continue.to.paddle-3/AOR and continued paddling for eight days.

12R

šwa·šika e·tasokonakateniki, šwa·šika IC-tasokonakat-niki, eight IC-be.so.many.days-0ƍ/CH.C After eight days,

12S

e·hpya·þi i·nahi meneseki. i·nahi menes-eki. e·h-pya·-þi AOR-come-3/AOR that.LOC island-LOC he came to that island.

12T

mešemeko e·hinekihkwa·niki, meše=meko e·h-inekihkwa·-niki, freely=EMPH AOR-be.such.size-0ƍ/AOR It was of fair size,

12U

a·kwike·hipi meša·nikini. a·kwi=ke·hi=ipi | meša·-nikini._ not=moreover=HRSY be.big-0ƍ/NEG but not big, it’s said.

12V

e·hso·kihto·þi oþi·ma·ni, e·h-so·kiht-o·þi o-þi·ma·n-i, || AOR-tie-3>0/AOR 3-canoe-SG He tied up his canoe,

13A

e·hašike·þi. e·h-ašike·-þi. AOR-build.house-3/AOR and built a house.

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Meskwaki

13B

o·ni ki·šike·þi, o·ni IC-ki·šike·-þi, and IC-finish.build.house-3/CH.C And after he built his house,

13C

e·hni·sa·wata·soþi. e·h-ni·sa·wata·so-þi. AOR-take.down.one’s.things-3/AOR he unloaded his things.

13D

o·ni pe·hkote·niki, IC-pehkote·-niki o·ni_ and.then IC-be.night-0ƍ/CH.C And then, that night

13E

e·hpemahonitehe ne·topa·hahi aša·hahi, ne·topa·h-ahi| e·h-pemaho-nitehe AOR-paddle.along-3ƍ/PAST.AOR people.on.warpath-OBV aša·h-ahi, Sioux-OBV.PL a Sioux war party had paddled by,

13F

e·hawata·kotehe oþi·ma·ni. e·h-awataw-ekotehe| o-þi·ma·n-i. AOR-take.along.O’S.O2-3ƍ>3/PAST.AOR 3-canoe-SG and they had taken his canoe.

13G

ma·mayameko e·hmawa·pataki, ma·maya=meko e·h-mawa·pat-aki, AOR-go.to.look.at-3>0/AOR early=EMPH When he went to check on it early in the morning,

13H

e·hašenonikiþi·hi oþi·ma·ni! e·h-ašeno-niki=þi·hi o-þi·ma·n-i! AOR-be.gone-0ƍ/AOR=it.was.discovered 3-canoe-SG why, his canoe was gone!

13I

e·hmayo·þi, e·h-mayo·-þi,| AOR-weep-3/AOR He cried

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157

158

DAHLSTROM

13J

e·hpwa·wimeko-kehke·netaki e·šikenikwe·ni, e·h-pwa·wi–=meko –kehke·net-aki IC-išiken-nikwe·ni, AOR-not–=EMPH –know-3/AOR IC-fare.thus-0ƍ/INT.PART/OBL because he had no idea what could have happened to it

13K

e·hpwa·wiyoke·hi-mamaka·hkwihkiwiniki i·nini mehteko·ni. e·h-pwa·wi–=iyo=ke·hi –mama·ka·hkwihkiwi-niki i·nini AOR-not–=for=moreover –REDUP.be.big.tree-0ƍ/AOR those.INAN mehtekw-ani. tree-PL and, besides, there weren’t any big trees there.

13L

i·nikike·hi, “aya·pami·yakwe i·niki=ke·hi, “aya·pami·-yakwe| those.PROX.ANIM=moreover go.back-21/SUBJNCT And those [Sioux]: “When we go back

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13M ki·hnawaþi-memekwatahwa·pena,” e·hiyowa·þi. ke-i·h-nawaþi–memekwatahw-a·pena,” e·h-iy-owa·þi. AOR-say.thus-3P/AOR 2-FUT-stop.to–beat.up-21>3/IND we’ll stop to beat him up,” they said. 13N

“še·ški mani ki·hawato·pena þi·ma·ni,” e·hiyowa·þi “še·ški_ mani ke-i·h-awat-o·pena þi·ma·n-i,” only this.INAN 2-FUT-take.along-21>0/IND canoe-SG e·h-iy-owa·þi AOR-say.thus-3P/AOR Because they said, “We’ll take only this canoe,”

13O

we·þi- i·ni -awatawoþi oþi·ma·ni. IC-oþi– i·ni –awataw-eþi o-þi·ma·n-i. IC-from– that.INAN –take.O’S.O2-X>3/PART/OBL 3-canoe-SG is why his canoe was taken from him.

13P

i·nimeko e·hpwa·wi-wi·seniþi i·na neno·te·wa. neno·te·w-a. i·ni=meko| e·h-pwa·wi–wi·seni-þi| i·na then=EMPH AOR-not–eat-3/AOR that.ANIM Indian-SG Then that Indian didn’t eat a thing.

13Q

“meše·nahmeko na·hina·hmeko wi·hpahkihte·pene·wa·ne·ni “meše=i·nahi=meko na·hina·hi=meko time=EMPH as.may.be=EMPH

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Meskwaki

159

wi·h-pahkihte·pene·-wa·ne·ni FUT-pass.out.from.hunger-1/AOR.INTERR “Whenever I pass out from hunger,

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13R

ni·hpahkihte·pene,” e·hišite·he·þi. ne-i·h-pahkihte·pene·-Ø,” || e·h-išite·he·-þi. 1-FUT-pass.out.from.hunger-1/IND AOR-think.thus-3/AOR I’ll pass out,” he thought.

14A

[Description of figure 7:] o·ni e·hawanekoþi me·kekineniþini ki·šekoki e·piniþini ketiwani, o·ni e·h-awan-ekoþi IC-makekin-niþini and.then AOR-take.along-3 >3/AOR IC-be.big-3 /PART/3 ki·šekw-eki IC-api-niþini| ketiw-ani, IC-be -3 /PART/3 eagle-OBV sky-LOC And then a big sky-dwelling eagle took him,

14B

we·þi·þimeko e·hišiwenekoþi. IC-oþi·-þi=meko e·h-išiwen-ekoþi. IC-be.from.there-3/PART/OBL=EMPH AOR-carry.thither-3 >3/AOR and carried him right to where he came from.

Figure 7. Illustration at the bottom of p. 14 of Kiyana’s manuscript; see 14A– B. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.

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DAHLSTROM

14C

“a·kwi, noši·he, wi·hnepeyanini,” “a·kwi,_ ne-oši·he, wi·h-nep-yanini,” 1-grandchild.VOC FUT-die-2/NEG not “You will not die, grandson,”

14D

e·hikoþi. e·h-Ø-ikoþi. AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ >3/AOR it told him.

14E

“ki·hne·wa·wakimeko kemeso·ta·naki,” “ke-i·h-ne·w-a·waki=meko ke-meso·ta·n-aki,” 2-FUT-see-2>3P/IND=EMPH 2-parent-PL “You will indeed see your parents,”

14F

e·hikoþi. e·h-Ø-ikoþi. AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ >3/AOR it told him.

Figure 8. Illustration at the bottom of p. 15 of Kiyana’s manuscript; see 14G– 15A. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution. 14G

[Description of figure 8:] i·niþa·hmani kehþahpemeki we·þiwenekoþi menesi,3 i·ni=þa·hi=mani kehþ’–ahpemeki || that=so=this.INAN great–up.aloft IC-oþiwen-ekoþi menes-i, IC-carry.O.from.there-3 >3/PART/ OBL island-SG So this is the island from which it carried him way up into the sky,

3. Kiyana wrote ‫ۃ‬me se si‫ۄ‬.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

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15A

161

nanawimeko menesi kehþikami·ki. nanawi=meko_ menes-i kehþikami·w-eki. isolated=EMPH island-SG great.lake-LOC an island way out in the middle of the great lake.

15B

meneseki e·hoþiwenekoþi, menes-eki| e·h-oþiwen-ekoþi, island-LOC AOR-carry.O.from.there-3ƍ>3/AOR It carried him from the island,

15C

we·þi·þimeko e·hpye·nekoþi, IC-oþi·-þi=meko e·h-pye·n-ekoþi, IC-be.from.there-3/PART/OBL AOR-bring-3ƍ>3/AOR and brought him right where he came from,

15D

e·hmenwimeko-pye·nekoþi i·ya·hi. i·ya·hi. e·h-menwi–=meko –pye·n-ekoþi AOR-well–=EMPH –bring-3ƍ>3/AOR yonder and brought him there very comfortably.

15E

ke·htenameko e·hne·wa·þi omeso·ta·nahi i·ya·hi, ke·htena=meko e·h-ne·w-a·þi o-meso·ta·n-ahi i·ya·hi, AOR-see-3>3ƍ/AOR 3-parent-OBV.PL yonder truly=EMPH Sure enough, he saw his parents there,

15F

e·ha·þimoþi e·šawiþi. IC-išawi-þi.| e·h-a·þimo-þi AOR-narrate-3/AOR IC-fare.thus-3/PART/OBL and he told what had happened to him.

15G

“netakihto neþi·ma·ni,” ne-þi·ma·n-i,” “net-akiht-o· 1-lose-1>0/IND 1-canoe-SG “I lost my canoe,”

15H

e·hina·þi o·sani, e·h-in-a·þi o-o·s-ani, AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR 3-father-OBV he said to his father,

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15I

“šewe·na ayo·hmeko ki·hpya·ya·ni, “šewe·na ayo·hi=meko IC-ki·h-pya·-ya·ni, but here=EMPH IC-PERF-come-1/CH.C “But after I came back here,

15J

e·hkehke·netama·ni e·hkemo·temiwa·tehe aša·haki.” aša·h-aki.” e·h-kehke·net-ama·ni e·h-kemo·tem-iwa·tehe AOR-know-1>0/AOR AOR-steal.O2.from-3P>1/PAST.AOR Sioux-PL I realized that the Sioux had stolen it from me.”

15K

keye·hapake·hipi·ni menesi e·šite·he·þi mesihkwanimeko. keye·hapa=ke·hi=ipi=i·ni || menes-i it.turned.out=moreover=HRSY=that.INAN island-SG IC-išite·he·-þi| mesihkw-ani=meko. IC-think.thus-3/PART/OBL ice-OBV=EMPH And, it’s said, what he thought was an island was in fact an iceberg.

16A

e·ye·kimeko ki·hpya·þi e·ye·ki=meko ki·h-pya·-þi, as.well=EMPH PERF-come-3/CH.C It was also after he had arrived

16B

e·hkehke·nema·þi i·nini mesihkwani. e·h-kehke·nem-a·þi| i·nini mesihkw-ani.| AOR-know-3>3ƍ/AOR that.ANIM.OBV ice-OBV that he realized that it was an iceberg.

16C

aþa·hmeko e·hse·kesiþi. aþa·hmeko e·h-se·kesi-þi. only.then AOR-be.frightened-3/AOR Then he felt frightened.

16D

“penaya·pi ki·na. “pena=ya·pi ki·na| please=here.I/we.go you “Here, I want to talk to you.

16E

ma·mahka·þi nano·pehka·þina·hi wi·hmawi-tanahkate·wi·yani ketešite·he?” ma·mahka·þi nano·pehka·þina·hi wi·h-mawi–tanahkate·wi·-yani| necessarily a.great.distance FUT-go.and–fast.there-2/AOR

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Meskwaki

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ket-ešite·he-Ø?” 2-think.thus-2/IND Did you think it was necessary to go very far away to fast?” 16F

e·hineþi, e·hikoþi o·sani. o-o·s-ani. e·h-in-eþi, e·h-Ø-ikoþi AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR 3-father-OBV he was asked, his father asked him.

16G

“ke·htenakohi,” e·hina·þi, “ke·htena=kohi,” e·h-in-a·þi, truly=certainly AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR “That’s right,” he said to him

16H

“i·nokiþa·hi a·kwina·hka nekotahi wi·hmawi-taši-mahkate·wi·ya·nini,” “i·noki=þa·hi a·kwi=na·hka nekotahi_ now=so not=again somewhere wi·h-mawi–taši–mahkate·wi·-ya·nini,” FUT-go.and–there–fast-1/NEG “But now, I won’t go off again to fast someplace,”

16I

e·hina·þi. e·hina·þi. AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR he said to him.

16J

“penani·hka natawi-owi·wino!” “pena=ni·hka natawi–owi·wi-no!” please=man’s.expl. seek.to–have.wife-2/IMP “Darn it, why don’t you try to get married?”

16K

e·hineþi. e·h-in-eþi. AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR he was asked.

16L

“ši·! a·kwiya·pini·hka kana·kwa!” e·hina·þi, “ši·! a·kwi=ya·pi=ni·hka kana·kwa!” say! not=here.I.go=man’s.expl. possible e·h-in-a·þi, AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR “Hell no! That’s impossible!” he said to him,

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16M “ke·wakimeko nenatawe·neta “ke·waki=meko ne-natawe·net-a still=EMPH 1-seek-1>0/IND “I still really want 16N

wi·hwe·ta·se·wiya·ni,” e·hina·þi o·sani. wi·h-we·ta·se·wi-ya·ni,” e·h-in-a·þi o-o·s-ani. FUT-be.warrior-2/AOR AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR 3-father-OBV to be a warrior,” he said to his father.

16O

e·hnekotihekoþiyoke·hi. e·h-nekotih-ekoþi=iyo=ke·hi. || AOR-have.one-3ƍ>3/AOR=for=moreover He was their only child, you see.

17A

“kemenwima·hmeko-ahpi·hþi-we·ta·se·wi,” “ke-menwi–=ma·hi=meko –ahpi·hþi–we·ta·se·wi-Ø,”| 2-good–=you.see=EMPH –to.such.extent–be.warrior-2/IND “Come on, you’re already a very good warrior,”

17B

e·hikoþi. e·h-Ø-ikoþi._ AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR he said to him.

17C

“a·kwiþa·hni·na pašimeko-we·ta·se·we·netama·nini ni·yawi,” “a·kwi=þa·hi=ni·na paši–=meko –we·ta·se·we·net-ama·nini not=so=I at.all–=EMPH –consider.O.warrior-1>0/NEG ni·yawi,” myself “But I don’t even consider myself a warrior at all,”

17D

e·hina·þi. e·h-in-a·þi.| AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR he said to him.

17E

“o·ho·. ke·htena, nekwi·hi,” e·hikoþi. “o·ho·. ke·htena, ne-kwi·hi,” e·h-Ø-ikoþi. so.that’s.it truly 1-son.VOC AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR “So that’s it. All right, son,” he said to him.

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Meskwaki

17F

i·niþa·hipi e·hmawi-mahkate·wi·þi. i·ni=þa·hi=ipi e·h-mawi–mahkate·wi·-þi. then=so=HRSY AOR-go.and–fast-3/AOR So then, it’s said, he went to fast.

17G

menwina·hmeko e·howi·kihekoþi o·sani, menwina·hi=meko e·h-owi·kih-ekoþi some.distance.away=EMPH AOR-cause.to.dwell-3ƍ>3/AOR o-o·s-ani, 3-father-OBV His father made a place for him some distance away,

17H

mešemeko e·htaši-ma·mahkate·wi·þi. meše=meko e·h-taši–ma·-mahkate·wi·-þi. freely=EMPH AOR-be.engaged.in–REDUP-fast-3/AOR and he just kept on fasting.

17I

a·yahpi·hþina·hi e·hpye·þi-wa·pamekoþi o·sani, o-o·s-ani,| a·yahpi·hþina·hi e·h-pye·þi–wa·pam-ekoþi every.now.and.then AOR-come.to–look.at-3ƍ>3/AOR 3-father-OBV Every now and then his father came over to check on him,

17J

e·hnana·tohta·koþi e·na·hpawa·kwe·ni. e·h-nana·tohtaw-ekoþi IC-ina·hpawa·-kwe·ni. AOR-ask-3ƍ>3/AOR IC-dream.thus-3/INT.PART/OBL and to ask him what he had dreamed.

17K

e·hanemimeko-a·þimoha·þi, e·h-anemi–=meko –a·þimoh-a·þi, AOR-go.on–=EMPH –inform-3>3ƍ/AOR He told him each time,

17L

e·hpešikwimeko-a·þimoha·þi. e·h-pešikwi–=meko –a·þimoh-a·þi. AOR-straight–=EMPH –inform-3>3ƍ/AOR he told him straight out.

17M o·ni meše nekotenwi pye·ya·niþi o·sani, o-o·s-ani, o·ni meše_ nekotenwi IC-pya·-niþi then just one.time IC-come-3ƍ/CH.C 3-father-OBV And then once, when his father came,

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DAHLSTROM

17N

“ni·hne·wa·wapi maneto·wa,” e·hina·þi, “ne-i·h-ne·w-a·wa=ipi maneto·w-a,” e·h-in-a·þi, 1-FUT-see-1>3/IND=HRSY spirit-SG AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR he said to him, “I was told that I will see a spirit.

17O

“pe·hkipimeko meši-maneto·wa,” e·hina·þi. “pe·hki=ipi=meko meši–maneto·w-a,” e·h-in-a·þi. || really=HRSY=EMPH big–spirit-SG AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR It will be a really big spirit, I was told,” he said to him.

18A

[Description of figure 9:] e·hne·wa·þi. e·h-ne·w-a·þi. AOR-see-3>3ƍ/AOR When he saw [the spirit].

18B

e·hnehtama·koþi omešo·mesahi. e·h-nehtamaw-ekoþi o-mešo·mes-ahi.| AOR-kill.O2.for-3ƍ>3/AOR 3-grandfather-OBV.PL His grandfathers killed him for him.

18C

wi·hpwa·wi-wanimekoþi wi·h-pwa·wi–wanim-ekoþi FUT-not–trick.by.speech-3ƍ>3/AOR So that [the spirit] would not fool him

18D

we·þi-pakamemeþi.

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IC-oþi–pakamemeþi. IC-from–hit-X>3ƍ/PART/OBL

was the reason why he [the spirit] was struck by lightning. 18E

e·hnehtama·koþi nenemehkiwahi. e·h-nehtamaw-ekoþi nenemehkiw-ahi. AOR-kill.O2.for-3ƍ>3/AOR thunderer-OBV.PL The thunderers killed him for him.

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Meskwaki

167

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Figure 9. Illustration at the top of p. 18 of Kiyana’s manuscript; see 18A–E. National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution. 18F

“ke·htena maneto·wiyane, “ke·htena maneto·wi-yane, || truly be.spirit-2/SUBJNCT “If you really are a spirit,

19A

manimeko aša·ti·hi nete·heki ahtawihkapa,” mani=meko aša·ti·h-i| ne-te·h-eki this.INAN=EMPH headed.arrow-INAN 1-heart-LOC ahtaw-ihkapa,” place.for-2>1/POT you would put this same arrow through my heart,”

19B

e·hina·þi. e·h-in-a·þi. AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ /AOR he told him.

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DAHLSTROM

19C

“maniwi·na: a·kwi me·kwe·he4 maneto·wiyanini,” “mani=wi·na:| a·kwi_ me·kwe·he maneto·wi-yanini,” this.INAN=but not I.believe be.spirit-2/NEG “But here’s the thing: I don’t think you’re a spirit,”

19D

e·hina·þi. e·h-in-a·þi. AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR he told him.

19E

“a·kwi! nema·waþikohmeko-makekine ayo·hi ahki·ki” “a·kwi! ne-ma·waþi–=kohi=meko –makekin-e| ayo·hi no 1-of.all–=certainly=EMPH –be.big-1/IND this.LOC ahky-eki!” earth-LOC “No! I’m obviously the very biggest on this earth!”

19F

e·hikoþi. e·h-Ø-ikoþi.| AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR he said to him.

19G

“nema·waþimeko-meši-maneto·wi!” e·hikoþi. “ne-ma·waþi–=meko –meši–maneto·wi-Ø!” 1-of.all–=EMPH –big–be.spirit-1/IND e·h-Ø-ikoþi. AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR “I’m the biggest spirit of all!” he said to him.

19H

“a·kwiþa·hmeko aka·wa·nena·nini “a·kwi=þa·hi=meko| aka·wa·n-ena·nini desire-1>2/NEG not=so=EMPH “Well, I don’t want you

19I

wi·hketeminawiyani,” e·hina·þi. wi·h-keteminaw-iyani,” e·h-in-a·þi. FUT-bless-2>1/AOR AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR to bless me,” he said to him.

4. Kiyana wrote me ge . e .

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

19J

“ahpemekiþa·hi awiwaki ke·teminawiþiki,” IC-keteminaw-iþiki,”| “ahpemeki=þa·hi awi-waki up.above=so be.there-3P/IND IC-bless-3P>1/PART/3P “For the ones that blessed me live up above,”

19K

e·hina·þi. e·h-in-a·þi. AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR he said to him.

19L

“o· we·newe·ne·haki?” e·hikoþi. “o·_ we·ne-we·ne·h-aki?” e·h-Ø-ikoþi.| oh REDUP-who-PL AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR “Oh, who are they?” he asked him.

169

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19M “o· nenemehkiwaki nemešo·mesaki,” e·hikoþi. “o·_ nenemehkiw-aki ne-mešo·mes-aki,” e·h-Ø-ikoþi. oh thunderer-PL 1-grandfather-PL AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR “Oh, my grandfathers the thunderers,” he said to him. 19N

“o· me·kwe·he awita ketemino·nesa. “o·_ me·kwe·he awita_ keteminaw-enesa. oh I.believe not/POT bless-3(P)>2/POT “Oh, I don’t think they could bless you.

19O

a·kwima·hi·niki ke·ko·hi kehke·netamowa·þini,” a·kwi=ma·hi=i·niki ke·ko·hi_ kehke·net-amowa·þini,” not=you.see=those.ANIM something know-3P>0/NEG After all, those guys don’t know anything,”

19P

e·hikoþi. e·h-Ø-ikoþi. AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR he said to him.

19Q

“a·kwi! neketemina·ko·kikohi!” e·hina·þimeko. “a·kwi! ne-keteminaw-eko·ki=kohi!” || no 1-bless-3P>1/IND=certainly e·h-in-a·þi=meko. AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR=EMPH “No! They obviously blessed me!” he insisted to him.

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20A

“na·hka ketiwa, “na·hka_ ketiw-a, also eagle-ANIM.SG “And also an eagle,

20B

meneseki e·hawiya·ni, menes-eki| e·h-awi-ya·ni, island-LOC AOR-be.there-1/AOR when I was on an island,

20C

nepye·nekwa,” ne-pye·n-ekwa,”| 1-bring-3>1/IND he brought me back,”

20D

e·hina·þi. e·h-in-a·þi. AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR he told him.

20E

“ahpemeki nepye·þi-išiwenekwa,” “ahpemeki| ne-pye·þi–išiwen-ekwa,”| up.above 1-come.to–take.thither-3>1/IND “He brought me up into the air,”

20F

e·hina·þi. e·h-in-a·þi. AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR he told him.

20G

“a·kwihwe·na mani nemehtekomi wi·hnahkonamawiyanini?” “a·kwi=ihi=we·na| mani ne-mehtekom-i not=NEG=in.fact this.INAN 1-stick-SG wi·h-nahkonamaw-iyanini?” FUT-accept.O2.from-2>1/NEG “Aren’t you going to accept this staff from me?”

20H

e·hikoþi. e·h-Ø-ikoþi. AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR he asked him.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

20I

“a·kwikohmeþi menwe·netamo·na·nini. “a·kwi=kohi=meþi menwe·netamaw-ena·nini. not=certainly=really like.O’s.O2-1>2/NEG “Certainly not, I really don’t like [that staff] of yours.

20J

asa·m-ahkonwi,” e·hina·þi. e·h-in-a·þi. asa·m–ahkon-wi,” too.much–be.so.long -0/IND AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR It’s too long,” he said to him.

20K

“neni·ške·netameko ta·taki,” e·hina·þi. ta·taki,” “ne-ni·ške·net-a=meko 1-consider.clumsy-1>0/IND=EMPH sort.of e·hina·þi. AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR “I think it’s kind of clumsy,” he said to him.

20L

“nahkonamane, “nahkon-amane,| accept-2>0/SUBJNCT “If you accept it,

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20M e·šimeko-natawe·netamowane·ni wi·hahkonwi,” IC-iši–=meko –natawe·net-amowane·ni wi·h-ahkon-wi,” IC-thus–=EMPH –desire-2>0/INT.PART/OBL FUT-be.so.long-0/IND it will be as long as you want it to be,” 20N

e·hina·þi maþi-maneto·ha. e·hina·þi maþi|–maneto·h-a. AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR bad–spirit.DIM-ANIM.SG the evil spirit told him.

20O

“þa·kike·hmeko- mani -išikenwi. “þa·ki–=ke·hi=meko_ mani –išiken-wi.| all–=moreover=EMPH this.INAN –be.thus-0/IND “And what’s more, this has all kinds [of power].

20P

meše·nahmeko owiye·ha mya·ne·nemate, meše=i·nahi=meko owiye·h-a| mya·ne·nem-ate, you.can.go.ahead.and someone-SG dislike-2>3/SUBJNCT You may, if you like, if you think ill of someone,

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171

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172

DAHLSTROM

20Q

i·tepi ki·hiši-nemenamawa·wa, i·tepi_ ke-i·h-iši–nemenamaw-a·wa, to.there 2-FUT-thither–point.O2.at-2>3/IND you should point it at them there,

20R

wi·hkehkahamawaþi wi·h-kehkahamaw-aþi FUT-designate.O2.for-2>3/AOR and say

20S

na·hina·hi wi·hnepeki. na·hina·hi_ wi·h-nep-ki. FUT-die-3/AOR time when they would die.

20T

i·nina·hmeko wi·hnepeki. i·nina·hi=meko wi·h-nep-ki. || that.time=EMPH FUT-die-3/AOR Right at that time they will die.

21A

na·hina·hmeko ke·hkahikawa·wate·ni, na·hina·hi=meko IC-kehkahikaw-a·wate·ni, time=EMPH IC-designate.for-2>3/CH.INTERR Just at whatever time you designate for them,

21B

i·nina·hmeko wi·hnepo·hiþi,” i·nina·hi=meko wi·h-nep-o·hi-þi,” at.that.time=EMPH FUT-die-DIM-3/AOR right then they will die,”

21C

e·hinekoþi. e·h-in-ekoþi. AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR he said to him.

21D

“o·nina·hka ihkwe·wa natawe·nemate, “o·ni=na·hka ihkwe·w-a natawe·nem-ate, and=also woman-SG want-2>3/SUBJNCT “And another thing, if you want a woman,

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Meskwaki

21E

manimeko mehtekwi wi·hayo·yani mani=meko mehtekw-i IC-wi·h-ay-o·yani this.INAN=EMPH stick-SG IC-FUT-use-2>0/PART/0 this same staff is what you will use

21F

wi·haya·winenikawaþi. wi·h-aya·winenikaw-aþi. FUT-signal.to.with.gesture-2>3/AOR to wave at her.

21G

i·nimeko i·tepi wi·ha·þi. i·ni=meko i·tepi| wi·h-a·-þi. then=EMPH to.there FUT-go.there-3/AOR Right away she will go there.

21H

na·hina·hmeko e·hpakamika·pa·winotawa·wate·ni, na·hina·hi=meko e·h-pakamika·pawinotaw-a·wate·ni, time=EMPH AOR-arrive.and.stand.facing.O-2>3/AOR.INTERR At whatever time you go and stand in front of her,

21I

i·nina·hmeko wi·ha·htawa·naþi,” i·nina·hi=meko wi·h-a·htawa·n-aþi,” at.that.time=EMPH FUT-place.O.on.back-2>3/AOR is the time when you will lay her down on her back,”

21J

e·hinekoþi. e·h-in-ekoþi. AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR he told him.

21K

e·he·niki·kwe·ška·þi e·hapane·niþi. e·h-e·niki·kwe·ška·-þi e·h-apane·ni-þi. AOR-show.amusement.on.face-3/AOR AOR-laugh-3/AOR [The young man] smiled slightly and laughed.

21L

“na·hkaþi, ‘ni·hwe·ta·se·wi,’ išite·he·yane “na·hkaþi, ‘ne-i·h-we·ta·se·wi-Ø,’_ išite·he·-yane also 1-FUT-be.warrior-1/IND think.thus-2/SUBJNCT “Also, if you want to be a warrior

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21M owiye·ha maya·wose·te, owiye·h-a maya·wose·-te, someone-SG lead.war.party-3/SUBJNCT when someone is leading a war party, 21N

manimeko wi·hawato·yani. mani=meko_ wi·h-awat-o·yani. this.INAN=EMPH FUT-take.along-2>0/PART/0 this same thing is what you should take along.

21O

mo·hki·htawate ki·þi-mehtose·neniwa mo·hki·htaw-ate| ke-i·þi–mehtose·neniw-a| attack-2>3/SUBJNCT 2-fellow–person-SG When you attack your fellow man

21P

ašiþimeko pye·hpahoyane wi·kiya·peki, wi·kiya·p-eki, ašiþi=meko pye·hpaho-yane near=EMPH come.running-2/SUBJNCT house-LOC and come running close to the house,

21Q

i·tepi ki·hiši-nemena. i·tepi| ke-i·h-iši–nemen-a. to.there 2-FUT-thither–point-2>0/IND you should point it there.

21R

i·nimeko wi·hpo·ni-kehke·netamowa·þi, i·ni=meko wi·h-po·ni–kehke·net-amowa·þi, then=EMPH FUT-cease–know-3P>0/AOR Right away they will lose consciousness,

21S

mešemeko·ni wi·hpematahwaþi,” e·hineþi. meše=meko=i·ni || wi·h-pematahw-aþi,” freely=EMPH=then FUT-club.along-2>3(P)/AOR e·h-in-eþi. AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR and you can just club one after another,” he was told.

22A

ke·htenameko e·hkatawi-wanimekoþi. ke·htena=meko e·h-katawi–wanim-ekoþi. truly=EMPH AOR-almost–trick.by.speech-3ƍ>3/AOR Sure enough, he had almost fooled him.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Meskwaki

22B

“o·ni nye·wenwi ki·hmešenahkye, “o·ni nye·wenwi ke-i·h-mešenahkye·-Ø, and four.times 2-FUT-capture.people-2/IND “And four times you will take a captive,

22C

na·hka nye·wenwi ki·hwe·ta·se·wi, na·hka| nye·wenwi ke-i·h-we·ta·se·wi-Ø, again four.times 2-FUT-be.warrior-2/IND four other times you will be a warrior,

22D

na·hkaþi nye·wenwi ki·hmaya·wose,” e·hineþi. na·hkaþi nye·wenwi ke-i·h-maya·wose·-Ø,” again four.times 2-FUT-lead.war.party-2/IND e·h-in-eþi. AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR and also four times you will lead a war party,” he was told.

22E

e·hki·šimeko-wanimekoþi. e·h-ki·ši–=meko –wanim-ekoþi. AOR-PERF–=EMPH –trick.by.speech-3ƍ>3/AOR He had completely fooled him indeed.

22F

mani e·ši-awatenamawoþi, mani IC-iši–awatenamaw-eþi, now IC-thus–hand.O2.over.to-X>3/CH.C As soon as it was offered to him,

22G

e·hnahkonahkonaki. e·h-nahko-nahkon-aki. AOR-REDUP-accept-3>0/AOR he took it.

22H

e·hmenwimeko-inekihkwa·hkwato·hiniki,5 e·h-menwi–=meko –inekihkwa·hkwat-o·hi-niki, AOR-good–=EMPH –[wood].be.such.diameter-DIM-0ƍ/AOR It was just the right size around,

22I

na·hka e·hmenwimeko-ahkono·hiniki. na·hka e·h-menwi–=meko –ahkon-o·hi-niki. AOR-good–=EMPH –be.so.long-DIM-0ƍ/AOR also and it was just the right length. 5. Kiyana wrote i ne kwa kwa to i ni ki .

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22J

e·hpešeke·netaki. e·h-pešeke·net-aki. AOR-admire-3>0/AOR He admired it.

22K

“ši·hþe·! we·nah ke·htenawe·meko maneto·wa!” “ši·hþe·!_ we·nahi_ ke·htena=we·=meko maneto·w-a!” oh.my I.see.now truly=in.fact=EMPH spirit-SG “Oh my! I see now. He truly is a spirit!”

22L

e·hišite·he·þi. e·h-išite·he·-þi. AOR-think.thus-3/AOR he thought,

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22M e·hki·wi-so·kenaki i·ni mehteko·hi. i·ni mehtekw-e·h-i. e·h-ki·wi–so·ken-aki AOR-around–hold-3>0/AOR that.INAN stick-DIM-SG and he carried the little staff around in his hand. 22N

“wa·wi·tawimeko, noši·he, ki·hoþi-mi·škawesi,” “wa·wi·tawi=meko, ne-oši·he, both.sides=EMPH 1-grandchild.VOC ke-i·h-oþi–mi·škawesi-Ø,” 2-FUT-from–be.powerful-2/IND “Grandson, you will have power from both sides,”

22O

e·hikoþi. e·h-Ø-ikoþi. AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR he told him.

22P

e·hte·pwe·htawa·þi. e·h-te·pwe·htaw-a·þi. AOR-believe-3>3ƍ/AOR He believed him.

22Q

“owiye·hake·hi a·nemihehke, “owiye·h-a=ke·hi a·nemih-ehke, someone-SG=moreover press.O.hard-3>2/SUBJNCT “Moreover, if anyone is about to get the better of you,

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Meskwaki

22R

mani wa·patano nesowa·nowi. mani wa·pat-ano || ne-sowa·now-i. this.INAN look.at-2>0/IMP 1-tail-INAN.SG look at this tail of mine.

23A

manimeko wi·hnesekwiþi. IC-wi·h-nes-ekwiþi. mani=meko this.INAN=EMPH IC-FUT-kill-0>3/PART/0 This same thing is what will kill him.

23B

a·kwimeko nana·ši wi·hwa·wane·nemena·nini, a·kwi=meko nana·ši wi·h-wa·wane·nem-ena·nini, FUT-fail.to.know-1>2/NEG not=EMPH ever And I will never fail to know about you,

23C

e·hpemi-ki·wita·wane·ni, e·h-pemi–ki·wita·-wane·ni, AOR-along–stay.around-2/INT.PART/LOC wherever you are,

23D

i·nike·hi nekotahi iši-ketema·kesiyane, i·ni=ke·hi nekotahi iši–ketema·kesi-yane, then=moreover somewhere thither–be.miserable-2/SUBJNCT and if you are miserable anywhere,

23E

i·ya·hmeko ki·hpye·noto·ne,” i·ya·hi=meko ke-i·h-pye·notaw-ene,” yonder=EMPH 2-FUT-come.to-1>2/IND I will come to you right there,”

23F

e·hikoþi. e·h-Ø-ikoþi. AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR he told him.

23G

“‘o· kete·pwe·hto·ne,’ išiyane, “‘o·_ ke-te·pwe·htaw-ene,’ | in-iyane, O, 2-believe-1>2/IND say.thus.to-2>1/SUBJNCT “If you say to me, ‘O, I believe you,’

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23H

i·ni·ni wi·hišawiyani,” IC-wi·h-išawi-yani,” i·ni=i·ni then=that.INAN IC-FUT-fare.thus-2/PART/OBL then that is what will happen to you,”

23I

e·hikoþi. e·h-Ø-ikoþi. AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR he told him.

23J

kapo·twe neniwa, “o· kete·pwe·hto·ne,” e·hina·þi. kapo·twe_ neniw-a,| “o·_ ke-te·pwe·htaw-ene,” O, 2-believe-1>2/IND at.some.point man-SG e·h-in-a·þi. AOR-say.thus.to-3>3ƍ/AOR At this point the man said to him, “O, I believe you.”

23K

“i·nikohi! “i·ni=kohi! that.INAN=certainly “That’s the idea!

23L

i·nikohi e·hmenowe·yani, i·ni=kohi e·h-menowe·-yani, that.INAN=certainly AOR-say.something.good.to.people-2/AOR You certainly said the right thing,

23M pe·hkimeko kemenowe,” pe·hki=meko ke-menowe·-Ø,”| really=EMPH 2-say.something.good.to.people-2/IND you really said the right thing,” 23N

e·hikoþi. e·h-Ø-ikoþi. AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR he told him.

23O

“ni·nakoh noši·he, “ni·na=kohi_ ne-oši·he, I=certainly 1-grandchild.VOC “As for me, grandchild,

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Meskwaki

179

23P

a·kwi owiye·ha maþinawiþini ayo·hi ahkwitahkamiki maneto·waki. a·kwi owiye·h-a maþinaw-iþini ayo·hi not someone-SG dare.in.regard.to-3>1/NEG this.LOC ahkwitahkamiki maneto·w-aki. on.top.of.earth.LOC spirit-PL none of the spirits on this earth would dare challenge me.

23Q

ni·nameko nema·waþi-meši-maneto·wi,” ni·na=meko ne-ma·waþi–meši–maneto·wi-Ø,” I=EMPH 1-of.all–big–be.spirit-1/IND I myself am the biggest spirit,”

23R

e·hiniþi. e·h-i-niþi.| AOR-say.thus-3ƍ/AOR he said.

23S

“nahi, noši·h, i·ni wi·hna·na·kwa·yakwe,” e·hiniþi. “nahi, ne-oši·h, i·ni wi·h-na·-na·kwa·-yakwe,” || well, 1-gr.child-VOC then FUT-REDUP-leave-21/AOR e·h-i-niþi. AOR-say.thus-3ƍ/AOR “Well, grandson, now is the time for us to go our separate ways,” he said.

24A

manimeko e·ši-kohkika·pa·niþi, mani=meko IC-iši–kohkika·pa·-niþi, now=EMPH IC-thus–turn.around.from.standing.position-3ƍ/CH.C Just as he turned from where he was standing,

24B

e·hpemi-sesekeše·niki, e·h-pemi–sesekeše·-niki, AOR-along–be.sparks-0ƍ/AOR there was a series of sparks,

24C

e·hpakamemeþi omešo·mesani. e·h-pakam-emeþi o-mešo·mes-ani. AOR-hit-X>3ƍ/AOR 3-grandfather-OBV and his grandfather was struck by lightning.

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DAHLSTROM

24D

apinameko e·hme·me·menatesomeþi,6 apina=meko e·h-me·-me·menatesw-emeþi, even=EMPH AOR-REDUP-cause.to.vomit.by.heat-X>3ƍ/AOR The lightning struck him so hard he was even vomiting

24E

e·hma·mi·si·homeþi. e·h-ma·-mi·si·hw-emeþi. AOR-REDUP-cause.to.defecate.by.blow-X>3ƍ/AOR and defecating.

24F

e·hkwe·hta·nihemeþi. e·h-kwe·hta·nih-emeþi. AOR-kill.in.an.awful.way-X>3ƍ/AOR He was made to die a horrible death.

24G

ki·ši-nesemeþi, IC-ki·ši–nes-emeþi, IC-PERF–kill-X>3ƍ/CH.C After he had been killed,

24H

e·hkehke·nema·þi. e·h-kehke·nem-a·þi. AOR-know-3>3ƍ/AOR [the young man] found out about him.

24I

e·ha·þimoheþi, e·h-a·þimoh-eþi, AOR-inform-X>3/AOR It was explained to him:

24J

“šina·kwa, meše·nahmeko kewanimekwa! “šina·kwa, meše·=’nah=meko ke-wanim-ekwa! well, as.may.be=EMPH 2-trick.by.speech-3>2/IND “Well, he just went ahead and fooled you!

24K

maþi-maneto·he·hama·hi·na, maþi–maneto·h-e·h-a=ma·hi=i·na, bad–spirit.DIM-DIM-SG=you.see=that.ANIM That was a little evil spirit, after all,

6. Kiyana wrote e me me me na te so tti ; I conjecture that he omitted a penultimate syllable me and that the verb should be e·hme·me·menatesomeþi with inflection for unspecified subject acting on obviative object, to match the preceding and following lines, rather than a brief proximate shift to the maþimaneto·ha.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

24L

a·kwi menwi-maneto·wiþini. a·kwi_ menwi–maneto·wi-þini. not good–be.spirit-3/NEG he wasn’t a good spirit.

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24M we·pesi·hiwihkapake·hmekoyo·we!” we·pesi·hiwi-hkapa=ke·hi=meko=iyo·we!” be.crazy-2/POT=moreover=EMPH=PAST You must have been crazy!” 24N

e·hineþi. e·h-in-eþi. AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR he was told.

24O

“mešemeko·nahi taši-nesekwihkapa i·ni mehtekwi, “meše=meko=i·nahi taši–nes-ekwihkapa i·ni mehtekwi, there–kill-0>2/POT that.INAN stick-SG any=EMPH=there “That staff could kill you, just any place,

24P

amonesake·hmekoyo·we·na, amw-enesa=ke·hi=meko=iyo·we=i·na, eat-3>2/POT=moreover=EMPH=PAST=that.ANIM and, moreover, that one would have even eaten you,

24Q

pwa·wike·hni·na·na-ki·sa·þi-ketemino·na·kehe,” pwa·wi–=ke·hi=ni·na·na –ki·sa·þi–keteminaw-ena·kehe,” not–=moreover=we.EXCL –with.difficulty–bless-1P>2/IRREALIS if we hadn’t gone to the trouble of blessing you,”

24R

e·hineþi. e·h-in-eþi. AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR he was told.

24S

“ki·hwa·pata e·nekihkwa·hkwahki,” “ke-i·h-wa·pat-a 2-FUT-look.at-2>0/IND IC-inekihkwa·hkwat-ki,” IC-[wood].be.so.big.in.diameter-0/PART/OBL “Look at how big that tree is,”

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24T

e·hineþi. e·h-in-eþi. AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR he was told.

24U

nano·pehka·þimeko e·hinekihkwa·hkwateniki ani·pi. nano·pehka·þi=meko || e·h-inekihkwa·hkwat-niki great.size=EMPH AOR-[wood].be.so.big.in.diameter-0ƍ/AOR ani·py-i. elm-SG There was a huge elm.

25A

“‘kešehkeki pemina·hkwiseto·no,’ pemi–’na·hkwiset-o·no,’ “‘ke-šehk-eki 2-stomach-LOC along–place.[wood].thither-2>0/IMP “‘Lie down and lay the staff on your stomach,’

25B

i·nike·hi wi·hinenekehe. i·ni=ke·hi wi·h-in-enekehe. that.INAN=moreover FUT-say.thus.to-X>2/IRREALIS is what you would have been told.

25C

i·ni išiseto·yanehe,7 i·ni išiset-o·yanehe, that.way place.thus-2>0/IRREALIS If you had done that,

25D

i·ni mani wi·hinekihkwa·hkwahkehe,” i·ni_ mani| wi·h-inekihkwa·hkwat-kehe,” that.INAN this.INAN FUT-[wood].be.such.diameter-0/IRREALIS that [staff] would have become as big as this tree,”

25E

e·hineþi. e·h-in-eþi. AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR he was told.

25F

“i·nokiþa·hi ka·tana·hka mahkate·wi·hkani,” “i·noki=þa·hi ka·ta=na·hka mahkate·wi·-hkani,” now=so don’t=again fast-2/PROHIB “So now, don’t fast again,”

7. Kiyana wrote i di de to ya ne e .

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Meskwaki

25G

e·hikoþi pe·hki ke·temina·koþini. pe·hki IC-keteminaw-ekoþini._ e·h-Ø-ikoþi| AOR-say.thus.to-3ƍ>3/AOR really IC-bless-3ƍ>3/PART/3ƍ the one who really blessed him told him.

25H

“ki·hpo·nimeko-ma·mahkate·wi, “ke-i·h-po·ni–=meko –ma·-mahkate·wi-Ø, 2-FUT-cease–=EMPH –REDUP-fast-2/IND “You should stop fasting altogether.

25I

keki·šikoþi-a·ya·þimohenepena ke-ki·ši–=koþi –a·y-a·þimoh-enepena 2-PERF–=of.course –REDUP-inform-1P>2/IND You know, we have already explained to you

25J

e·ši-ketemino·na·ke,” e·hineþi. IC-iši|–keteminaw-ena·ke,” e·h-in-eþi. IC-thus–bless-1P>2/PART/OBL AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR what we bless you to do,” he was told.

25K

“i·niþa·hmeko wi·hišawiyani,” e·hineþi. “i·ni=þa·hi=meko wi·h-išawi-yani,” FUT-do.thus-2/PART/OBL that=so=EMPH e·h-in-eþi. AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR “So that is exactly what you should do,” he was told.

25L

“ki·howi·wike·hmo·hþi natawi,” e·hineþi. natawi,” “ke-i·h-owi·wi-Ø=ke·hi=mo·hþi 2-FUT-have.wife-2/IND=moreover=even seek.to e·h-in-eþi. AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR “You should even try to get married,” he was told.

25M “i·ya·hmeko pya·yane “i·ya·hi=meko pya·-yane| yonder=EMPH come-2/SUBJNCT “When you get back, 25N

ki·howi·wi,” e·hineþi. ke-i·h-owi·wi-Ø,”_ e·h-in-eþi.| 2-FUT-have.wife-2/ind AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR you should get married,” he was told.

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25O

“ki·hašiha·waþa·hi “ke-i·h-aših-a·wa=þa·hi 2-FUT-make-2>3/IND=so “And you will make

25P

wi·hotahkohkwiyana, o·ni ši·ši·kwani nekoti, wi·h-otahkohkwi-yana, o·ni| ši·ši·kwan-i_ nekoti, FUT-have.O2.as.drum-2/PART/3 and rattle-SG one that which you will have as your drum, and one rattle,

25Q

mi·hkeþihiwe·yanini IC-mi·hkeþihiwe·-yanini IC-doctor.people-2/ITER which, whenever you doctor people,

25R

wi·hanwe·we·hwata,” e·hineþi. wi·h-anwe·we·hw-ata,” || FUT-make.O.sound.by.beating-2>3/PART/3 e·h-in-eþi. AOR-say.thus.to-X>3/AOR you will beat,” he was told.

26A

e·hašiha·þi. e·h-aših-a·þi.| AOR-make-3>3ƍ/AOR He made it [the drum].

26B Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

DAHLSTROM

[Description of figure 10:] ma·haniþa·hi i·nini, na·hka na·tawino·ni: ma·hani=þa·hi_ i·nini,| na·hka_ na·tawino·n-i:| medicine-SG these.INAN=so those.INAN also So these are those things [drum and rattle], and also the medicine:

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185

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Figure 10. Illustration on p. 26 of Kiyana’s manuscript; see 26B–D (drawn between lines 26B and 26C). National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution. 26C

e·hmi·hkeþihiwe·þi e·nwe·we·hwa·þini, e·h-mi·hkeþihiwe·-þi AOR-doctor.people-3/AOR IC-anwe·we·hw-a·þini, IC-make.O.sound.by.beating-3>3 /PART/3 The one that he drummed on when he doctored people,

26D

i·nina·hka ši·ši·kwani. i·ni=na·hka ši·ši·kwan-i. that.INAN=also rattle-SG and also the rattle.

26E

mehteno·hmeko ki·ši-ne·se·ha·þini, mehteno·hi=meko IC-ki·ši–ne·se·h-a·þini, IC-PERF–cure-3>3 /ITER only=EMPH Only after he had cured someone

26F

i·nini e·hayo·þi e·hni·miha·þi. i·nini e·h-ay-o·þi e·h-ni·mih-a·þi.| those.INAN AOR-use-3>0/AOR AOR-cause.to.dance-3>3 /AOR did he use those things and have them dance.

26G

ki·šipimeko-ne·se·ha·þini e·hni·miniþi. IC-ki·ši–=ipi=meko –ne·se·h-a·þini e·h-ni·mi-niþi. IC-PERF–=HRSY=EMPH –cure-3>3 /PART/3 AOR-dance-3 /AOR The person who had been cured by him, it’s said, danced.

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DAHLSTROM

26H

nehkike·hmekopi pe·mi-mi·hkeþihiwe·þi IC-pemi–mi·hkeþihiwe·-þi nehki=ke·hi=meko=ipi so.long=moreover=EMPH=HRSY IC-along–doctor.people-3/PART/OBL For exactly the length of time he was doctoring, it’s said,

26I

i·ninehki i·ya·hi wi·kiya·peki e·pihapiþi i·na te·we·hika·ha, i·ni=nehki i·ya·hi wi·kiya·p-eki for.that.length.of.time yonder house-LOC IC-apih-api-þi || i·na te·we·hika·h-a, IC-REDUP-be.there-3/PART/OBL that.ANIM drum.DIM-ANIM.SG was as long as that small drum would be there in the house,

27A

na·hka i·ni ši·ši·kwani, ši·ši·kwan-i, na·hka_ i·ni also that.INAN rattle-SG and also that rattle,

27B

na·hka i·ni ana·ka·hi, na·hka_ i·ni ana·ka·h-i, also that.INAN dish.DIM-SG and also that small bowl,

27C

na·hka i·ni na·tawino·ni. na·hka_ i·ni| na·tawino·n-i. also that.INAN medicine-SG and also that medicine.

27D

na·hka wi·na nye·wokonimeko i·ya·hi e·hnepe·wowe·þi. na·hka wi·na nye·wokoni=meko i·ya·hi| e·h-nepe·wowe·-þi.8 also he four.days=EMPH yonder AOR-sleep.at.X’s-3/AOR And also he himself, for exactly four days, would spend the night there.

27E

nye·wokonakatenikini IC-nye·wokonakat-nikini IC-be.four.days-0ƍ/ITER After four days,

8. The stem of the verb in 27D means ‘spend the night at [an unspecified person’s] house’.

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Meskwaki

187

27F

e·hna·kwa·þi. e·h-na·kwa·-þi. AOR-leave-3/AOR he would leave.

27G

kaho·nipi e·howi·wiþi. kaho·ni=ipi e·h-owi·wi-þi. so.then=HRSY AOR-have.wife-3/AOR So then, it’s said, he got married.

27H

pe·hkimeko e·hkaškima·þi i·nini owi·wani, pe·hki=meko e·h-kaškim-a·þi i·nini ow-i·w-ani,| really=EMPH AOR-persuade-3>3ƍ/AOR that.OBV 3-wife-OBV He easily won the consent of that wife of his,

27I

e·hpwa·wi-mi·neþi, e·h-pwa·wi–mi·n-eþi, AOR-not–give-X>3/AOR she wasn’t given to him,

27J

ašemeko pe·hki e·hkaškima·þi. aše=meko pe·hki e·h-kaškim-a·þi. just=EMPH really AOR-persuade-3>3ƍ/AOR he just convinced her to say yes.

27K

koþi·hipi ma·nemeko e·ha·šimemeþi owi·yawi ihkwe·wahi, koþi·hi=ipi ma·ne=meko e·h-a·šim-emeþi owi·yawi although=HRSY many=EMPH AOR-urge.O2.on-X>3ƍ/AOR him ihkwe·w-ahi, woman-OBV.PL Although, it’s said, many women were being urged to go after him,

27L

ašewe·na e·hsa·kwe·nemoþimeko ašewe·na e·h-sa·kwe·nemo-þi=meko but AOR-be.unwilling-3/AOR=EMPH still he had no desire

27M i·nihi wi·howi·wiþi. i·nihi wi·h-owi·wi-þi. those.OBV FUT-have.O2.as.wife-3/AOR to marry any of them.

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27N

o·niþa·hipi e·hpi·nešimeko-kaškima·þi i·nini, –kaškim-a·þi o·ni=þa·hi=ipi| e·h-pi·neši–=meko then=so=HRSY AOR-of.own.accord–=EMPH –persuade-3>3ƍ/AOR i·nini, that.OBV So then, it’s said, he made the first move in talking to that other one,

27O

e·howi·wiþimeko. e·h-owi·wi-þi=meko. AOR-have.O2.as.wife-3/AOR=EMPH and he married her indeed.

27P

mama·neke·hipi9 še·škesi·he·hahi, še·škesi·h-e·h-ahi,_ ma-ma·ne=ke·hi=ipi|| REDUP-many=moreover=HRSY young.woman-DIM-OBV.PL And, it’s said, there were many young teenage girls,

28A

šewe·napi i·nimeko iši-nekoti we·wi·wiþi. šewe·na=ipi i·ni=meko iši–nekoti but=HRSY that.INAN=EMPH thus–one IC-owi·wi-þi. IC-have.O2.as.wife-3/PART/OBL but, it’s said, that was the only wife he took.

28B

na·hka a·kwipi nahi-mi·hkemehkwe·we·þini, na·hka a·kwi=ipi nahi–mi·hkemehkwe·we·-þini, also not=HRSY be.given.to–court.women-3/NEG Also, it’s said, he never chased women,

28C

i·ninipimeko mi·hkema·þini, IC-mi·hkem-a·þini, i·nini=ipi=meko that.OBV=HRSY=EMPH IC-court-3>3ƍ/PART/3ƍ that one was the only one he courted,

28D

a·kwipi kotakahi nahi-mi·hkema·þini. nahi–mi·hkem-a·þini. a·kwi=ipi| kotak-ahi not=HRSY other-OBV.PL be.given.to–court-3>3ƍ/NEG and he never courted others.

9. Kiyana wrote na ma ne .

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Meskwaki

189

28E

i·nimeko e·šipi-nekotiha·þi owi·wani, –nekotih-a·þi ow-i·w-ani, i·ni=meko IC-iši–=ipi that=EMPH IC-thus–=HRSY –have.one-3>3ƍ/PART/OBL 3-wife-OBV That was the only wife he had, it’s said,

28F

e·hnešike·wa·þi owi·we·hani. e·h-nešike·-wa·þi ow-i·w-e·h-ani. AOR-dwell.alone-3P/AOR 3-wife-DIM-OBV and he and his dear wife had their own place.

28G

a·kwike·hipi ma·mahka·þi mana·þi-išawi·hiniþini,10 a·kwi=ke·hi=ipi| ma·mahka·þi mana·þi–išawi-·hi-niþini, not=moreover=HRSY necessarily be.rich–be.thus-DIM-3ƍ/NEG And, it’s said, she wasn’t demanding or haughty,

28H

mešemeko·nahi e·hmya·šimeko-ketema·ki-išawi·hiniþi i·nini we·wi·wiþini. meše=meko=i·nahi e·h-mya·ši–=meko freely=EMPH=with.that AOR-sort.of–=EMPH –ketema·ki–išawi-·hi-niþi i·nini –poor–be.thus-DIM-3ƍ/AOR that.ANIM.OBV IC-owi·wi-þini.| IC-have.O2.as.wife-3/PART/3ƍ on the contrary, his wife was fairly unassuming, in everything.

28I

mahkwa·þike·hmeko e·howi·wiþi, mahkwa·þi=ke·hi=meko e·h-owi·wi-þi, quietly=moreover=EMPH AOR-have.O2.as.wife-3/AOR He was married to her very quietly,

28J

na·hka i·na ihkwe·wa, mahkwa·þimeko e·hona·pe·miþi. na·hka_ i·na_ ihkwe·w-a, mahkwa·þi=meko also that.ANIM woman-SG quietly=EMPH e·h-ona·pe·mi-þi. AOR-have.O2.as.husband-3/AOR and the same for that woman, she was married to him quietly.

28K

ašepimeko i·na ihkwe·wa mahkwa·tesi·hiwameko. aše=ipi=meko i·na_ ihkwe·w-a mahkwa·tesi-·hi-wa=meko. just=HRSY=EMPH that.ANIM woman-SG be.quiet-DIM-3/IND=EMPH That, it’s said, was just the way that woman was, she was very quiet.

10. Kiyana wrote me na tti .

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28L

a·kwipi wa·waneška·hiþini, a·kwi=ipi wa·waneška·||hi-þini, not=HRSY be.immoral-3/NEG She wasn’t immoral, it’s said,

29A

e·hmahkwa·þimeko-mehtose·neniwiþi. e·h-mahkwa·þi–=meko –mehtose·neniwi-þi. AOR-quiet–=EMPH –be.person-3/AOR she was a very quiet person.

29B

a·kwimekopi paši-konepa·þi-išawiþini. a·kwi=meko=ipi paši–konepa·þi–išawi-þini. not=EMPH=HRSY at.all–stirred.up–do.thus-3/NEG She wouldn’t ever do anything wild, it’s said.

29C

na·hka e·hketeškesi·hiþimeko, na·hka| e·h-keteškesi-·hi-þi=meko, AOR-be.busy-DIM-3/AOR=EMPH also Also, she was a very industrious person,

29D

e·hpemenetisoþimeko, e·h-pemenetiso-þi=meko,_ AOR-take.care.of.self-3/AOR=EMPH and she really took care of herself,

29E

e·hmenwiþa·hmeko-owi·weti·wa·þi. e·h-menwi–=þa·hi=meko –owi·weti·-wa·þi. AOR-well–=so=EMPH –be.married.to.each.other-3P/AOR so they had a very good marriage.

29F

o·nipi mi·hkeþihiwe·wa·þini, IC-mi·hkeþihiwe·-wa·þini, o·ni=ipi and.then=HRSY IC-doctor.people-3P/ITER And then, it’s said, whenever they doctored someone,

29G

ihkwe·wa e·hanwe·we·sahto·þi ši·ši·kwani ihkwe·w-a e·h-anwe·we·saht-o·þi ši·ši·kwan-i woman-SG AOR-rattle-3>0/AOR rattle-SG the woman would shake the rattle

29H

o·nipi neniwa e·hanwe·we·hwa·þi ahkohko·ni. o·ni=ipi neniw-a e·h-anwe·we·hw-a·þi and=HRSY man-SG AOR-make.O.sound.by.beating-3>3ƍ/AOR

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Meskwaki

191

ahkohkw-ani. drum-OBV and the man, it’s said, would beat the drum. 29I

aniwe·we·kesiniwanipi pe·hki i·nini ahkohko·ni, pe·hki i·nini ahkohkw-ani, aniwe·we·kesi-niwani=ipi| have.loud.sound-3ƍ/IND=HRSY really that.ANIM.OBV drum-OBV That drum really had a loud sound, it’s said,

29J

omi·hkeþihiwe·w-ahkohko·ni. o-mi·hkeþihiwe·w–ahkohkw-ani. 3-doctor.people–drum-OBV his doctoring drum.

29K

mo·hþimekopi e·hsesotaminiþi,11 mo·hþi=meko=ipi e·h-sesot-aminiþi, even=EMPH=HRSY AOR-cough-3ƍ>0/AOR Even when people were coughing, it’s said,

29L

e·hne·se·ha·þimeko se·sotaminiþihi. IC-sesot-aminiþihi. e·h-ne·se·h-a·þi=meko AOR-cure-3>3ƍ/AOR=EMPH IC-cough-3ƍ>0/PART/3ƍP he cured the people who had a cough.

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29M e·ye·kike·hmeko e·hkehtwe·wesiþi i·na neniwa. e·ye·ki=ke·hi=meko_ as.well=moreover=EMPH e·h-kehtwe·wesi-þi i·na neniw-a. || AOR-have.the.knack.of.getting.game-3/AOR that.ANIM man-SG And also that man was a very good hunter. 30A

mešemekoǜnahi eǜhnoǜhkihaǜþi miǜþipeǜhahi. miǜþipeǜh-ahi. meše=meko=iǜnahi12 eǜh-noǜhkih-aǜþi any AOR-kill.easily-3>3ƍ/AOR game.animal-OBV.PL He could kill any kind of game easily.

30B

te·kwa·kinikini IC-takwa·ki-nikini IC-be.autumn-0ƍ/ITER In the fall

11. Kiyana wrote e sa so ta mi ni tti . 12. The clitic group meše=meko=i:nahi is idiomatic and can be glossed simply 'any'.

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DAHLSTROM

30C

mešemeko na·hina·hi e·hinote·wa·þi. meše=meko na·hina·hi e·h-inote·-wa·þi. any distance AOR-move.camp.thither-3P/AOR they moved a little ways away.

30D

a·kwike·hipi ma·mahka·þi peno·þi nahi-inote·wa·þini, a·kwi=ke·hi=ipi ma·mahka·þi peno·þi not=moreover=HRSY necessarily far.away nahi–inote·-wa·þini, be.given.to–move.camp.thither-3P/NEG They never had to go very far away, it’s said,

30E

kehþine·hemeko. kehþine·he=meko. nearby=EMPH just nearby.

30F

mi·škotake·hmekopi owi·wani menwihkwe·winiwani, mi·škota=ke·hi=meko=ipi| ow-i·w-ani what’s.more=moreover=EMPH=HRSY 3-wife-OBV menwihkwe·wi-niwani, be.good.woman-3ƍ/IND But there’s more to the story, it’s said: his wife was a very good woman,

30G

e·hasipimeko-neškinawa·wa·þi ihkwe·waki e·h-asipi–=meko –neškinaw-a·wa·þi ihkwe·w-aki AOR-all.together–=EMPH –hate-3P>3ƍ/AOR woman-PL but she was hated by all of the women

30H

a·wasimeko e·hpihahpi·hþi-we·wenesiþiki. a·wasi=meko IC-ahpih-ahpi·hþi–we·wenesi-þiki. more=EMPH IC-REDUP-to.such.extent–be.pretty-3P/PART/3P who were prettier than she was.

30I

e·hme·nešihekowa·þi. e·h-me·neših-ekowa·þi. AOR-shame.by.act-3ƍ>3P/AOR She had put them to shame.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

30J

a·netapi e·hki·šimeko-a·we·nemowa·þi, a·neta=ipi e·h-ki·ši–=meko –a·we·nemo-wa·þi, some=HRSY AOR-PERF–=EMPH –be.confident.of.success-3P/AOR Some of them, it’s said, had assumed their success was assured,

30K

e·hmawi-mi·wihekowa·þi i·nini maþi-še·škesi·he·hani. e·h-mawi–mi·wih-ekowa·þi i·nini_ AOR-go.and–push.aside-3ƍ>3P/AOR that.ANIM.OBV maþi|–še·škesi·h-e·h-ani. bad–young.woman-DIM-OBV but that little bitch went and pushed them aside.

30L

i·nipi e·šawiwa·þi. IC-išawi-wa·þi. i·ni=ipi that.way=HRSY IC-be.thus-3P/PART/OBL That’s how they felt, it’s said.

193

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30M mi·škotake·hipi, mi·škota=ke·hi=ipi,| what’s.more=moreover=HRSY And what’s more, they say, 30N

e·hnahi-no·še·hþike·þi i·na ihkwe·wa ona·pe·mani ne·himi·hkeþihiwa·nita. e·h-nahi–no·še·hþike·-þi| i·na ihkwe·w-a || AOR-know.how–serve.as.midwife-3/AOR that.ANIM woman-SG o-na·pe·m-ani IC-nahi–mi·hkeþihiwe·-nita. 3-husband-OBV IC-know.how–doctor.people-3ƍ/PART/3 the woman whose husband was a doctor was a midwife.

31A

aškaþi i·na neniwa e·hwi·hpomekowa·þi mya·no·ta·niþini. aškaþi i·na neniw-a e·h-wi·hpom-ekowa·þi later that.ANIM man-SG AOR-eat.with-3ƍ>3P/AOR IC-mya·no·ta·-niþini.| IC-menstruate-3ƍ/PART/3ƍ Much later someone who was having her period ate with her and the man.

31B

no·makemekopi e·ha·hkwamataki e·hnepo·hiþi i·na neniwa. no·make=meko=ipi e·h-a·hkwamat-aki e·h-nep-o·hi-þi short.time=EMPH=HRSY AOR-be.sick-3>0/AOR AOR-die-DIM-3/AOR

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i·na neniw-a. that.ANIM man-SG Soon after, it’s said, the man got sick and died. 31C

ihkwe·wa meta·swawahi·me e·hpemi-ši·ka·wiþi, ihkwe·w-a meta·swawahi·me| woman-SG ten.years e·h-pemi–ši·ka·wi-þi, AOR-along–be.in.strict.mourning-3/AOR The woman spent ten years in mourning,

31D

e·hpwa·wimeko nana·ši -ona·pe·miþi. e·h-pwa·wi–=meko_ nana·ši –ona·pe·mi-þi. AOR-not–=EMPH ever –have.husband-3/AOR and she never married again.

31E

e·hnano·þimeko-nepo·hiþi i·na ihkwe·wa. e·h-nano·þi–=meko –nep-o·hi-þi i·na ihkwe·w-a. AOR-persist–=EMPH –die-DIM-3/AOR that.ANIM woman-SG The woman went on like that until she died.

31F

e·ha·naha·nawiha·wa·þimeko neniwaki, e·h-a·nah-a·nawih-a·wa·þi=meko| neniw-aki, AOR-REDUP-fail.to.get-3P>3ƍ/AOR=EMPH man-PL The men couldn’t get anywhere at all with her,

31G

e·hkokwe·þi-mi·hkema·wa·þi, e·h-kokwe·þi–mi·hkem-a·wa·þi, AOR-REDUP.try–court-3P>3ƍ/AOR though they tried repeatedly to court her,

31H

e·hpwa·wimeko-we·tewe·te·wiha·wa·þi. e·h-pwa·wi–=meko –we·te-we·te·wih-a·wa·þi. AOR-not–=EMPH –REDUP-able.to.succeed.with-3P>3ƍ/AOR they didn’t have any success with her at all.

31I

kwi·yese·hanike·hi e·honi·þa·nesiþi, kwi·yese·h-ani=ke·hi e·h-oni·þa·nesi-þi, boy-ANIM.OBV=moreover AOR-have.O2.as.child-3/AOR And she had a little boy,

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Meskwaki

195

31J

e·hki·wesi·hiniþi, e·h-ki·wesi·hi-niþi, AOR-be.orphan-3ƍ/AOR who was now an orphan,

31K

e·hma·waþimeko-we·wenesiþi i·na e·tašiwa·þi apeno·hahi. e·h-ma·waþi–=meko –we·wenesi-þi i·na AOR-of.all–=EMPH –be.pretty-3/AOR that.ANIM IC-taši-wa·þi || apeno·h-ahi. IC-be.so.many-3P/PART/OBL child-OBV.PL and he was the prettiest of all the children.

32A

mi·škotameko e·hneškina·koþi a·neta mehtose·neniwahi. mi·škota=meko e·h-neškinaw-ekoþi a·neta mehtose·neniw-ahi. what’s.more=EMPH AOR-hate-3ƍ>3/AOR some person-OBV.PL On top of everything else, he was hated by some of the people.

32B

a·netake·hi e·htepa·nekoþi, a·neta=ke·hi e·h-tepa·n-ekoþi, some=moreover AOR-love-3ƍ>3/AOR But some loved him,

32C

taswiwe·meko maþi-ke·ko·hi ke·hke·netaminiþi e·hneškina·koþi. taswi=we·=meko maþi|–ke·ko·hi IC-kehke·net-aminiþi as.many=in.fact=EMPH bad–something IC-know-3ƍ>0/PART/OBL e·h-neškinaw-ekoþi. AOR-hate-3ƍ>3/AOR rather, just as many as knew about bad medicine hated him,

32D

kapo·twemeko e·hnepo·hiþi na·hka i·na kwi·yese·ha. kapo·twe=meko e·h-nep-o·hi-þi na·hka_ i·na| that.ANIM at.some.point=EMPH AOR-die-DIM-3/AOR also kwi·yese·h-a. boy-SG and some time later that boy died too.

32E

o·ni ihkwe·wa e·hwe·pi-mayomayo·þi, o·ni ihkwe·w-a e·h-we·pi–mayo-mayo·-þi, and.then woman-SG AOR-begin–REDUP-weep-3/AOR And then the woman started crying and crying,

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DAHLSTROM

32F

o·ni maþi-maneto·hani e·hketemina·koþi. o·ni maþi–maneto·h-ani e·h-keteminaw-ekoþi. and bad–spirit.DIM-OBV AOR-bless-3ƍ>3/AOR and the evil spirit blessed her.

32G

no·make·wimeko-mahkate·wi·þi, –mahkate·wi·-þi, –fast-3/CH.C After she had fasted for a little while,

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IC-no·make·wi–=meko IC-short.time–=EMPH

32H

e·hwe·pesi·hiwiþi. e·h-we·pesi·hiwi-þi. AOR-be.crazy-3/AOR she went crazy.

32I

a·kwipi kehke·netakini, a·kwi=ipi| kehke·net-akini, not=HRSY know-3>0/NEG She didn’t know what she was doing, it’s said,

32J

e·hmeškemeškehka·þi. e·h-meške-meškehka·-þi. AOR-REDUP-expose.self-3/AOR she would expose herself repeatedly.

32K

meše·nahmeko neniwahi e·hpa·pi·tanwa·pamekoþi,13 meše=i·nahi=meko neniw-ahi just.go.ahead.and man-OBV.PL e·h-pa·-pi·tanwa·pam-ekoþi, AOR-REDUP-look.in.(the.door).at-3ƍ>3/AOR The men even went so far as to keep looking in at her.

32L

e·hmešameša·pamekoþi. e·h-meša-meša·pam-ekoþi. AOR-REDUP-see.O’s.privates -3ƍ>3/AOR They would look at her private parts.

32M ke·keya·hmeko e·hpahkihte·wi-we·pesi·hiwiþi ke·keya·hi=meko e·h-pahkihte·wi–we·pesi·hiwi-þi eventually=EMPH AOR-unconscious–be.crazy-3/AOR Eventually that woman became so insane that she lost consciousness 13. Kiyana wrote e ba bi na ba me ko tti ; the emendation to e·hpa·pi·tanwa·pamekoþi ‘they (obv.) looked in (the door) at her’ is a guess.

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Meskwaki

32N

e·hnepo·hiþi i·na ihkwe·wa. e·h-nep-o·hi-þi| i·na_ ihkwe·w-a. AOR-die-DIM-3/AOR that.ANIM woman-SG and died.

32O

i·ni. i·ni. that.INAN That’s it.

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Three Nineteenth-Century Munsee Texts: Archaisms, Dialect Variation, and Problems of Textual Criticism Ives Goddard

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1. Background. 1.1. Introduction. TEXTUAL CRITICISM is the term used in the study of the written documentation of languages for the processes and techniques used to ESTABLISH THE TEXT, that is, to determine, to the extent possible, what the writer originally wrote. This term may be extended to the critical analysis of texts, like the three presented here, that represent speech or implied speech imperfectly. Such texts include those that have been phonetically transcribed from dictation and those written by native speakers in vernacular orthography. In cases like these the editor’s task is to recover the spoken-language original implied by the written text. A CRITICAL EDITION of a transmitted text must, in the first place, accurately reproduce the original and describe any relevant features, such as damage to the original. Any conventions of transliteration or symbol substitution must be stated. The DIPLOMATIC EDITION of a single exemplar need do no more, but a critical edition becomes more useful by admitting three types of editorial intervention. The presumed original text may be restored in damaged areas. Ostensible copying errors introduced in the transmission of the text may be identified and corrected. And even when the original autograph text survives, errors made by the writer, of the sort that all writers make, may be corrected. Editors may differ on the degree to which corrections of supposed errors are to be made in an edition, but the inviolable principle is that all changes, however obvious or trivial, must be explicit and recoverable, that is to say, in principle reversible. And as the texts presented here show, there often is or should be uncertainty as to whether a form or usage in a text is an authentic variant or a simple error.1 Adherence to the best practices of textual criticism is obviously germane in the context of the current increased interest in the use of 1. For further discussion and guidance on the presentation of edited texts see Goddard (1973, 1987, 1999) and Goddard and Bragdon (1988). Goddard (1996:12–16) provides a table of phonetic alphabets.

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earlier materials on Algonquian languages, but it must be stressed that these same practices are applicable to any materials that document a language, including recent publications and even one’s own field notes. Many papers on Algonquian linguistics make use of data from earlier sources without explicit discussion of how these earlier data have been handled and, in effect, edited. Issues of textual criticism are raised and should be addressed explicitly when narratives are edited or mined for examples with the assistance of native speakers who were not the original narrators, and when examples are presented side-by-side both from recent fieldwork and from publications based on earlier fieldwork. Such uses of earlier materials are entirely laudable in intent and much to be encouraged, but they raise unaddressed questions about the nature of the object being described. Variation in human speech is pervasive and universal—between speech communities, between different chronological periods, between different speakers in the same community, and even within the usage of a single speaker. The intellectual giants of American structuralism proposed to exorcise variation by describing various abstract entities rather than the messy and incoherent reality of actual speech: Leonard Bloomfield’s community norm, Bernard Bloch’s idiolect, Noam Chomsky’s competence (Bloomfield 1927, 1962; Bloch 1948:7; Chomsky 1965:3–4; Goddard 1987:181–82). Today linguists generally tolerate variation and may even seek to describe it and on some level account for it, but it is still subject to being suppressed when it gets in the way of a succinct account or neat documentation of what is called, with oblivious or intentional vagueness, a language. The editions of three Munsee texts presented here illustrate some of these points. Editing an imperfect record requires a comparative approach based on knowledge derived from other sources, but recovering the authentic voice behind the imperfect record requires tolerating variation that falls outside what is found in those sources. At the end of this introduction is a compilation of specific words and usages that are either different or unattested in other sources on Munsee (section 5). These are the authentic components of the Munsee language that would be at risk of being lost if a strictly normative approach to editing were adopted. 1.2. The texts. The texts are two tellings of a cosmological origin myth dictated by John Armstrong, who lived on the Cattaraugus Reservation in New York—Seneca Nation land where some individuals of Munsee descent also lived—and a folktale written by Nelles Montour of Six Nations Reserve, Ontario.

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The shorter version of Armstrong’s origin myth was written down by Jeremiah Curtin on 28 November 1883 (Curtin 1883, abbreviated “C”; Powell 1887:xxxi), and the longer version was written down by J. N. B. Hewitt on 8 October 1896 (Hewitt 1896a; “H”). Curtin’s text has a word-by-word interlinear translation, and Hewitt’s text has an interlinear, which includes some Seneca glosses, for about the first thirteen of its forty pages.2 Armstrong also dictated to Hewitt an even longer version in Seneca (Hewitt 1903:137, 221–54), raising unresolved questions about the relation between the Iroquois and Munsee traditions. As Bierhorst (1995:2005) has noted, many of the motifs in Armstrong’s origin myth are characteristic of Algonquian traditions. The manuscripts of the Curtin and Hewitt texts are preserved in the National Anthropological Archives of the Smithsonian Institution. Montour wrote his folktale and some other illustrative linguistic samples for J. Dyneley Prince, presumably not long before Prince’s publication of the other material (Prince 1900). Prince’s edition (Prince 1902; “M”) added word and sentence boundaries on the basis of the translation Montour supplied and Prince’s comparison with other linguistic materials, principally Northern Unami (from Moravian missionary sources), Western Abenaki, on which Prince had done fieldwork, and Eastern Abenaki (Râle 1833). The folktale is a witch story that combines a Native American motif of a dim-witted cannibal entering a house through the smokehole with a European motif of covering someone with feathers to confound the Devil. The original of Montour’s text was presumably lost in the fire that consumed Prince’s library in 1911 and is known only from the printed edition. 1.3. The documentation of Munsee. The Eastern Algonquian language Munsee was originally spoken by variously named local bands in northern New Jersey, the lower Hudson River Valley, and adjacent regions (Goddard 1971, 1978a, 1978b). The descendants of these groups coalesced to some extent as they moved west in the Colonial period and only then came to be referred to collectively as Munsee (mΩ̗n’si·w), a name that would originally have been appropriate only to the Minisink band, which lived on Minisink Island (presumably Mun /mԥࡅnԥғsԥnk/) in the Delaware River north of the Delaware Water Gap.3 2. I am indebted to Wallace L. Chafe for transcribing and translating the Seneca words. I have altered the practical orthography by replacing ä with /æ/, ë with /Ċ/, and ö with /‫ۃ‬/. 3. Munsee *mΩիnΩ̗s is unattested but would regularly reflect PA *menehsi ‘island’; Munsee /mԥ੡nԥਸsԥnk/ would be the locative form (Goddard 1978b:237). A derived noun for ‘person of Minisink’ (lit., ‘person of the *mΩիnΩ̗s’) made with the circumfix |wԥ-...-Ưw| ‘person of’ would be underlying |wԥ-mԥnԥs-Ưw|, which regular phonological rules would convert to phonemic Munsee mΩ̗n’si·w and Unami mwΩ̗ns·i.

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The Munsee-speaking groups never united completely, however, and the language remained dialectally diverse, with some variant usages persisting even in the speech of the very last speakers. The language survived longest in Western Ontario—on Six Nations Reserve, in the Munceytown settlement on the Caradoc Reserve, and on the Moraviantown Reserve. Nothing of the language was recorded in the Munsee homeland beyond a scattering of personal names and placenames and a very few lexical items. Munsee words can be recognized in the Delaware materials of the Moravian missionaries but are explicitly labeled in only a few cases (e.g., Heckewelder 1815; Heckewelder and Duponceau 1819:381). The earliest extensive Munsee vocabulary was recorded in Detroit about 1824 by Charles C. Trowbridge from a Canadian Munsee named Capt. Chipps (Weslager 1978:159–205). A Methodist hymnbook was translated by Charles Halfmoon (1842, 1874), a “local preacher,” and a translation of the Anglican prayer book was published in 1847 (Wampum and Hogg 1847, 1886; “MEP”). Halfmoon was also almost certainly the translator of a catechism, probably Methodist, that appeared in 1852; appended to this is a section identifying people in the Bible and a translation of the Missionary Hymn (Halfmoon 1852; “Cat.”).4 Also in the nineteenth century, Munsee words were recorded by Daniel G. Brinton (Brinton and Anthony 1888; Brinton 1888), Edward F. Wilson (1889), Hewitt (1896b), and a few others. In the twentieth century, fieldwork was conducted at Six Nations Reserve by Edward Sapir (1911), Truman Michelson (1922), Hewitt (1936), Frank G. Speck (1931–36, 1936, 1945, 1946a, 1946b), and Frank T. Siebert, Jr. (1938); at Munceytown by Goddard (1979, 1982) and Siebert (1939); at Moraviantown by Mark R. Harrington (1908), Michelson (1922), C.F. Voegelin (1938), Goddard, and John O’Meara (1990, 1996); and in Franklin County, Kansas, by Michelson (1912). 1.4. The phonemes of Munsee. The Munsee consonants found in native words are displayed in table 1 and the vowels in table 2. IPA equivalents are in brackets. Only a few of these require comment. The phoneme /s/ is pronounced as [s] or [ș], sometimes even both ways by the same speaker (table 3). It is possible that some speakers used an intermediate pronunciation, but if so there was no trace of it in the 1960s.



4. Halfmoon revised his translations and his orthography between the two editions of the hymnal, and the orthography of the Catechism often falls between the two (Goddard 2013).

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TABLE 1. MUNSEE CONSONANTS p m w

t [tࡧ ] s [s, ș] n [nࡧ , ƾ]

þ [‫]ݹ‬ š [‫]ݕ‬ l [l, ܾ, ݀] y [j]

k x [Ȥ]

h

TABLE 2. MUNSEE VOWELS extrashort Ωի [ԥࡅ, ԥࡅࡡ] ă [ăࡡ]

short i [ܼ] o [o‫ޡ‬, ୒] Ω [ԥ] e [İ] a [‫ݞ‬, ‫]ܣ‬

long i· [ܼ‫ ]ޢޝ‬o· [o‫]ޝ‬ e· [İ‫]ޝ‬

a· [‫ޝܣ‬, ‫ޝܤ‬, ‫]ޝܥ‬

TABLE 3. VARIATION IN THE PRONUNCIATION OF /s/ MORAVIANTOWN

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/nԥࡅmí·s/ [nԥࡅ‫ޖ‬mܼ‫ޝ‬s] ‘my older sister’ /sí·pԥw/ ‘river’

[‫ޖ‬sܼ‫ޝ‬p୒w]

/maná·sԥw/ ‘he’s jealous’

[m‫ޖݞ‬n‫ޝܣ‬s୒w]

SIX NATIONS PETERS

MOSES

[nԥmí·s]

[nimƯғș]

MONTOUR

CATTARAUGUS ARMSTRONG

[sƯƍpo], [șƯƍpo] [manaso]

/wa·păsá·nay/ [‫ޙ‬w‫ޝܤ‬p‫ࡡݞ‬s‫ޝܣޖ‬n‫ݞ‬y] [wapaça-nai] ‘blanket’ NOTE: The Moraviantown pronunciations are given in IPA, the others as in the sources: Nicodemus Peters (Siebert 1938), Nelson Moses (Sapir 1911), Joseph Montour (Michelson 1922), and John Armstrong (Hewitt 1896a). In the Powell (1880) alphabet used by Hewitt, ç represents [ș].

The phoneme /x/ is consistently a back velar [Ȥ]; it induces a [ԥ]- or [‫]ݞ‬-like transition after a preceding /i·/. In clusters of nasal plus obstruent the obstruent is at least partially voiced and the nasal assimilates in position if the cluster is primary (underlying) or is a word-initial secondary cluster (arising from short-vowel syncope). In word-medial secondary clusters the nasal has a voiceless transition to the obstruent;

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an apostrophe is written to distinguish secondary /n’t/ ([nnࡢ t]) and /m’p/ ([mmࡢ p]) from primary or initial-syllable /nt/ ([nd]) and /mp/ ([mb]).5 A word-initial /n/ before /s/ or /š/ may be completely vocalized but remains nonsyllabic: e.g., /ns-/ ([ԥ࡬Ѻz-]). The quality of /ԥ/ is influenced by its consonantal environment; in particular /ԥ/ is written for ostensible [ܼ] before /y/ and for ostensible [୒] before /w/. Extrashort /ԥࡅ/ before a voiceless obstruent and /ă/ (which is found only in this environment) are murmured (breathy) and subject to syncope; speakers sometimes differ on whether a weak or syncopated vowel is underlying |a| or |ԥ| (Goddard 1982:19, 33). Long vowels are lax, and /i·/ is so low that it has often been perceived as phonetic [e] and written by English speakers like English /ey/ (with a , ai , etc.). The phoneme /a·/ is low central to back and may be slightly rounded after labials.6 Stress is distinctive because the determination of metrically weak and strong syllables is partly opaque on the surface (Goddard 1982:32). An acute accent (vғ ) marks the syllable with the strongest stress, and a grave accent (vҒ ) indicates a metrically strong syllable that is unpredictable from surface context: nàyó·ntam ‘I carry a load on my back’ (cf. nayó·ntam ‘he carries a load on his back’), ne·skàlé·nkwak ‘black people’ (cf. wi·nkalé·sΩիmΩw ‘he’s a damn drunk’).7 Pitch steps down gradually on the strong syllables of a word, and the syllable or syllables following the main stress may be completely devoiced before a pause. 1.5. Word-final variation. There are several prominent patterns of variation in the pronunciation of the ends of words that raise problems for the editing of older texts. In nouns and verbs that in their fullest form end in -e·w and -a·w some speakers often drop the /-w/ even in careful speech. On the tape recording of the elicitation of a wordlist jointly from two speakers at Moraviantown in 1965 the male speaker (CS; born 1892) pronounces some words with /-w/, some without the /-w/, and some both ways: lo·hí·ke·w ‘he’s pointing’, nΩիmóha·w ‘I ate him’; máhkăte· ‘coal, ember’, né·wa· ‘I see him’; wΩիláhkame·w ~ wΩիláhkame· ‘it’s a nice day’, ka·nšpéhle·w ~ ka·nšpéhle· ‘he bleeds to death’. The female speaker (RH; born 1886) pronounces /-w/ consistently in all such words: 5. The apostrophe is a transcription of convenience for a zero allophone of /ԥ੡/. 6. The IPA symbols [ľ@ and >LJ@ of Goddard (1982:19) were reversed by the typesetter in correcting the proofs. 7. Alternatively, but less perspicuously, all instances of metrically weak /a/ could be marked as extrashort /ă/.

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lo·hí·ke·w, nΩիmóha·w; máhkăte·w, né·wa·w; wΩիláhkame·w, ka·nšpéhle·w. A more complex pattern of variation is found in particles and prewords made with a particle final that has the shape /-i·wi/ in its most archaic form (matching Unami -í·i). This full shape is the one found in the Moravians’ materials: /kohpí·wi/ ‘from the water’ ( Gochpiwi , Brinton and Anthony 1888:44); /no·lí·wi/ ‘nine’ ( Nolewi , Heckewelder in Heckewelder and Duponceau 1819:381). It is also found in a few words in the religious translations of the mid-nineteenth century: /e·ší·wi/ ‘through’ ( asheweh MEP), /wte·hí·wi/ ‘in the heart, from the heart’ ( wda-heweh MEP; w’da hee weeh Cat.). And there is one such form in Hewitt’s text: /palí·wi/ ‘away, elsewhere’ ( pallewƱ H 2F).8 This is clearly archaic, as it matches Unami palí·i.9 For the most part, however, the nineteenth-century translations have the words of this class with word-final /-i·w/: /kóhpi·w/ P ‘in the wilderness’ ( kohpeewh Cat.), /é·kwi·w/ ‘under’ ( a queewh Cat.), /níhli·w/ ‘self, own’ ( nelewh MEP, nehleewh Cat.). Moraviantown speakers in the 1960s generally pronounced such words with /-i·w/ or /-i·/, and /-i·/ was sometimes shortened to /-i/; preferences and consistency varied depending on the speaker and the lexical item: kóhpi·w, kóhpi·, kóhpi ‘in the “bush”’; nó·li·w, nó·li·, nó·li ‘nine’; níhli·w, níhli· ‘self, own’; šáxki·w, šáxki· ‘must be’. Another set of particles has a particle final that is /-i/ in its most archaic form (matching Unami /-i/), appearing consistently as ostensible /-i/ in the nineteenth-century translations. In the 1960s some Moraviantown speakers had /-i/ ([ܼ]), at least in careful speech, but by then this had mostly been replaced by /-ԥ/. In both periods, moreover, there were variants of at least some words that had lost the final vowel completely, with the ratios of the variants with and without the vowel differing for different words and sources: wé·mi ‘all’ ( wameh MEP 144x, way meh Cat. 8x; Mor.; cf. Un wé·mi), wé·mΩ (Mor.), wé·m ( waim MEP 11x, Cat. 20x; Mor.); é·li ‘because, while’ ( aleh MEP 140x, aleh , a leh Cat. 10x; Mor.; cf. Un é·li), é·lΩ (Mor.), é·l ( ail , al- MEP 8x, ail Cat. 1x; Mor.).10 Words that have doublets made 8. O’Meara’s form palíiwi (1996:222) is exemplified only by the phrase that contains it in Hewitt’s text, but it was accepted by a Moraviantown speaker who herself said palí (John O’Meara, personal communication 2009). In Hewitt’s text /palí·wi/ is a free particle and |pali| is the corresponding preverb (H 35B). 9. Similarly, Caniba Eastern Abenaki has archaic /NSuZL/ ‘in the bush’ ( kepi8i ‘dans les terres’ [Râle 1833:533]) and /nóriwi/ ‘nine’ ( nori8i [Râle 1833:493]) beside Penobscot kpi ‘in the woods, away from the water’ and noli (Siebert 1984:534, 790 [sic]). 10. Numbers of textual occurrences of an item are abbreviated as “x”; thus, “144x” means 144 occurrences, “8x” means eight occurrences, and so on.

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with both particle finals may show a whole range of variants, as in the case of the word for ‘again’ at Moraviantown: lá·pi·w, lá·pi·, lá·pi, lá·pΩ, lá·p. Similarly, words that archaically end with the negative suffix /-wi/, the subjunctive suffix /-e/, or the particle final /-e/ also had variants with final /-ԥ/ at Moraviantown in the 1960s, and some speakers had only /-ԥ/ in such words. The nineteenth-century translations appear to show only /-i/ or /-e/. Negative forms showing this are þí·l=á· na·tΩիná·wi ‘do not take him’ (MEP); máhta ne·wá·wi ‘I didn’t see him’ (Mor. EJ); þí· tohki·há·wΩ ‘don’t wake him’ (Mor. AP). Subjunctive forms are kwΩիlΩpí·te ‘if he turns’ (MEP); payáne ~ payánΩ ‘if you (sg.) come’ (Mor. EJ); pΩntamá·nΩ ‘if I hear it’ (Mor. AP). Particles in /-e/ are ne·wi·náxke ‘forty’ (MEP); tăkwi·náxke ‘twenty’ (Mor. EJ); na·lani·náxkΩ ‘fifty’ (Mor. AP). A word-final /-i/ or /-e/ that was part of a verb stem or theme, however, was consistently pronounced distinctly by all Moraviantown speakers: nkΩþi·náxke ‘I stuck my arm out’, nšihši·pþé·wi ‘I’m stretching’, kΩիnahká·li ‘you (sg.) depend on me’ (all Mor. AP). A small number of short words have variants that show the loss of word-final -m, -mΩ, or -n: á·m (MEP, Cat., C, H), á· (MEP, Cat., C, H, Mor.) ‘would’; awé·n (MEP, Mor.), awé· (Mor.) ‘someone’; tá·n (MEP, M, Mor.), tá· (MEP, M, Mor.) ‘how? where? when?; whatever, wherever’; wsá·mi (H, Mor.) ~ wsá·mΩ (Mor.), wsá· (Mor.) ‘too much’; -álΩիmi (H) ~ -álΩիmΩ (Mor.), -álΩ (H, Mor.) ‘proceed to’ (prefixed preverb); pé·mΩ (Mor.), pé· (Mor.) ‘be engaged in’ (preverb with initial change); pΩ̗mΩ (Mor.), pΩ̗ (Mor.) ‘be engaged in’ (preverb with underlying third person prefix). 2. The orthographies of the texts. The writers of all three texts used or adapted orthographies that existed at the time. Curtin and Hewitt used technical alphabets developed expressly for the writing of Indian languages, and Montour used a personal adaptation of the spelling found in religious publications. 2.1. Montour’s orthography. Montour’s lost original had syllables written separately with no indication of word boundaries. He generally followed English spelling conventions that resemble in part those of the Prayer Book and the hymnbook, but he was much less consistent, especially in the writing of vowels. Some of the isolated spellings may be due to misreading or miscopying, but Prince intended his edition to be a literal transcription with the spaces between syllables omitted except at assumed word boundaries. The vowels are as in table 4. In most cases the number of examples for a given spelling is too small to per-

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mit significant calculations of relative frequency, but the more frequent spellings are generally those given first. TABLE 4. MONTOUR’S VOWELS (AND VOWEL-/h/)

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/-i/ ee , e , ih (possibly i ) /ih/ ih , ee /-e/ (possibly a , ah ) /eh/ a , ah /ԥ/ i , ih , eh , a , o , oo , u /a/ a , u , ah , uh , au , aw , o , oo /ah/ ah , uh , au /o/ u , oo /oh/ oh /ԥࡅ/ Ø , u /ă/ a , ah , u , h , aw

/i·/ ee , e ; /-i·/ e , ee /i·h/ ih /e·/ a , ah /e·h/ ah /a·/ a , au , aw /o·/ oo /ԥw/ o , oo , owh , oowh /o·w/ oow , oowh , oe /ay/ i , ee

The Prayer Book consistently uses ah and au for /a·/, a for /e/, and a and ai for /e·/. Montour, in contrast, uses a and ah interchangeably both as his spellings of /e/ and /e·/ and as two of his many spellings of /a/, and he also uses a for /a·/. Montour writes h in twothirds or more of the syllables with preconsonantal /h/, which is not distinguished in the Prayer Book, but he also writes h in many syllables where there is no /h/ and his h can only be a diacritic intended to suggest vowel quality. The other consonants present few problems. Montour consistently writes general Munsee /s/ as th , which is never used in the Prayer Book or by Halfmoon: withkeelno wauk wsheetha /wԥskí·lnԥw wá·k wší·sal/ ‘a youth and his uncle’ (1A). The variation between /s/ and /ș/ raises the issue of normalization in the context of editing. It would be defensible to phonemicize Munsee texts with either /s/ or /ș/ depending on the usage of the speaker, but it would still be necessary to select and use just one of these for the speakers that show both pronunciations. Also, it would be a disadvantage for there to be variation in the corpus, as this would complicate electronic searches of the database. I have opted for a normalized representation as /s/, which entails annotation of the specific details. Montour always writes /x/ as rh , which was most significantly the uniform spelling in the 1874 edition of the hymnbook, having been introduced in the 1847 Prayer Book (beside hr and ch ). He consis-

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tently uses q or qk to indicate the labial component of /kw/ before a consonant and word-finally, like the hymnbook and Catechism (which consistently use qk ) but unlike the Prayer Book (which sporadically uses kq ). For example, he writes qk in /šԥғkw/ ‘but’ ( shuqk 1R, 2N, 3I) and in the inverse theme sign (1Q, 3D; both with following enclitic). He has quack for the indefinite and interrogative pronoun /kwé·k/ ~ /kwé·kw/ (1T, 2D, 4A, 4O), obviously copying the English near homonym, but quackw before an enclitic (3E). Prince (1902:29) objects that quack “should be written queq,” but both pronunciations were heard at Moraviantown in the 1960s. In one case he writes the inverse theme sign abstractly with qk in an ending in which it is pronounced with plain /k/ before /o·/ (item 3 in (2b) below; M 1R). Montour sometimes failed to write a word-final /-l/ in an unstressed syllable, writing /-al/ as uh , ah , or a and /-o·l/ as o or oo .

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(1)

Omission of final /-l/ oonjeemawuh wlunquathitha aleh-mawmjeenah kihkloolaut. /o·nþi·má·wal wԥࡅlonkwăsԥғsal é·lԥ-ma·mþíhnal -kihkԥࡅló·la·t./ He called his nephew to talk to him for the last time. [M 1E]

Now, unstressed final syllables are subject to devoicing in Munsee, and final /-l/ is always a voiceless fricative (IPA [ܾ]). Also, it is significant that Montour’s omission of /-l/ is concentrated in the earlier part of his text. For example, he wrote the first five occurrences of /wší·sal/ ‘his uncle’ as wsheetha (M 1A, 1B, 1D, 1K, 1L), and the remaining five as wsheethul (M 3I; 5E, 5G, 6A) or wsheethaul (M 5B). Similarly, after writing the ending /-á·wal/ (|wԥ-...-Ɨwal| ‘third person singular acting on third person obv.’) without the /-l/ in M 1E (1), Montour wrote the /-l/ four times in /wtԥlá·wal/ ‘he said to him (obv.)’ ( wtilawul M 1N, 3B, 3I, 4N). This pattern seems to show that the writer had an initial reluctance to use the familiar letter l for a sound that was so different from what it indicated in English, followed by a dawning sense of the phonemic realities of his own language as his writing progressed. A similar reluctance to write a voiceless /m/ with m would explain the writing of /nԥࡅmíhmhwa/ ‘I (customarily) eat him’ (where /hmh/ is phonetically [hmࡢ h]) as nmihwa (M 2I).11 A different case is presented by nouns that appear to lack an expected obviative ending /-al/ or /i·l/ entirely.12 There is evidence that these re11. The underlying stem is |mihmwԥhW-| (TA), from |Cih-| (HABITUAL) + |mwԥhW-| TA ‘eat’. 12. A primary animate third person is proximate and a secondary animate third person (if there is one) is obviative, regardless of syntactic role (as subject or object).

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flect not an imperfect transcription but a grammatical innovation (13, 14). In noun and verb forms potentially ending in a /-w/ preceded by a long vowel, Montour writes the /-w/ in nine cases and omits it in nine (including one case of oe for /-o·w/). In particles and prewords, however, the omission of a potential /-w/ predominates. He writes these with e or ee (for /-i·/) seven times, with a (for /-e·/) once, with eewh (for /-i·w/) four times, and with awh for /-e·w/) once, and all four cases with eewh are occurrences of lawpeewh ‘again’ (/lá·pi·w/), which he wrote only once as lawpee (/lá·pi·/). The phonemicization reflects these differences between the two sets of forms. Because the omission of /-w/ in nouns and verbs seems to be insignificant free variation, such words are normalized to the variants with /w/, the explicit norm for all speakers in the 1960s. Because the variation in the particles, on the other hand, is more complex and appears to be at least incipiently lexicalized, particles are phonemicized without /-w/ where Montour did not write it; e.g., kohpe /kóhpi·/ ‘in the woods’ (M 1B), shurhke /šáxki·/ ‘must be’ (M 3D), lawee /lá·wi·/ ‘in the middle’ (M 1B). The spellings of variable forms that archaically end in /-i/ or /-e/ show that Montour pronounced older final /-i/ as /-ԥ/ in at least some cases (2a), and they admit the possibility that he pronounced all cases of potential /-i/ and /-e/ as /-ԥ/ (2b–c). (2)

Montour’s writing of variable final vowels

(2a)

Archaic /-i/ written with a (phonemicized as /-ԥ/) 1. Mawhah geesh-keeshajpinahwa /má·h=a· nkí·š-ki·še·þpԥná·wԥ/ ‘I won’t be able to get him ready’ (M 2Q); contrast /-wi/ neg. (MEP, Halfmoon; Mor.) 2. shawa /šá·wԥ/ ‘immediately’ (M 4I, 4M); contrast /šá·wi/ ( shahweh MEP) 3. keesha /kí·šԥ/ ‘finish’ (M 5D); contrast /kí·ši/ ( keshe MEP; cf. n’geesheh ‘I am able’ Cat.) 4. wama /wé·mԥ/ ‘all’ (M 5B); contrast /wé·mi/ ( wameh MEP, way meh Cat.; Mor.)

Discourse factors such as topicality and prominence generally determine primary and secondary status, but possessed animate nouns are always obviative. In Munsee, unlike Meskwaki (Goddard 1990; Thomason 2003) and some other Algonquian languages, subjects do not retain obviative status in the absence of a continuing reference to a more prominent proximate, and frequent proximate shifts are the norm.

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(2b)

Archaic /-i/ written with i , ih , and eh (phonemicized as /-ԥ/ rather than /-i/) 1. mahji : /méhþԥ/ ‘already’ (M 1C, 2A) 2. patchih : /pé·þԥ/ ‘coming’ (M 4B); cf. paj /pé·þ/ (M 5N) 3. chee weeshulooqkoowih : /þí· wi·šalԥkó·wԥ/ ‘don’t be frightened by him’ (M 1R) 4. aleh /é·lԥ/ ‘in order to’ (M 1E)

(2c)

Archaic /-e/ written with a or ah (phonemicized as /-ԥ/ rather than /-e/) 1. andah-keshihtootah /é·nta-ki·šihtó·tԥ/ ‘after he had finished making it’ (M 1J) 2. Waupungeeka /wa·pankí·kԥ/ ‘the next day’ (M 1M)

The forms in (2b–c) may appear to support a retained distinction between archaic /-i/ and /-e/ in at least some forms in Montour’s speech, but other transcriptions of his make this uncertain. Montour writes yih ‘this (inan.)’ (M 4A), a younger form of archaic /yó/ ( yoh MEP; cf. /yó/ ~ /yԥғ/ ‘this’ Mor.); as this clearly has a reduced vowel rather than /o/ it must be phonemic /yԥғ/, showing that Montour’s ih (as in (2b.2) and (2b.3)) could represent /-ԥ/. Montour’s i was a common transcription of /ԥ/, so this is also a possible value in (2b.1). Perhaps the spellings in (2b.1), (2b.2), and yih ‘this’ show that he favored i and ih after palatals. Mountour’s aleh ‘in order to’ (2b.4), his only use of eh , simply adopts the spelling of this word that is found in the Prayer Book 140 times. Montour’s a and ah (as in (2c)) are plausible spellings of /-e/ but also common spellings of wordfinal /-a/, which suggests that they may equally well represent /-ԥ/, as a certainly does in (2a). In view of all these facts, the edition normalizes all such vowels to /-ԥ/, since the orthographic ambiguity of the text cannot guarantee the phonemic accuracy of any narrower transcription. 2.2. Curtin’s and Hewitt’s orthographies. Curtin and Hewitt wrote down Armstrong’s dictation using, for the most part, the phonetic alphabet described in the second edition of John Wesley Powell’s Introduction to the Study of Indian Languages (Powell 1880; Goddard 1996: 12–16). Curtin went over the text with the narrator to refine his transcription and obtain a translation. Hewitt entered an interlinear translation for the first part of his text (H 1A–13D) but left the rest untranslated except for nine words (H 16M, 17I, 19C, 21H, 33H, 37A). Curtin and Hewitt both show considerable overlap in the recording of Armstrong’s pronunciation of original and general Munsee /s/ and

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/š/. For /s/ heard as [ș], Curtin used th , as sanctioned in the first edition of Powell’s Introduction (Powell 1877), while Hewitt generally used ç , the later norm. The predominant writings of original /š/ were s , z , and ss for Curtin, and s and z for Hewitt. Both sometimes use c for [š]. The phonemic distinction was not consistently made, however. Curtin used s and ss for both phonemes, and Hewitt used s , ç , and c for both, with some differences in the frequency of their preferences. The writers also had trouble with /h/ and /x/. Curtin at first wrote both phonemes as h , but on the last page of his text he decided to write both as q , Powell’s symbol for /x/, and to use this also to indicate the devoicing of /w/ and /y/. Hewitt used the Greek rough breathing ‫( ލ‬Powell’s aspiration mark), q , and Ȥ in all these values. Hewitt usually wrote 8 for the voiceless allophone of /w/ that occurred word-initially before a consonant, adopting Cuoq’s (1866:9) symbol for [w] in the value of Heckewelder’s “whistled” w (Heckewelder and Duponceau 1819:396; Pickering in Râle 1833:567, 570).13 He also occasionally used 8 for word-initial /wԥࡅ-/ and towards the end of the text sometimes used 8 for word-final /w/. The writers often do not distinguish short and long vowels, though Hewitt, especially, often adds a breve to indicate a short vowel and Curtin uses û for /a/. Curtin’s e may stand for for /i/, /i·/, /e/, or /e·/. Hewitt’s e and its graphic variant İ are used for /i/ and /i·/, but he writes /e·/ and, most of the time, /e/ distinctly as ä . The phonetic alphabet did not provide a notation for a mid central vowel [ԥ], which was not generally recognized as a possible full vowel until well into the twentieth century, and Hewitt writes the vowel of the future enclitic /=ԥþ/, for example, as i , Ʊ , e , é , , , and , all of which he also uses for /i/ or /i·/, or both.14 The phonemicizations used in the edition of Hewitt’s text for the archaic /-i/ and /-e/ that vary with /ԥ/ are given in (3), with some other data for comparison, but for the reasons discussed, there are irresolvable uncertainties in the transcriptions of the words with these segments.

13. As Cuoq explains, 8 was a substitution for the omicron-upsilon digraph that the early francophone Algonquianists and Iroquoianists used (as if it were French ou ) for /w/, /o/, and /o·/. 14. In at least three places Hewitt wrote /ԥ/ after /y/ as o .

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(3)

Hewitt’s transcription of word-final /-i/, /-e/, and /-ԥ/

(3a)

Phonemicized as /-i/ 1. Stable /-i/ in verb stems and themes: Ʊ 1x, e 1x, ä 1x (after /y/) 2. Archaic /-i/ in preverbs and particles: Ʊ 36x, i 24x, İ 20x, e 11x 3. Archaic /-i/ in /-wi/ negative: wi 2x, wİ 2x, w‫ ࡅܭ‬1x

(3b)

Phonemicized as /-e/ 1. Stable /-e/ in verb stems: ä 2x 2. Archaic /-e/ in particles: ä 4x (3x after /y/) 3. Archaic /-e/ in subjunctive /-e/: ä 7x (1x as yä ) , e 3x, İ 2x, Ɵ 1x, Ʊ 1x

(3c)

Phonemicized as /-ԥ/ 1. Stable /-ԥ/ in preverb /-álԥ/ ‘proceed to’ (allomorph of |alԥmi|): e 1x, İ 1x 2. /ԥ/ for archaic /-i/ in /wé·mԥ/ ‘all’ (3x) and /wԥғnþԥ/ ‘because of’ (1x): a 2x, ă 2x 3. In /šá·wԥ/, which is often reduced to a monosyllable (see below)

211

Similarly, /nԥғ/ is written for /ní/ ‘that (inan.)’ only where the text has nä , no , or nu , and /yԥғ/ is written for /yó/ ‘this (inan.)’ only as a transcription of i and yİ , even though there were probably many more occurrences of /ԥғ/ in these words. Curtin’s transcriptions, less extensive and less precise, are generally phonemicized like Hewitt’s. The decison to favor the writing of phonemic /-i/ and /-e/ in Curtin’s and Hewitt’s texts but the writing of phonemic /-ԥ/ in Montour’s rests on small differences in distribution and probably implies a more consistent difference between the speech of Montour and Armstrong than really existed. 3. Grammatical features of the texts. Editing a text always makes it more similar to what is already known, so every effort must be made to identify and retain features that are genuinely different from what is expected. The goal must be to establish the spoken text (or virtual spoken text) that lies behind the written record, the form the text would have had if it had not been degraded by imperfect phonetic or writing

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skills or other external accidents. Of course, agreement on this goal may still leave some disagreement on what qualifies as a valid editorial intervention. For example, editors may have different opinions about how far to go in changing features that are taken to be imperfections caused by the artificial process of dictation. The more the editing creates a new text, however, the more should caution be observed, lest precisely the data needed to make such judgments be inadvertently expunged from the record (Goddard 1987:196–99). Similar considerations obtain in the common situation, as in the present case, when texts are reviewed with native speakers. When I reviewed the Montour and Armstrong texts with Anderson Pheasant of Moraviantown in 1967 and 1968 he flatly rejected a number of readily identifiable grammatical and lexical usages. He did not necessarily regard these usages as impossible for Montour and Armstrong, however, merely as “not our language,” as he often put it. And in fact, considerable variation is attested among the various Munsee-speaking communities, and even within the tiny Moraviantown community of that time (Goddard 2010). In such cases the editor must be especially vigilant not to expunge valid features of dialectal or individual variation. This does not mean that texts cannot be edited for use by speakers of other dialects and other times, but the primary edition should give the original speaker his own voice in his own form of speech. This section discusses specific instances in which grammatical features in the texts differ from the Moraviantown norm but are retained in the editions. 3.1. Variation in pronominal plural suffixes. In Moraviantown Munsee some paradigms have /na/ in the first plural while one has the shorter allomorph /-n/, but the corresponding second plural endings (in one case also used for third plural) uniformly have /-wa/: emphatic pronouns ni·ló·na ‘we (exc.)’, ki·ló·na ‘we (inc.)’, ki·ló·wa ‘you (pl.)’; n-endings kΩիné·mΩիne·n ‘we (inc.) see it’, kΩիne·mΩիné·wa ‘you (pl.) see it’, wΩիne·mΩիné·wa ‘they see it’. The Montour and Armstrong texts, however, also attest the second and third plural suffix with a short allomorph /-w/ (which like any word-final /-w/ after a long vowel is optionally not pronounced): /wi·kí·ne·w/ ‘they lived there’ weekena (M 1B); /wtԥғli-wԥࡅli·namԥғne·w/ ‘they are in favor of (doing) it’ dilliwullinominau (H 6E); /kwԥҒþo·ltí·ne·w/ ‘they all went out (subd.)’ gwƱ-djol-di-nä-ǎ‫( ލ‬H 20D); /wtá·ne·w/ ‘they went there’ 8da-nä (H 21D). Armstrong has a short form of the first plural emphatic pronoun: /ní·lo·n/ ‘we (exc.)’ ni-lon (H 13B). A caveat is raised by Curtin’s apparent hesitation between short and long variants in one form (C 1G; see the footnote to that line), which seems to show that, at

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least in some cases, the failure to write the final /-a/ was only the orthographic consequence of final devoicing. The short forms are abundantly confirmed by the Prayer Book, however, where they are more frequent than the longer forms that match the Moraviantown dialect, and are also found in the hymnbook and the Catechism: emphatic pronouns /ní·lo·n/ ‘we (exc.)’ ( neloon MEP), /kí·lo·n/ ‘we (inc.)’ ( keloon MEP, keeloon Cat.), /kí·lo·w/ ‘you (pl.)’ ( keloo MEP); nendings /kta·ya·ntamo·lne·w/ ‘I require it from you (pl.)’ ktahyaundumoolnawh (MEP); /wsa·kihtó·ne·w/ ‘they guard it’ w’sau kehtoon aiwh (Cat. 21A). On this evidence, the short forms are retained in the editions, even though they were never recorded after the nineteenth century.

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3.2. Regularized TI(2) inflection. In TI verbs of Class 2—those that have a theme sign |-o·| throughout the independent and imperative orders (e.g., nki·šíhto·n ‘I made it’)—the Moraviantown dialect of Munsee preserves an irregular and archaic inflection, seen in (4a). In the conjunct order the TI(2) theme sign (here underlying |aw|) and the third person suffix |-k| (replacing third person singular |-t| after a consonant) are fused to |-a·kw| (Goddard 1979:134). Montour’s text shows a regularization of this with the theme sign |-o·| (generalized from the other orders) and |-t| 3s, an ending found also in the Prayer Book and Halfmoon’s writings; see (4b). (4)

TI Class 2 third singular conjunct

(4a)

Archaic inflection: |-aw| TI(2) th. + |t| 3s ĺ |-aw-k| ĺ |-a·kw| /é·nta-ki·šihtá·kwԥ/ ‘after he had finished it’ (Mor.)

(4b)

Innovative inflection: |-o·| TI(2) th. + |-t| 3s ĺ |-o·t| /é·nta-ki·šihtó·tԥ/ ‘after he had finished it’ (M 1J) /ki·šíhto·t/ ‘(he) who made it, them (inan.)’ (MEP) /wé·nþi·-=þ -we·wíhto·t/ ‘so that he would know about it’ (Cat.)

3.3. Enclitics. Munsee has a set of sentence enclitics (5), which, in Moraviantown speech, generally occur after the first word of a sentence (or another enclitic): (5)

Enclitics /=ank/ ‘usually’ (generalizing) /=ax, =x/ ‘in fact’ (narrowing) /=a·/ ‘would’ (Mor., M, C, H, MEP, Cat.); /=a·m/ (C, H, MEP, Cat.) /=e·t/ ‘I guess, I wonder, it seems’ /=ԥþ/, /=þ/ future (all sources); /=þi/ (M, C, H)

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/=ha/ focus /=i·n/ ‘they say’ (hearsay) /=k, =ke/ ‘well, so’ (logical link) /=ԥnt/ ‘on the contrary, contrariwise, rather’

In the texts from Montour and Armstrong several of the enclitics may occur later in the sentence and more than once (6). (6)

Repeated enclitics

(6a)

/awé·n=ԥþ pé·w=þi./ ‘Someone is coming.’ (M 1O)

(6b)

/nԥғn=þi ktápi·n=þi á·pþi tá·li·./ ‘There you must stay for ever and ever.’ (H 24E).

(6c)

/nál=i·n ki·nhóhkwԥs ԥғw=i·n, . . ./ ‘Then (the story goes) the Pike said, . . .’ (C 2K)

(6d)

/nál=i·n wé·mi awé·n=i·n pé·w./ ‘Then (the story goes) everyone came.’ (H 2C)

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(6e)

/a·há·šte·w=ánk=i·n ԥғwak=ank=i·n, . . ./ ‘First one and then the other would say, . . .’ (H 11B)

The variant /=þi/ of the future enclitic that these texts attest, as seen in (6a–b), is found nowhere else, but its authenticity is guaranteed by the existence of a cognate /=þi/ in Western and Eastern Abenaki. The order of enclitics may also differ. Montour has /kéhla=há=e·t þí·pawe·n./ ‘I guess he really is a horrible creature’ ( Kalahaat cheepahwan. M 3C), but Pheasant insisted that only kéhla=é·t=ha was possible. Pheasant also rejected the placement of /=i·n/ ‘they say’ anywhere but after the first word, as when the Armstrong texts have it sentence-initially (e.g., H 1G, 1H) or after a cliticized demonstrative (C 2H, C 2U, C 2V), a particle that follows sentence-initial nál ‘then’ (e.g., C 3EE; H 5B, 5C, 7D), or a direct quotation (e.g., H 1K, 3K). There is also evidence in the texts from Armstrong for certain allomorphic changes in the words that the enclitics attach to, the most easily noticed being the forms ní·l and kí·l adopted by the emphatic pronouns ní· ‘I’ and kí· ‘you (sg.)’ in this environment: /kí·l=þi/ (H 11C, 31D) and /kí·l=ԥþ/ (H 17F) ‘you (sg.) (fut.)’, /ní·l=ke·=þ./ ‘I will be’ (C 3P). In Moraviantown speech these combinations would be kí·=Ωþ and ní·=k=Ωþ. The most widespread modification, as amply confirmed in the Prayer Book and by Halfmoon, is the lengthening of a word-final short vowel before an enclitic beginning with a consonant. At Moraviantown, however, such vowels remained short, and Hewitt actually marked a pre-enclitic vowel explicitly as long in only four forms:

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/kԥࡅme·me·lantíhmwa·=þ/ ‘you (pl.) shall have a race’, written kmämä-lun-dƱ‫ލ‬-mwƗtc (H 16L);15 cf. kpáhmwa ‘you came’. These factors put this feature at serious risk of being edited out of the text, as in fact it was at the time of the initial fieldwork. The Prayer Book and Halfmoon, however, have these long vowels written explicitly: /kԥࡅmi·lkéhmwa·=þ/ ‘you (pl.) will be given (things)’ kmeilkaimwauj (MEP); /ko·nþi·mkó·na·=þ=ha/ ‘will he call us (inc.)?’ Koonjeam koonoj huh (Cat.). Very similar rules of sandhi before enclitics in the neighboring language Mahican (Goddard 2007:214, 2008:262-270) further confirm and help elucidate the Munsee system: /knƗwihmą=þ/ ‘you (pl.) will see me’ ( knáǎwƝchmáhtsch ; cf. /knƗwihmah/ knáǎwechmà ‘you (pl.) see me’ [Masthay 1980:35]).16 It is clear, then, that the correct editorial decision for the texts obtained from Armstrong is to show this lengthening where it is marked and in similar cases, even though some details of its occurrence remain uncertain. In the edited texts phonemic lengthening before an enclitic is written for all words that would otherwise end in /a/ (H 16J, 16K, 16L, 17B, 24G, 31F, 39G), /-e/ (C 3P, 3S; H 11D, 35G, 35L, 38D, 39H), or /i/ (C 3W, 3Y, 3BB; H 10F, 13A, 16F, 22K, 24D, 24F, 37B, 37C, 38B, 38K), except for one verb that has short Ʊ explicitly written (H 10E). The retention of /-i/ would match the Moraviantown norm. 3.4. Changed conjunct inflection. In Moraviantown speech, temporal clauses ordinarily have verbs inflected in the changed subjunctive mode (for past reference) or the subjunctive mode (for future reference). Both modes have the subjunctive suffix (archaic /-e/, usually pronounced /-ԥ/), and the changed subjunctive also has initial change. The morphological process of initial change (Goddard 1979:80–81) replaces a short vowel (underlying |ԥ| or |a|) in the first syllable of a stem or compound stem with |e·|; long vowels are generally unaffected, but the changed forms of /i·-/ ‘say {so}’, |a·-| ‘go {somewhere}’, and |pa·-| ‘come’ are |e·yi·-|, |e·ya·-|, and |pe·ya·-|. The initial change may optionally be carried on the preverb /é·nta/ ‘when’; for example, pe·yá·tΩ and é·nta-pá·tΩ are equivalent expressions meaning ‘when he came’. The changed conjunct mode (with initial change but no modal suffix) is typically used with certain initials or preverbs: e.g., we·tamáhke·t ‘while he was gone’; é·lΩ-skaphá·la·t ‘when (or because) he got him wet’. Temporal clauses in Montour’s text sometimes have changed conjunct forms (7), but Pheasant rejected most of these, suggesting 15. In the other cases of word-final |-a| before the future enclitic Hewitt wrote Ɨ in 16J, 17B, and 39G and unmarked a in 16K and 31F. 16. Mahican /ą/ < PEA *Ɨ and /-hmah/ < PEA *-hmwa ‘second person plural’.

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changed subjunctives in their place. (Armstrong also does not appear to use the changed conjunct this way.) In one case, with future reference and two changed conjuncts (7d), Pheasant suggested a subjunctive for the first and accepted the second. (7)

Temporal clauses with changed conjunct (Montour)

(7a)

/wa·pánki·k é·nta-ki·šihtó·tԥ mihtkwi·nó·tay/ ‘The next day, after he had finished the basket, . . .’ waupungeek andah-keshihtootah mihtqueenootee (M 1J) (/wa·pánki·k/ ch. conj.; Mor. /wa·pankí·kԥ/ ch. subj.)

(7b)

/é·nta-kí·š-mi·tsíhti·t/ ‘when they had finished eating’ andahkeeshmeetthihteet (M 5C) (/é·nta-kí·š-mi·tsíhti·t/ ch. conj.; Mor. /é·nta-kí·šԥ-mi·tsihtí·tԥ/ ch. subj.)

(7c)

/nԥғn é·nta-pí·ske·k/ ‘that very night’ ninandpeethkahk (M 5I; read andah for and ) (/é·nta-pí·ske·k/ ch. conj.; Mor. /é·nta-pi·ské·kԥ/ ch. subj.)

(7d)

/pé·w=ԥþ é·nta-la·wi·tpíhkahk, é·nta- wé·m kwé·k -kawí·t./ ‘He will come at midnight, when all creatures are asleep.’ pawoich andahlaweetpihkahk andah-wam-quack-kaweet. (M 1T) (/é·nta-la·wi·tpíhkahk/ ch. conj.; Mor. /la·wi·tpihkáhkԥ/ subj.)

Since the changed conjunct is distinguished from the changed subjunctive only by the absence of a word-final /-ԥ/, the validity of such forms might be doubted, and if Moraviantown usage were adhered to, they would be edited out. The last example (7d), however, shows that the forms in Montour’s text cannot be repaired simply by adding a putatively unwritten /-ԥ/, since both verbs include the change-bearing preverb /é·nta/ ‘when’ and the changed subjunctive is incompatible with future reference. What is more, there are other examples of changed conjunct forms in temporal clauses with /é·nta/ or no preverb (8), including some from Moraviantown (8c) and its offshoot community in Kansas (8d). (8)

Temporal clauses with changed conjunct (other sources)

(8a)

Catechism (Halfmoon 1852) /pé·þi é·nta-mpԥғk/ ‘until his death,’ lit., ‘up to when he died’ payjeh ainduh bik /é·nta-pԥࡅmԥtó·nhe·nk/ ‘when (it) is preached’ anduh p’mitoonhaing /é·nta·-=þ ma·mþíhnal -kí·škwi·k/ ‘on the last day (fut.)’ aindoj maumjehnul keeshqueek

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(8b)

Prayer Book (Wampum and Hogg 1847:92-93, 1886:98-99) /nál=ԥþ=ni é·nta-wihkwí·xԥnk tala·wsԥwá·kan,. . ./ ‘Then, at the end of life (fut.), . . .’ nullitch neh aindah wequehring tahlowhsoowaukun

(8c)

Moraviantown é·nta-nxá-kătΩnamΩ̗ya·n ‘when I was three years old’ (RS) é·nta-wi·šá·si·t awé·n ‘when someone is scared’ (JN) nte·ptáya é·nta-éhkwΩ-pΩիmá·wsi·t, . . . ‘when David died, . . .’ (AP)

(8d)

Kansas (Michelson 1912) /awé·n kwԥғkal me·nihlá·li·t/ ‘when someone’s mother dies’

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These Munsee changed conjuncts have the function of the “participles of time” that Thomason (2001) identified in Meskwaki. In Meskwaki a changed conjunct form usually specifies a past event that precedes another past event, but when functioning as a participle of time it specifies and characterizes a time or situation, which may be past, future, or generic. Eastern Algonquian innovated the changed subjunctive mode to fill the usual role of the Meskwaki changed conjunct, but changed conjuncts like those in (8) have persisted in the specialized function of temporal participles. Note again example (7d), where the changed forms in a future context cannot refer to the sequence of events but rather generically characterize the hour when evil creatures come. The Montour text provides precious documentation of this usage, which would disappear if edited to the Moraviantown norm. 3.5. Attenuated use of subordinative mode. The Munsee subordinative mode is used in certain complement clauses and idiomatically with a virtual higher verb: mpΩ̗nawa·n ‘let me see him!’ (the pragmatic equivalent of the explicit expression lé·lΩիmi·l mpΩ̗nawa·n, lit., ‘let me see him’). As in other Eastern Algonquian languages, the subordinative is also used in narrative after sentence-initial ‘then’ (Munsee nál), which functions predicatively (as if it meant ‘then it was that’): nál kéhla wtalΩիmΩsi·né·wa. ‘And then sure enough they set out’ (C 1G; subordinative wtalΩիmΩsi·né·wa ‘they departed’ instead of indicative alΩmsΩ̗wak). In both Montour’s and Armstrong’s texts, however, many sentences have the indicative mode used after nál; e.g., nál wtΩlá·wal wí·wal ‘and then he said to his wife’ (C 1J, with independent wtΩlá·wal ‘he said to her’ instead of subordinative wtΩ̗la·n). When such sentences were brought to Pheasant’s attention he would suggest the subordinative equivalent as a preferable alternative. These cases have not been individually annotated.

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3.6. Absence of obviative suffix. An unexpected feature of Montour’s text is that nouns are sometimes used without the obviative ending /-al/ or /-i·l/ that would be used in other varieties of Munsee. This usage appears to reflect a dialectal innovation in Munsee grammar. For one thing, there is a consistent pattern to the presence and absence of obviative endings throughout the text. Animate nouns with a third person possessor and verbs inflected for an obviative object or subject always have the expected obviative suffix (though the /-l/ is sometimes not written, as in (1)), but all three of the nouns that in other varieties of Munsee would be obviative for syntactic reasons lack any trace of an obviative suffix and occur in the proximate form (9).17 (9)

Lack of obviative suffix on nonpossessed nouns (Montour)

(9a)

/wtԥlá·wal wԥskí·lnԥw/ ‘he said to the young man’ wtilawul withkeelno (M 1N, 4N)

(9b)

/wtԥғl-wtáxkwԥn þí·pawe·n/ ‘that the horrible creature visited him’ Wtil wturhquon cheepahwan (M 4L)

The grammar of Moraviantown Munsee, like that of other Algonquian languages, would require obviative inflection for the nouns in these sentences: /wԥski·lnԥғwal/ ‘young man (obviative)’ instead of the uninflected proximate form /wԥskí·lnԥw/, as in (9a), and /þi·pawé·ni·l/ ‘horrible creature (obv.)’ instead of /þí·pawe·n/, as in (9b). This is because, as Montour’s translation and the sense of the passages show, the noun in (9a) is the object of a verb inflected for proximate acting on obviative, and that in (9b) is the subject of a verb inflected for obviative acting on proximate. There are three possible explanations for the ostensible proximate forms in obviative function in (9), all implying perhaps some interference from English. Montour may have failed to write the obviative endings because they were devoiced. (But his writing of at least the vowel in other occurrences of word-final /-al/ argues against this.) Montour may have normalized his transcription to the proximate because it is the citation form and the obviative has no equivalent in English. (But there are no other comparable false normalizations.) Or Montour may have spoken a variety of Munsee in which obviative inflection was not used in some contexts where other varieties required it. This third possibility is the one least expected from a comparative Algonquian perspective, but similar data were obtained from at least three other speakers (10). 17. There may have been a fourth instance of this pattern in M 4H, but the original text cannot be recovered because of an apparent eye-skip in the edition (11a).

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219

Lack of obviative suffix on nonpossessed nouns (other sources)

(10a) /þá·n=ha wԥࡅne·wá·wal nehnayó·nkԥs/ ‘Did John see the horse?’ (Wilson 1889:68)18 (10b) /lԥғnԥw wԥࡅnihlá·wal/ “he kills a man” (Sapir 1911)

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(10c) /kí·mătԥs pàyaxkhá·wal míhtԥkw/ ‘your friend “shot” a tree’ (Siebert 1938)19

Siebert’s sentence (10c) and a second one with the same verb and object occur in a text, and there are several more examples of this usage in a longer text recorded by Speck from the same speaker (Nicodemus Peters), who like Montour lived on the Six Nations Reserve (Speck and Moses 1945:60-62). The multiple attestations of these two speakers from the same small speech community using proximate nouns instead of obviatives are the strongest evidence for the genuineness of this usage.20 The other two examples afford additional but arguably weaker evidence: (10a) was elicited from Absalom Fox, a boarding-school pupil from Munceytown,21 and (10b) was elicited from a third Six Nations speaker, Nelson Moses, but would also mean ‘a man killed him’. Some variability in this construction may be indicated by the presence of the obviative inflection in a sentence Montour sent to Prince (1900:299): Weetuhwamuk oomba nihla myauthowhwah wlithoo. “My wife also killed a good one.” This is evidently /wi·tawé·mak ámpe· níhle·w maya·wsԥғwal, wԥࡅlԥғsԥw/, with obviative /maya·wsԥғwal/ ‘one’; the independent indicative /wԥࡅlԥғsԥw/ ‘(animate) is good’ functions here like a participle specifying the indefinite substantive. The fact that this sentence has an absolute verb (/níhle·w/ ‘she killed (indefinite)’) and that all the examples with the obviative not used have an objective form (like /wԥࡅnihlá·wal/ ‘he kills him’ in (10c)), may be a factor. 18. I am grateful to Todd Thompson and Jim Rementer for a copy of Wilson 1889. 19. The verb later used for ‘shoot with a firearm’ is used in this text with its original meaning ‘strike with a bolt of lightning’. 20. Speck reports that Peters found the task of dictation difficult and observed that “The narrator is possibly guilty of some grammatical slips in some of the pronominals he dictated” (Speck and Moses 1945:59–60). This appears to be a reference to verbal inflections. 21. According to the student register, Absalom Fox attended the Shingwauk Indian Residential School (Shingwauk Home) from November 1888 to July 1892, and his parents were James and Eliza Fox of Muncey Town. I am indebted to Edward G. Sadowski for sending me copies of the school records.

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4. Emending the texts. Although the primary goal in editing texts such as these is to recover the spoken-language original implied by the written text, in some cases the text as transmitted does not appear to support a reasonable interpretation. Emendation may be required but should be employed only as a last resort. The text must clearly be defective, the emendation must be well supported, and the assumed error should be understandable and reasonable. And in the words of the German philologist Moritz Haupt (as translated by A. E. Housman), “The prime requisite of a good emendation is that it should start from the thought” (Housman 1962:142).

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4.1. Emending Montour. There are two places where Prince’s edition of Montour’s text cannot be correct and the translation suggests that, in fact, something is missing (11). If eye-skips by the copyist are assumed, a text that fits the context can be recovered. (11)

Eye-skips in Montour’s text

(11a)

ahwawhlihkoo (Prince 1902:25) “probably ‘there was a wizard’ (so Montour)” (Prince 1902:32) Emend to: ahwawhlihkoo /awé· wàwԥࡅlí·hko·l./ (M 4H) ‘(there was) someone [there that] brought him good fortune.’

(11b)

shawa wninahko wtil-sheewalindamoo weenawqthowh. (Prince 1902:25) ‘who at once saw that he [the traveler] was in trouble; that he looked sad.’ Emend to: shawa wninahko wtil-sheewalindamoo weenawqthowh. /šá·wԥ wԥࡅnԥná·ko·l wtԥғl-ši·we·lԥntamԥn, ši·we·lԥntamԥwi·ná·kwsԥw./ (M 4I) ‘He (obv.) immediately recognized that he was troubled, [seeing that] he looked sad.’

The end of the word in (11a) suggests an inverse verb in /-ko·l/ (cf. 11b), and /wàwԥࡅlí·hko·l/ as an interpretation of wawhlihkoo makes good sense; the stem |wawԥli·h-| is a reduplicated form of |wԥli·h-| TA ‘do good for, give luck to’. The residue ah , however, is not long enough to be a word. Taking wa as miscopied for wawa yields an emended ahwa /awé·/ ‘someone’ (cf. line M 3G), assuming that the obviative ending was absent (cf. (9)), and in fact the text can be explained as an eye-skip even if this word is emended to a spelling of the corresponding obviative /awé·ni·l/. In (11b) it is clear that more words are needed to give both “in trouble” and “sad”; the third person prefix /w-/ (in wtil- ) is incompatible with a third person absolute form in /-ԥw/ ( owh ); and sheewalindamoo weenawqthowh taken as one word is exactly ‘he looked sad’. Assuming an eye-skip resolves all the

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problems and yields a text that corresponds to the printed translation. A similar copying error in M 4E has resulted in mawsheel being written for mawsh (/má·š/ ‘like’) under the influence of Mawsheel earlier in the sentence. Montour did not indicate word boundaries, and in a number of places Prince divided the words incorrectly. Fixing these amounts to reediting the lost original rather than emending it. An example is in (12). (12)

Redividing words in Montour’s text

(12a) Prince’s text, analysis, and translation:22 uhj althithpoocheengwat uhpee. g Wiyoh mawhaul linnapa ? he is covered with feathers he who eats man weeshauthoowh he is afraid “[being] completely covered with feathers. g That man-eater became frightened”

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(12b) Emended (see M 5P–5Q):23 uhj althithpoocheengwat uhpeewiyohmawh. nul24 /áhþ é·l-sԥspwԥþhí·nkwe·t ăpi·wayáhԥࡅma·w. nál even his.eyelids he.is covered.with.down then linnapa weeshauthoowh lԥҒná·pe·w wi·šá·sԥw, . . ./ person he.is.afraid Even to his eyelids he was covered with down feathers. Then the (other) person was scared. . .

Other places where sentences were not correctly divided are in M 4E– 4F and M 5F–5G. Other errors in Montour’s text are writing sh for /þ/ (M 1I) and kt for /wt/ (M 2T), and the omission of a in two places (M 5H, 5I). In uhpeeyuhk (M 1I; for /ăpí·wayak/) a syllable wu (M 1L) or wi (M 5P; 16b) is missing. 4.2. Emending Hewitt. In a few places Hewitt has written forms that are uninterpretable except by assuming major flaws in phonetic tran22. The glosses and free translation of (12a) are Prince’s; he explains Wiyoh as a demonstrative pronoun. The superscript letters in the text and translation of (12a) were added by him to mark sentencelike units within segments of the text that he marked with roman numerals. (See the note before the edition of M.) 23. For the verbs in the first sentence, see the remarks on M 5P in §5.1. 24. Emending Prince’s aul to nul .

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scription. In H 2B, male w , glossed ‘aside’, is evidently to be taken as /palí·w/, a variant of pallewƱ ‘another place’ used later with the same verb (H 2F); apparently either the speaker or the writer carried over the initial /m/ of the preceding word. In H 26G, 8dƱl-lƱ-khe-kin is interpreted as /wtԥli·náxke·n/ ‘she reached her hand {there} (subordinative)’. Any interpretation of this word would have to be fairly drastic, since kh (used elsewhere in the text for /kh/, /hkh/, and /k/ after /s/ or /x/) points to no plausible reading. The form proposed in the edition is based on the parallel passages in Armstrong’s other tellings: Curtin’s text, which has /pi·nþi·náxke·n/ ‘he stuck his hand in (subordinative)’ (C 2C), and the Seneca version, which has ‘rummaged among her belongings’ (Hewitt 1903:246). The postulated form is like the verb Curtin has, but with |ԥl-| ‘to {somewhere}’ instead of |pi·nt-| ‘inside’. The extensive garbling may be plausible as an example of what can happen when the writer falls behind the speaker and transposes sounds. In H 36G, wă‫ލ‬-djo-wa-তwä-kƟtc is phonemicized as /wþԥwpé·kԥþ/ ‘let it be full (of liquid)’. The speaker evidently pronounced a murmured vocalic transition in the two places where |ԥ| has been syncopated after /w/, a pronunciation still heard from some Moraviantown speakers in the 1960s, and this appears to have interfered with Hewitt’s perception of a following /p/. The verb is the one required by the context and matches the Seneca version (Hewitt 1903:238). 5. Notes on new and unusual words and forms in the texts. The three texts contain many words that differ in shape or meaning from how they were used at Moraviantown or were not used there at all. Some of these are confirmed from other sources. Other words were understandable but not considered idiomatic. There are also some grammatical features that merit being mentioned. The new or unusual words in the texts are given here in the order in which they occur with notes and discussion. The notes are keyed to the texts rather than to an organized set of topics for ease of reference and to show by the accumulation of diverse examples the richness and value that such texts as these have when properly edited. 5.1. Words in Montour’s text. (M 1F) /la·we·lԥғntam/ AI ‘he was despondent’ (Montour ‘grieved’). At Moraviantown only ‘gave up’. (M 1G) /nkáta·-=þ/ ‘I will’ gutauch . The archaic pattern of preenclitic vowel-lengthening (discussed in section 3.3) is here extended to the innovated short form of the preverb; cf. Armstong’s /nkátawi·-=þ/ (H 37C), with the original longer form of the preverb |kata| ‘want to, intend to, be about to’, and Mor. nkáta-=þ, without the lengthening.

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(M 1J) /wa·pánki·k/ ‘the next day’, a changed conjunct, and /wa·pankí·kԥ/ (M 1M), a changed subjunctive, appear to be used interchangeably. Cf. Mor wa·pánke ‘tomorrow’. The added |-i·k| is also found in /nԥғ pi·ské·ki·k/ ‘that night’ (M 2A), /nԥғn pi·ské·ki·k/ ‘in that same night’ (MEP); cf. Mor. pi·ské·ke ‘last night’. Evidently these longer forms were reshaped to rhyme with kí·škwi·k ‘(on the) day’. (M 1K) /wԥࡅle·lԥntamԥғwi·/ P ‘being glad’. A free particle derived from wΩիle·lΩ̗ntam ‘he’s glad’; the Prayer Book has /wԥࡅle·lԥntamԥғwi/ ‘happily’, /maya·we·lԥntamԥғwi/ ‘with certainty’ (cf. /maya·we·lԥғntam/ ‘he is certain’), and a few other similar words, but the derivation was no longer active in the 1960s and the independent use as a predicate was not idiomatic. (M 1K) /kwԥࡅlԥғp/ P ‘contrariwise, unexpectedly, so much as to’; the initial |kwԥlԥp-| means ‘turn around, over’ and the semantic development is somewhat like English turn around and. In H 27G the meaning seems to be ‘next thing you know (unexpectedly)’. (M 1K) /la·lpákšԥw/ ‘he wept a little’. This contains the diminutive verb suffix |-ԥši·| (cf. nondiminutive lá·lpakw ‘he was weeping’) and from the context must mean ‘he wept a little’ or possibly ‘he wept (the poor old man)’, but at Moraviantown it would only mean ‘the little one wept’. (M 1P) /ăka·nša·ptó·ne·w/ ‘he talks strangely’ (AP). Cf. O’Meara (1996:21): ‘he brags’. (M 1T) /wé·m kwé·k/ ‘everything’ construed as animate. At Moraviantown ‘everything’ in the sense of ‘all creatures’ is wé·m(Ω) awé·n, and kwé·k(w) ‘something, anything’ is only inanimate. (M 2F) /wþi·xahkéhla·n/ “[then he] dropped down” wcherhakahlaun (also wcheerhakahlaun 5I); only here. Taken as þi·xíhle·w ‘he slides down’ with the medial |-ahke·-| ‘ground’ used in a locative sense. (M 2F) keerh keeth qta “by the fire” (Prince 1902:21; edited as keerhkee th’q’ta ); only here. Taken as /ki·xkí·skwtԥ/ (for /ki·xkí·skwte/), an archaic exocentric locative particle [Goddard 2007:215-216] < ki·xk- ‘near’ + PA *-i-škwete·) ‘fire’ (cf. Meskwaki þi·kaškote ‘by the fire’). Pheasant recalled hearing ki·xkí·skwte·w in another dialect; this may be what Montour wrote, but other Munsee particles in archaic /-e/ are attested (e.g., in M 5I). (M 2N) keemoorh “wizard”; only here. Taken as /kí·mo·xw/, a variant of the usual word ki·mó·xwe·w ‘witch’ (Mor., Six Nations [Siebert 1938]) < |ki·m-| ‘stealthy’ + |-o·xwe·| ‘walk’ + |w| Agentive), with the same truncation as in kpΩ̗to·n and ké·pto·n ‘mute person’ (< kpΩtó·ne·w ‘he is mute, unable to speak’).

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(M 2T) aleenquahtang “through the smoke-hole,” taken as /ehԥࡅli·nkwáhte·nk/. If not miswritten or miscopied, this is an irregular locative of /ehԥࡅli·nkwáhte·k/ (now ‘stovepipe’), an oblique participle with /k/ inan.; cf. ehΩիli·nkwahté·kΩnk (AP). Also, at Moraviantown the postposition lí (lΩ̗) ‘to’ would be required. (M 3C) /þí·pawe·n/ ‘horrible creature’; Mor. ‘bad person, evildoer’ (also H 25D). (M 4A) /e·ló·xwe·t/ ‘as he walked along’ (also H 15H). Mor. ne·ló·xwe·t ‘while he walked’ (with the frozen incorporation of nΩ̗ ‘that (inan.)’). (M 4A) /kwé·k/ (lit., ‘what?’; /kwé·k yԥғ/ ‘what’s this?’). The use of the interrogative pronoun in a mirative presentational idiom, meaning something like ‘lo and behold’ (here, ‘he suddenly saw’), was not accepted by Pheasant, but it is also found in Armstrong’s texts: /kwé·kw=ha, kԥࡅlԥғnԥm áhkԥy./ ‘she was surprised to find that she had some dirt in her hand’ (C 2Z; also C 2CC and H 18H).25 (M 4C) /tá·n=ha/ ‘how?’ (also H 30G, 30J) would be /tá·=ha/ at Moraviantown (also /t=há/ and /tá/). Older /tá·n/ ‘how? where? when?; whatever, wherever’ (also H 33H) is widely replaced by /tá·/ in all sources and was seldom heard at Moraviantown except before the enclitics that begin with vowels (as in C 3R and H 1J, 10F, 35E), where it was often pronounced /tán/. (M 5F) /é·nta·-=þ/ ‘where (fut.)’ andauch ( aindautch MEP, aindoj Cat.). The pre-enclitic vowel-lengthening is historically secondary (cf. the remarks on M 1G above in this section); /é·nta/ ‘where, when’ is a reduced form of PEA *ƝntarƯ (cf. Eastern Abenaki etali). (M 5P) althithpoocheengwat interpreted as /é·l-sԥspwԥþhí·nkwe·t/ ‘(on) his eyelids’, lit. ‘how he blinks his eyes’ (16). Cf. saspwΩþhí·nkwehle·w ‘he blinks repeatedly’, with |-hla·| ‘move rapidly’, the usual Moraviantown word. Reduplication with a reduplicated consonant followed by a nonweakening short vowel (written as underlying |CԥҒ-| or |Cà-|) indicates an action, event, or pattern that comprises multiple repetitions. At Moraviantown the short vowel used was |à|, but elsewhere |ԥҒ| was apparently the norm, being attested for speakers from Munceytown, Six Nations Reserve, and Cattaraugus (H 6K, 18F, 23C). (M 5P) /ăpi·wayáhԥࡅma·w/ ‘he is covered with feathers’. Regularly formed from /ăpí·wayak/ ‘down feathers’ (M 1I) and the final |-ahama·| ‘use, etc.’ (Goddard 1979:66), but at Moraviantown this would mean ‘he is clothed in fine feathers’ (AP). 25. The same idiom is found in Unami: kéku=ta ‘lo and behold’ (kéku ‘what?’; =ta FOCUS).

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(M 5Q) /lԥҒná·pe·w/ ‘person’ (so translated also by Armstrong). In the 1960s this only meant ‘Indian’, but the earlier, more inclusive meaning is found in the Prayer Book and the hymnbook and in eighteenth-century Northern Unami sources (Zeisberger 1887:119, 122). 5.2. Words in Curtin’s text. (C 1A) /mo·nԥࡅna·wá·wal/ ‘they pulled it (animate) up’. Bierhorst (2005:67 n. 7) suggests that this is an error for Hewitt’s /mahkԥࡅna·wá·wal/ (H 2E), but it is actually the preferred form at Moraviantown, where the second verb has the more general meaning ‘remove’. (C 1F) /pkwáhkami·kw/ “cave” (and C 1I). Only here and in H 3J and rejected by Pheasant, but obviously /pkw-/ ‘hole’ + /-áhkami·kw/ ‘earth’. (C 1I) /šá·wԥ/. In Curtin’s text the particle /šá·wi/ (/šá·wԥ/) appears in its full form only before an enclitic: sáwi “so” (C 3BB); otherwise it is reduced: sa “So” (C 1I, 1N), sae “then” (C 3Q), and perhaps se (C 3V). Hewitt’s text has the full form (with =i·n ‘they say’) as sƗ-w‫’ܭ‬in “right away” (H 12B; cf. 17I, 37F, 37I) and the reduced form as the’-in “it is said” (H 4E; cf. 6K, 27G), thaii-’in (H 29K), and sҥ-’in (H 38G). There appears to be at least a partial tendency for the full form /šá·wԥ/ to have the more robust meaning ‘right away’, and the reduced forms to be semantically bleached (‘so’, ‘so then’). In the text Peters dictated to Speck ša , šau , and (before an enclitic) šau wi are used as weak sentence connectors and translated throughout as ‘then’ (Speck and Moses 1945:60-62). Hewitt’s writing of th three times for older (and Moraviantown) /š/ is unique, but elsewhere he does use th as a rare writing of [ș] and ç (his usual notation of [ș]) as a rare writing of older /š/. (C 1S) /mi·ni·mo·nší·šak/ “huckleberry bushes” (diminutive); only here. Cf. mí·nal ‘huckleberries’ (NP in Siebert 1938), ‘blueberries’ (AP), and for the final, kehta·mó·nšΩy ‘hazelnut bush’. (C 1T) sóksƟhk “certain.” Unidentified; the gloss is unlikely. See the footnote to C 1T in the text. (C 1U) /alá·mԥnk/ ‘under’ (also H 3G; Wampano).26 Moraviantown has alá·mi· (cf. /alá·mi·w/ MEP). The preposed lí is also unidiomatic at Moraviantown, where postposed lí (lΩ̗) is required. (C 1W) /le·la·wáhkame·w/ ‘in the middle of the sky’; only here. Cf. le·lá·wi· ‘in the middle’; awasáhkame·w ‘in heaven’ (“above the sky” H 1A; with |awas-| ‘beyond’). (C 1X) /nehní·ntawe·s/ “comet,” literally ‘light-carrier’; only here and in Hewitt’s text (H 4J, 4L), where the interlinear translation is “fire 26. Cf. Wampano alamunk ‘inside’ (Masthay 1980:15); for the Wampano dialect of western Connecticut, see Goddard (2008:247–48).

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dragon,” the gloss also used for the Seneca equivalent gá:syІdye:ta’ (Hewitt 1903:224; Chafe 1967:51, no. 509). (C 2B) /kătáwi/ PV ‘want to’: Mor. kătá. (C 2C) /pi·mo·lԥࡅwá·kanԥnk/ ‘inside (the fold of) his robe’ pímolwakgûnink .27 This noun is regularly derived from an implied verb *pi·mó·lΩw ‘he puts, has (something) in the fold of his robe (the pocket made on either side above the belt)’, the exact cognate of Plains Cree pi·moyow and Menominee pi·manow, an ancient word apparently attested nowhere else in Eastern Algonquian. (See the footnote to C 2C in the text.) (C 2L) /ntԥlnԥғwi/ “I am a man.” This is cognate with words in other Algonquian languages like Meskwaki neteneniwi ‘I am a man’, but such verbs of being are not idiomatic at Moraviantown, where the expression is ní· lΩ̗nΩw nhákay (I man myself). (C 2Q) skihgi “a sea turtle.” Unidentified. Bierhorst (2005:70) translates this as “the good one,” as if it were the particle pšíhki ‘good’, which it plainly is not. (C 2Z) /kwé·kw=ha/ (cf. C 2CC): see remarks on M 4A in section 5.1. (C 2FF) /ătohpkíhkwԥn/ ‘it was very large’ (the reduplication |a-| ~ |-ta-| apparently intensifies the meaning); cf. /tóhpki·l/ ‘it (animate) is large’ (H 29G). At Moraviantown tohp- is ‘a lot’, as in /tóhpi/ PV (H 28I). (C 2GG) /nál=k=ԥࡅní/ ‘so then that’ nûl kiné (also nul kenneh MEP); cf. /nál=k=ԥࡅnԥғ/ nall-gi-nä (H 21A; AP), /nál=k=ԥࡅnԥғn/ Nulkinin (MEP). These show that when ní (nΩ̗n) ‘that (inan.)’ was cliticized it retained an historical initial *Ω- that was otherwise lost almost everywhere else in the Eastern Algonquian languages (Goddard 2003:48–53). (C 2GG) /ahálԥࡅwi·w/ ‘more and more’; the only attestation of the variant with this reduplication. (C 3B) /é·li-/ PV ‘while’: Moraviantown né·li (also in H 32E, 34C; see remarks on M 4A in section 5.1). (C 3N) /míhkaw/: /máh/ or /máh’ta/ ‘not’ and /míhkaw/ make a particle phrase meaning ‘not long afterwards’ (also seven times in Hewitt); the scope of the negative is limited to the phrase, and the verb does not have negative inflection. Not used at Moraviantown, but Mary Riley of Munceytown knew this as máh’ta míhka ‘shortly after’. Cf. Mahican /ԥsta mi‫ݦ‬kaw/ ‘not long afterwards’ (Prince 1905:76 [twice], phonemicized); Unami amí·ka ‘later, late’ (cf. Zeisberger 1887:110).

27. The third-person prefix |wԥ-| is absorbed by the /p/.

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(C 3S) /wí·lhwi·nk/ ‘her navel (loc.)’; only here and in H 12A. Phonemicized on the basis of Unami wí·lhwi ‘his navel’. Mor. po·ší·šΩիmal ‘his navel’ (cf. pó·ši·š ‘cat’). (C 3T) /mó·ški·m/ ‘Rabbit’, the name of the Culture Hero; only in Armstrong’s texts. Curtin once wrote Moskemb (which would be phonemic /mó·ški·mp/) and then changed the b to m in writing this word before an enclitic: /mó·ški·m=ank/ (C 3Z). The Moraviantown word for cottontail rabbit (Sylvilagus floridanus) is mó·ški·nkw or mo·škí·nkwΩs, but at Munceytown it was mo·škí·mΩs (MR)28 and mo·škí·mpΩs (DD). The name has affinities with the traditional designation of the Central Algonquian culture hero as the ‘Great Hare’, in contrast to the Iroquois culture hero, who is called ‘He Who Grasps the Sky’ or ‘Sapling’. Curtin has the gloss ‘rabbit or hare’ (C 3BB), but the Munsee word for ‘snowshoe hare’ is wa·páhtkwe·s. (C 3W) /máhlԥs/ ‘Flint’, the Culture Hero’s younger brother (also H 14C); only in Armstrong’s texts. Cf. Unami máhΩlΩs ‘flint’. One of the names the brother has in the Iroquois tradition has this meaning. (C 3X) nyoh “yes”; Hewitt nyon (H 19H) and Nyo‫( ލ‬H 37D), also nyo‫ލ‬hă “well” (H 3B) and yoĶhă (H 36B). Interpreted as /yৌh/ and /yৌha/ ‘alright’, with extra-phonemic nasalization, beside /yóh/ (H 3J, 5E, etc.) and /yóha/ (H 11H); cf. Mor. yóh ‘alright’. (C 4D) /é·li-wsíhka·t/ ‘the West’, with the animate suffix /-t/, reflecting a literal meaning ‘where he (the sun) sets’; also in Halfmoon’s hymnbooks. Hewitt’s text has /é·lԥ-wsíhka·k/ (H 12G), with inanimate /-k/ (‘where the sunset is’), one of the ways of saying this at Moraviantown (beside reduplicated /éhԥࡅlԥ-wsíhka·k/). (C 4I) /halԥࡅmáhkami·kw/ “for ever (all the days)” hâlmҩqkamíu ; /-i·kw/ was apparently heard as íu under the influence of the preceding word, tá·li·w ‘forever’ dalíu . Used also in the hymnbook (written Hul muh kum meeqk , etc.) and in the Prayer Book; Pheasant preferred halΩիmahkamí·ke·w. Cf. the Unami ritual term e·lΩma·kamí·k·e·k ‘all over the world’. The interlinear gloss shows that, at least when Curtin read it back to him, Armstrong associated this word with -áhkame·w ‘day, sky’ rather than -áhkami·kw ‘earth’. 5.3. Words in Hewitt’s text. (H 1B) /la·wo·té·naye/ ‘in the middle of the village’. A rare Munsee example of an exocentric locative particle; confirmed so by John Huff. (H 1C) /wí·wԥw/ ‘he has a wife’. This is the old meaning (cf. wí·wal ‘his wife’), but in the 1960s this only meant ‘he copulates with (her, indefinite)’. 28. Zeisberger (1887:90) gives Mõskímus and Tschemámus (Unami þΩmámΩs ‘rabbit’) as “Hare,” but there is no entry for ‘rabbit’.

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(H 1F) /ni·ske·lԥғntam/ “he feels bad” (but taken to be the homonym with underlying first person |nԥ-|, which is regularly lost before /n-/). At Moraviantown this means ‘he thinks (it, indefinite) is dirty, spoiling’, but here the meaning of the initial appears to be as in ni·skamántamΩn ‘it (e.g., woolen underwear) doesn’t feel right on me’ (cf. remarks on H 34F below). (H 1H) /wi·nkí·nam/ “he wants something”; Mor. ‘he likes (it, indefinite)’. (H 4G) /wtálԥ-nԥࡅmí·ki·n/ ‘she began to bend forward’ ( dallİ-ni-mik’in ). This must be a third singular subordinative mode form (inflection /w(t)–n/), with the prefix /wt-/ before the preverb |alԥ| ‘begin to’ and the suffix /-n/ at the end (misanalyzed as having =i·n ‘it is said’). The residue is a verb |nԥࡅmi·ki·-| AI ‘bend forward, bow’, which is not found elsewhere in this simple form but is confirmed by the existence of derivatives, notably the transitive applicative, which adds |-htaw| TA, |-ht| TI: Mun /nԥҒnԥࡅmi·kihtó·le·nkw/ ‘that we bow down to you’ (Halfmoon 1874), with reduplication |CԥҒ-| (as in M 5P) and inflection |-ԥle·nkw| 1p–2; No. Un nƟmigítamen ‘I bow to it’ (Zeisberger 1887:27). The forms from Halfmoon and Armstrong show that the initial nƟ- in Zeisberger’s form is not just the first person prefix (as assumed by the writer of Brinton and Anthony 1888:84), but the first syllable of the stem with the pronominal prefix invisible before it. (H 7I) /ki·škwáhԥm/ ‘sun’, glossed in the text by the added word /kí·šo·xkw/ ‘sun, moon’. At Moraviantown this word was recalled as ki·škwΩիnáhΩm; cf. ni·pá·hΩm ‘moon’, which was known as an archaism used by some speakers.29 (H 8G) /na·walaxkwé·þi·k/ ‘the Big Dipper’, lit. “bear chasers.” An archaic plural participle of an otherwise unknown verb |na·walaxkwe·-| ‘chase bear(s)’ (< |na·wal-| ‘follow, chase after’ + |-axkw-| ‘bear’ + |-e·| abstract). This and the next are rare items of star lore (for which see references in Wonderley 2006). Compare the Seneca name, which has the same meaning (Hewitt 1903:227; Chafe 1963:43), and the identical Eastern Mahican tradition (Hopkins 1753:11). (H 8H) /me·nhánki·k/ ‘the Pleiades’. The plural participle of an otherwise unattested verb mΩիnáhΩիmo·k ‘they paddle in a bunch’ (cf. pΩիmáham ‘he paddles by’); Zeisberger (1910:148) has Menhangik “the travelling companions.” The interlinear translation “dancers” reflects one of the two Seneca names for the constellation, which is translated “they are dancing” (Hewitt 1903:227–28); compare the Eastern Mahican belief “that the seven Stars were so many Indians translated to Heaven in a Dance” (Hopkins 1753:11). 29. Cf. kí·škwΩn ‘it is daytime’, ki·škwΩիnΩ̗wi· ‘in the daytime’.

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(H 9A) ä-swá-pǎñk “each morning.” Edited as /é·he·š-wá·pank/ because of ääswapǎĶk (H 21F); cf. Mor. hé·š-wá·pank and é·šwá·pank ‘every morning, every day’. (H 9B) /mxwԥғs/ “branch”: otherwise only xwΩ̗s ‘piece of wood’ (nΩիmóxwsΩm ‘my piece of wood’). The retention of /m-/ word-initially before /x/ is found here and perhaps in H 28F, but all other recent sources show Munsee /mxw-/ reduced to /xw-/ by sound law. The placename /(m)xwéhko·nk/ ‘at the big hill’, recorded in seventeenthcentury Dutch documents as Gweghkongh , Hweghkongh and Mochgeychkonk (Goddard 1971:18, 2011:298), shows that the variation is old.30 This is yet another remarkable archaism in Armstrong’s speech. (H 9J) /wháke·nk/ ‘in her body’ 8hăkƍ-gäñk ; at Moraviantown /wh-/ is always metathesized: Mor. hwáke·nk. (H 10K) /ala·mătáye/ ‘in the belly’. Another exocentric locative particle, confirmed by O’Meara (1996:25); Mor. alá·mi·(w) wătáyΩnk ‘inside her belly’. (H 11B) /a·há·šte·w/, (H 11D) /a·há·šte·/ ‘first one then the other, back and forth between them’. Mor. e·há·šte· (AP). (H 11E) /kwé·kwԥnþ/ ‘why?’ (also H 25H). The older construction would presumably have had kwé·kw and a changed conjunct verb with preverb wé·nþi ‘what (is) the reason why . . .’. The fusion of these into a single word, here interpreted as a new preverb, is also found in Halfmoon’s hymns ( qua quinch ) and catechism ( Quay quin j ). (H 12A) See the remarks on C 3S in section 5.2. (H 13D) /mankkí·lo·k/ ‘they are big’. The initial /mank-/ is an archaism continuing PA *mank- ‘big (pl.)’; cf. Mor. amankkí·lo·k, with plural reduplication (|a-| ~ |-ma-|). (H 16D) nƱ-‫ލ‬ga-ma : interpreted as /nihn’kԥғme·/, reduplicated form of nkΩ̗me· ‘always’, otherwise unattested in Munsee but matched by Unami nink·Ωmé·i, nink·Ωmé·e ‘always’. (H 16G) /nta·yá·ntamԥn/ (lit., ‘I want or need it’) in the phrase /nta·yá·ntamԥn wé·mi awé·ni·k./ ‘I need (to have) all the (game) animals’. (The translation follows the Seneca version.) The verb has a transitive inanimate (TI) stem, here ostensibly inflected for a definite inanimate singular object, but the syntactic object is animate plural. Algonquian languages have objectless transitive verbs, used like intransitives (TI-O verbs), and a class of intransitive verb stems that take objects of either gender (AI+O verbs). The verb in H 16G is a rare combination of these two types, with the form of a TI but an animate syntactic object (as if TI-O+O). An example in the Prayer Book has the 30. Munsee xwΩ̗s ‘wood’ < /mxwԥਸs/ < PEA *mΩhx- (+ *-Ωhs *mehș-; Munsee xw- ‘big’ < *mxw- < PEA *mΩhx- < PA *meҌș-.

DIMINUTIVE)

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animate plural suffix /-ak/ added to an otherwise TI verb: /nsáhki- ní· -ši·we·lԥntamԥғnak/ ‘for {so long} did I grieve over them’ (compare the ordinary TI-O verb nši·we·lΩ̗ntam ‘I am sad, grieve’).31 (H 17D) /xwi·nkwha·lí·kan/ ‘False Face Person’ (also H 17I); only here. The supernatural being who was the prototype of the Iroquois false faces and connected to the carved faces of Delaware ritual (Munsee mΩիsí·nkw, Unami mΩsínkw), evidently named after his ritual impersonator, called in Unami mΩsinkhэ̗·lí·k·an (Speck 1931:37–44; Goddard 1978b:233–34; cf. Hewitt 1903:197 n. b, 234). Armstrong’s word has /xw-/ ‘big’ instead of /mԥs-/ ‘all’, but the details of the formation of these words are not clearcut. (H 17G) /kԥࡅla·palíhko·l/. At Moraviantown this would mean ‘I step in your footstep’; a reduplicated form kΩիlahla·píhko·l would have to be used for the obviously intended meaning ‘I (shall) step in your footsteps’. In general Armstrong seems to use less reduplication than Moraviantown speakers. (H 17L) /káwhi·n/ ‘you won it from me’. Pheasant preferred kawhΩ̗we·n ‘you won it’ here, though he used the imperative kawáh ‘win it from him’. (H 18I) /pó·nxi·n/ ‘he put down his load (subordinative)’.32 The corresponding independent indicative form is /pó·nxԥw/, which Speck recorded as p‫ܧ‬ƍƾheo from Peters (Speck and Moses 1945:60). These are the only attestations in any Eastern Algonquian language of a reflex of PA *po·naҌšiwa ‘he puts down his load’ (cf. Meskwaki po·našiwa, Menominee po·naҌsew). (H 19B) /wtamăkihká·ko·l/ ‘they (obv.) trampled over him’. This only meant ‘he (obv.) stepped on him’ to Pheasant, who insisted on the reduplicated form wtatamakihká·ko·l for the intended meaning. (H 19C) /ohþé·nkšal/(?) ‘fawn (obv.)’ (also H 19E); /ohþé·nkԥš/(?) (H 35G). Only here, and the shape is uncertain; /wþé·nkԥš/(?) is also possible. (H 20H) /mó·s/ ‘elk’. So given by Armstrong in the vocabulary obtained from him by Hewitt (1896b), where ‘moose’ is /nsԥғki·-mó·s/ (literally ‘black elk’). This is also the meaning that matches the Seneca text (Hewitt 1903:237) and the identical Unami cognate. The use of Munsee /mó·s/ for ‘moose’ by two Six Nations speakers (Prince 1900; Siebert 1938) may reflect confusion with the reference of the English word, as was the case in the 1960s, a result of the fact that moose would have been by far the more familiar animal in recent times. 31. There are a few examples of TI-O+O verbs with animate objects in Meskwaki texts, and Philip LeSourd (p.c. 2011) reports that there is at least one verb in MaliseetPassamaquoddy that regularly does this. 32. The third-person prefix |wԥ-| is absorbed by the /p/.

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(H 21A) See the remarks on C 2GG in section 5.2. (H 22F) /wáhkw/ ‘the heavens, the sky, the firmament’ (also H 22H); locative /wáhkonk/ (H 39E, 40B). The plain noun is found only here; the locative wáhkonk survives in the meaning ‘up, up high, up above, upstairs’ (as in M 2D). (H 26F) /kwóhpԥࡅna·n/ ‘she took it out (subd.)’ gwo‫ލ‬-pen-na . At Moraviantown (and in all other varieties of Delaware) the third person prefix |wԥ-| would be absorbed by the stem-initial |ko·-|, giving in this instance /kóhpԥࡅna·n/. (H 26G) /né·kԥࡅma/ näg-ma‫( ލ‬also nä kma 31I), the third singular emphatic pronoun. Confirmed by Pheasant as “another language” and given or confirmed as a variant by Peters (Siebert 1938), but otherwise found only in the hymnbook, the Prayer Book, and the Catechism. In the twentieth century all sources have Munsee né·ka (also M 5G) and Unami né·k·a. (H 26J) /kwá·xkamwi·n/ ‘he or she makes parched corn (subordinative)’ (also H 28G). This is the verb ká·xkamΩw, which formally underlies the noun ká·xkamo·n ‘parched corn’ (regionally called ‘nocake’, ‘rockahominy’, and ‘pinole’), and Armstrong is clearly using it here to mean ‘make parched corn’, but Pheasant gave it as ‘eat parched corn’, which must have been the original meaning. It contains the intransitive final |-amwi·| ‘eat’ and “alludes to the noise made in eating by crunching the grains” (Albert Anthony in Brinton and Anthony 1888:35). Pheasant gave ka·xkamó·nhe·w for ‘he makes parched corn’. (H 27B) /wé·hala·n/ ‘she hung it (anim.) up (subordinative)’ w‫ލࡅܭ‬ha-lan ; also /we·halá·wal/ wä‫ލ‬ƍ-hă-la-wăl (H 29H). These forms are taken to show an otherwise unattested variant /we·hal-/ of usual /wehlal-/ ‘hang (animate)’. This has a parallel in the pronunciation by some speakers of the verb final /-ihlal/ as /-i·hal/ ‘act on by or causing quick action’, as in nkΩtăkí·hala·w ‘I touched him (and made him jump)’ instead of nkΩtăkíhlala·w (cf. ktakíhle·w ‘he jumped’). (H 27C) /tahtăkԥsá·pa·n/ ‘thick corn mush’ (also H 27G, 29I). Only here; confirmed by Pheasant. (H 28B) /ayԥpá·wi·w/ ‘early in the morning’; also /ayԥpá·wi·/ (H 39H, 39I). Unique variants of this highly variable word. The most similar form heard at Moraviantown in the 1960s was ayapá·wi·, used by Ida Timothy, the oldest speaker interviewed; others used ayapá·wΩիni·, nayΩpá·wΩիni·w, nayΩpá·wΩիni·, and nayapá·wΩիni· (Goddard 2010:36). (H 28F) /xwáskwi·m/ ‘corn’. Hewitt first wrote M , then changed it to Ȥ , writing Ȥoás-kwƱm , and wrote moȤoaskwim above. It is possible that he heard an archaic pronunciation /mxwáskwi·m/ (see the

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remarks on H 9B above), but also possible that Armstrong gave as an alternative /moxwáskwi·m/ ‘her corn’. (H 31E) /wtԥlá·wal wí·pal/ ‘he said to his arrows’: the normally inanimate noun wí·pal ‘his arrows’ is here treated as animate and construed with a TA verb. (H 32E) /wí·xþe·w/ ‘wolf’ (not obviative). Pheasant insisted on the obviative wi·xþé·wal here, as the object of pΩntawé·wak ‘they heard (him, them)’, but accepted the proximate nán ătóhw ‘that deer’ in the next line, where it follows its verb. It is not clear if the lack of the obviative in H 32E is another instance of the pattern in examples (9) and (10), or if it can be explained as the avoidance of an obviative subject in a subordinate clause, as in H 32F. (H 32E) /pé·þi-nawatԥғnke·t/ ‘which came barking on the run’ pätcƱ nâ-dƱñ-gät . The verb was identified by Pheasant as nawatΩ̗nke·w ‘barks on the run’ but is attested only here. It is formed from |nawat-| ‘on the way’ and |-ԥnke·|, derived from |wԥnke·-| ‘to bark’. (H 33B) /ni·šăkahkwá·pԥࡅye/ ‘two strings of braided corn’. The only attestation of this unit of measure (here with ni·š- ‘two’), confirmed by Pheasant. (H 34E) /wsó·kanԥnk/ ‘at his backside’. ‘Backside’ is the translation given by Anthony (Brinton and Anthony 1888:133)33 and Zeisberger (1887:13, 17, 49, 94); at Moraviantown the word was translated ‘hip’ or ‘(lower) back’, and ‘hip’ is the meaning of the word in Armstrong’s Seneca version, though Hewitt has the ambiguous “on the loins” (Hewitt 1903:252; Chafe 1967:51). (H 34F) /kԥࡅni·skántama/ ‘you’re menstruating’. Only here; the third person is presumably *ni·skántama·w ‘she’s menstruating’. The final |-antama·| is a middle-reflexive derivative of |-ant-am-| ‘eat (it)’, here with a meaning like ‘eat one’s meal(s)’.34 The initial |ni·sk-| commonly means ‘dirty’, but in this stem it seems to have the meaning ‘encumbering, annoying’ found in such verbs as ni·skalá·mΩw ‘sing annoyingly or at a bad time’. A meaning like ‘her meals are a bother’ would refer to the disruption of routine that ensues when a woman cooks and eats separately while having her period; compare the Unami expression á·la-wí·x·Ωnu ‘she’s menstruating’ (lit., ‘she can’t cook’). The word used at Moraviantown was móhkwi·w ‘she’s having her period’ (derived from móhkw ‘blood’), which is identical in most inflected forms 33. The manuscript is transcribed as having “hind part of a church” (Brinton and Anthony 1888:133) where its source has “hind Part of any Creature” (Zeisberger 1776:11). 34. For the formation of this class of middle-reflexives with nonmutating |-a·| (i.e., a stem-final |-a·| that is not replaced by /-e·/ before third-person |-w|), see Goddard (1979:65–66). Another example is in M 5P.

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with móhkΩw ‘he or she bleeds’ (e.g., nΩիmóhkwi ‘I’m bleeding; I’m menstruating’). (H 34I) /nkwԥtԥࡅyá·lԥnþ/ ‘one handful (of it)’. Moraviantown speakers said nkwΩtΩիya·lΩ̗nþe (EJ, JH) or nkwΩtΩիya·lΩnþé·wi· (AP). (H 36G) /wþԥwpé·kԥþ/ ‘let it be full’ wă‫ލ‬-djo-wa-তwä-kƟtc .35 The ending /-kԥþ/ marks a third person inanimate imperative (or injunctive); the form and inflection were confirmed by Pheasant. The interpretation as having a subjunctive ending (AP and others /-kԥ/, variant of older /-ke/) followed by the future enclitic /=þ/ (Goddard 1979:52) is not correct, as there are injunctives in the hymnbook, the Prayer Book, and the Catechism that must be interpreted as having /-kԥþ/: e.g., /kihkayԥwá·kan pe·ye·wí·kԥþ./ ‘Thy kingdom come’ kekiyoowaukun payawekitch (MEP), kehkyyoowhwaukun pa ya wee kij (Cat.). The subjunctive suffix /-e/ was not reduced to [-ԥ] in these sources and, in fact, would have been replaced by /-e·/ before an enclitic: /nkí·ke·m=ké·=þ/ ‘[Well,] I will be cured’ N’gee kaim kaij (Cat.).36 (H 36G) /é·nta-wa·lahkamí·ke·k/ ‘in a hollow in the ground’. Pheasant would say: é·nta-wa·lahké·ye·k. (H 37C) /nkátawi·-=þ -kšíhla./ ‘I’m going to run fast’ ga-da-w‫ܭ‬tcksƱ-hă-lă . The preverb that was only |kata| ‘be going to, want to’ at Moraviantown here appears in its archaic form |katawi| (see the remarks on M 1G in section 5.1), probably because of the following enclitic. Otherwise the |w| is found only when the preverb has no prefix: /kătáwi/ gataúwe (C 2B), /kătáw/ (MEP, Halfmoon). (H 37H) /pԥࡅmԥғyԥnk/ ‘in oil’ pemi-yƱƍñk (also H 38F); cf. /pԥࡅmԥғy/ ‘oil, fat, grease’. The locative lacks the contraction of Moraviantown /pԥࡅmí·nk/ and other nouns in |-ԥy| (H 5D, 12A). (H 38H) Pheasant did not accept the gapping of the verb and suggested adding li·ha·né·wa ‘were treated {so}’.

Abbreviations and conventions Abbreviations of linguistic terms and sources. AI = animate intransitive; AI+O = syntactically transitive AI; C = Curtin 1883 (the second text below); Cat. = Catechism (Halfmoon 1852); ch. conj. = changed conjunct; ch. subj. = changed subjunctive; du. = dual; exc. = exclusive; fut. = future; H = Hewitt 1896a (the third text below); inan. = inanimate; inc. = inclusive; IPA = International Phonetic Alphabet; loc. = locative; M = Montour (the first text 35. The interpretation of the phonetics is discussed in section 4.2 above. 36. In contrast, to judge from the transcriptions in Blanchard 1837 the Unami injunctive does appear to have been restructured, as given by Goddard (1979:51–52).

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below); masc. = masculine; MEP = Prayer Book (Wampum and Hogg 1847, 1886); Mor. = Moraviantown; Mun = Munsee; neg. = negative; obv. = obviative; Oj = Ojibwe; P = free particle; PA = Proto-Algonquian; PEA = Proto–Eastern Algonquian; p, pl. = plural; s, sg. = singular; Sen. = Seneca; subd. = subordinative; subj. = subjunctive; TA = transitive animate; TI = transitive inanimate; TI-O = objectless TI; Un = Unami.

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Abbreviations of names of Munsee speakers. AP = Anderson Pheasant; CS = Cephas Snake; DD = Dan Dolson; EJ = Enoch Jacobs; JH = John Huff; JN = Joe Noah; MR = Mary Riley; NP = Nicodemus Peters; RH = Rosanna Hopkins; RS = Rebecca Snake. Conventions and symbols. The asterisk (*) marks words and elements that are assumed to have existed but are unattested. In transcriptions of attested Munsee words, italics mark phonemic forms that I heard, and slashes (/.../) mark phonemicizations of forms from the texts and other early sources. Slashes are also used in referring to phonemes and parts of words. Angled brackets ( ... ) enclose the unaltered spellings of the source. Bars (|...|) mark underlying forms (abstract phonological representations). In translations, curly braces ({...}) mark glosses that are not to be taken literally but are placeholders for oblique complements of the class the gloss implies. In the original interlinear glosses of the second and third texts, a superscript exclamation point (!) marks erroneous translations (one is a miswriting, but most were apparently due to misunderstandings between the writer and the speaker). In the second and third texts, a double bar (||) marks a page break in the original manuscript. In emendations, pointed brackets () mark restored material assumed to have been omitted in error. In the notes to the texts, double brackets ( ... ) mark deletions by the writer, and a single bar (|) indicates a line break. In the transcription of compound words, a hyphen joins a prenoun to its head noun or a preverb to its head verb; the components of a compound that is broken up by words that are not syntactically a part of it are flagged by multiple hyphens. The equals sign (=) marks a word as an enclitic phonetically attached to the preceding word. In the notes to the texts, < means “has been changed from.” For other aspects of the presentation, see the headnotes to the individual texts.

References Bierhorst, John 1995 Mythology of the Lenape: Guide and Texts. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. 2005 The Delaware Creation Story. In Algonquian Spirit, edited by Brian Swann, 62–71. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Blanchard, Ira D. 1837[1839] The History of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ; Comprehending All That the Four Evangelists Have Recorded Concerning

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Him. Shawanoe Baptist Mission, Indian Territory: Jotham Meeker [and John G. Pratt]. Bloch, Bernard 1948 A Set of Postulates for Phonemic Analysis. Language 24:3–46. Bloomfield, Leonard 1927 Literate and Illiterate Speech. American Speech 2(10):432–39. (Reprinted in: A Leonard Bloomfield Anthology, edited by Charles F. Hockett, 147–56. Bloomington: Indian University Press, 1970.) 1962 The Menomini Language. New Haven: Yale University Press. Brinton, Daniel G. 1888 Lenâpé Conversations. Journal of American Folk-Lore 1:37–43. Brinton, Daniel G., and Albert S. Anthony 1888[1889] A Lenâpé-English Dictionary. Philadelphia: The Historical Society of Pennsylvania. Chafe, Wallace L. 1963 Handbook of the Seneca Language. Albany: The University of the State of New York. 1967 Seneca Morphology and Dictionary. Smithsonian Contributions to Anthropology 4. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press. Chomsky, Noam 1965 Aspects of the Theory of Syntax. Cambridge: The MIT Press. Cuoq, Jean-André 1866 Études philologiques sur quelques langues sauvages de l’Amérique. Montreal: Dawson Brothers. Curtin, Jeremiah 1883 MOSKIM: A Munsee Text, told by John Armstrong at Versailles, N.Y., November 28, 1883. [title added by J. N. B. Hewitt: “The Legend of MǀskƯm, The Life God, in Delaware.”] MS 2204, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Museum Support Center, Suitland, Maryland. Goddard, Ives 1971 The Ethnohistorical Implications of Early Delaware Linguistic Materials. Man in the Northeast 1:14–26. 1973 Philological Approaches to the Study of Native North American Languages: Documents and Documentation. In Linguistics in North America, edited by Thomas A. Sebeok, 727–45. Current Trends in Linguistics 10. Berlin: Mouton. 1978a Eastern Algonquian Languages. Handbook of North American Indians. Vol. 15: Northeast, edited by Bruce G. Trigger, 70–77. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution. 1978b Delaware. In Handbook of North American Indians. Vol. 15: Northeast, edited by Bruce G. Trigger, 213–39. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution. 1979 Delaware Verbal Morphology: A Descriptive and Comparative Study. New York and London: Garland Publishing, Inc.

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1982

The Historical Phonology of Munsee. International Journal of American Linguistics 48:16–48. 1987 Leonard Bloomfield’s Descriptive and Comparative Studies of Algonquian. Historiographia Linguistica 14(1–2):179–217. (Also in: Leonard Bloomfield: Essays on his Life and Work, edited by Robert A. Hall, Jr., 179–217 [Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 1987].) 1990 Aspects of the Topic Structure of Fox Narratives: Proximate Shifts and the Use of Overt and Inflectional NPs. International Journal of American Linguistics 56:317–40. 1996 Introduction. In Handbook of North American Indians. Vol. 17: Languages, edited by Ives Goddard, 1–16. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution. 1999 Guidelines for Editing Manuscripts. The SSILA Newsletter 18(1):7; erratum, 18(2):9. 2003 Reconstructing the History of the Demonstrative Pronouns of Algonquian. In Essays in Algonquian, Catawban, and Siouan Linguistics in Memory of Frank T. Siebert, Jr., edited by Blair A. Rudes and David J. Costa, 41–113. Winnipeg: Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics. 2007 Reconstruction and History of the Independent Indicative. In Papers of the Thirty-Eighth Algonquian Conference, edited by H. C. Wolfart, 207–71. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba. 2008[2009] Notes on Mahican: Dialects, Sources, Phonemes, Enclitics, and Analogies. In Papers of the Thirty-Ninth Algonquian Conference, edited by Karl S. Hele and Regna Darnell, 246–315. London, Ontario: The University of Western Ontario. 2010 Linguistic Variation in a Small Speech Community: The Personal Dialects of Moraviantown Delaware. Anthropological Linguistics 52(1):1–48. 2011 [Review of] The First Manhattans: A Brief History of the Munsee Indians, by Robert S. Grumet. New York History 92(4):290–302. Goddard, Ives, and Kathleen J. Bragdon 1988 Native Writings in Massachusett. 2 vols. American Philosophical Society Memoir 185. Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society. Halfmoon, Charles 1842 A Collection of Muncey and English Hymns. Toronto: The Missionary Society of the Wesleyan Methodist Church in Canada. 1874 A Collection of Hymns in Muncey and English. Toronto: The Wesleyan Missionary Society. [Halfmoon, Charles] 1852 A Series of Catechisms. Toronto: Thomas Hugh Bentley. Harrington, John P. 1940a [Field notes from Six Nations Reserve, Ontario.] MS, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Museum Support Center, Suitland, Maryland.

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Munsee Delaware

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1940b

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[Delaware–Munsee #6. (Munsee explanations of Walam Olum words. 7 pp.)] MS 68 II, American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. Harrington, Mark R. 1908 Vestiges of Material Culture Among the Canadian Delawares. American Anthropologist, n.s., 10:408–18. Heckewelder, John G. E. [1815] Names of various Trees, Shrubs & Plants in the Language of the Lennape (Del.). The Letter M prefixed for Minsi (Monsey) all the others in the Unami. MS, American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. Heckewelder, John G. E., and Peter S. Duponceau 1819 A Correspondence . . . Respecting the Languages of the American Indians. Transactions of the Historical & Literary Committee of the American Philosophical Society 1:351–448. Philadelphia: Abraham Small. Hewitt, J. N. B. 1896a [“Cosmologic Legend” in Munsee. Told by John Armstrong, October 8, 1896, at the Cattaraugus Reservation, N.Y.] MS 16, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Museum Support Center, Suitland, Maryland. 1896b Munsee Vocabulary, October 1896. MS 15, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Museum Support Center, Suitland, Maryland. 1903 Iroquoian Cosmology: First Part. In Twenty-first Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology to the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, 1899–1900, 127–339 and plates lxiv– lxix. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office. 1936 Algonquian Vocabulary from Nick Peters, July 1936. MS 3757, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Museum Support Center, Suitland, Maryland. Hopkins, Samuel 1753 Historical Memoirs Relating to the Housatunnuk Indians. Boston: S. Kneeland. Housman, A. E. 1962 Selected Prose. Edited by John Carter. (First edition reprinted with corrections.) Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Laurent, Joseph 1884 New Familiar Abenakis and English Dialogues. Quebec: Leger Brousseau. Masthay, Carl 1980 Mahican Language Hymns, Biblical Prose, and Vocabularies from Moravian Sources, with 11 Mohawk Hymns (Transcription and Translation). St. Louis, Mo.: [privately printed]. Michelson, Truman 1912 Ethnological and Linguistic Field Notes from the Munsee in Kansas and the Delaware in Oklahoma 1912. MS 2776, National

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Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Museum Support Center, Suitland, Maryland. 1922 Ottawa and Munsee Linguistic and Ethnological Notes August 29–September, 1922. MS 1635, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Museum Support Center, Suitland, Maryland. O’Meara, John 1990 Delaware Stem Morphology. Ph.D. diss., McGill University. 1996 Delaware-English–English-Delaware Dictionary. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Powell, J. W. 1877 Introduction to the Study of Indian Languages, With Words, Phrases, and Sentences To Be Collected. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office. 1880 Introduction to the Study of Indian Languages, With Words, Phrases, and Sentences To Be Collected. 2nd ed., with charts. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office. 1887 The Fifth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology. In Fifth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology to the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, 1883-’84, pp. xvii–liii. Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office. Prince, J. Dyneley 1900 Notes on the Modern Minsi-Delaware Dialect. American Journal of Philology 21:295–302. 1902 A Modern Delaware Tale. American Philosophical Society Proceedings 41:19–34. 1905 A Tale in the Hudson River Indian Language. American Anthropologist, n.s., 7:74–84. [Râle, Sébastien] “Sebastian Rasles” 1833 A Dictionary of the Abnaki Language in North America. With an introductory memoir and notes by John Pickering. American Academy of Arts and Sciences Memoir, n.s., 1:370–574. Cambridge, Mass.: C. Folsom. Sapir, Edward 1911 Notes on Seneca, Mohawk, Delaware, Tutelo, Abenaki, Malecite, Micmac, Montagnais, and Cree. August, 1911. MS 497.3 B63c(I1.2), American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. Siebert, Frank T., Jr. 1938 Field Notes from Nicodemus Peters of Six Nations Reserve, June 1938. MS, American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. 1939 Field Notes from Mrs. Sam John at Munceytown. MS, American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. 1984 Penobscot Dictionary: “First Draft.” MS, American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. (Variant issue, unpaged, in Elizabeth Dafoe Library, University of Manitoba, Winnipeg.)

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Speck, Frank G. 1931–36 Canadian (Grand River, Ont.) Delaware – g, Texts Narrated by Josiah Montour. MS 126 III(8c3g), American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. 1936 Canadian (Grand River, Ont.) Delaware – i, Field Notes. (From Nicodemus Peters.) MS 126 III(8c3i), American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. 1945 Canadian (Grand River, Ont.) Delaware, Field Notes. MS 126 III(8c3f), American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. 1946a Canadian (Grand River, Ont.) Delaware – h, Field Notes. (From Josiah Montour.) MS 126 III(8c3h), American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. 1946b Bird Nomenclature and Song Interpretation of the Canadian Delaware. Washington Academy of Sciences Journal 36:249–258. Speck, Frank G., and Jesse Moses 1945 The Celestial Bear Comes Down to Earth. Reading Public Museum and Art Gallery Scientific Publications 7. Reading, Pa.: Reading Public Museum and Art Gallery. Thomason, Lucy G. 2001 Participles of Time in Meskwaki. Paper presented at the ThirtyThird Algonquian Conference, Berkeley, California, 25–28 October. 2003 The Proximate and Obviative Contrast in Meskwaki. Ph.D. diss., University of Texas at Austin. Voegelin, C. F. [1938] [Delaware–Munsee “The Creation . . .” (Eight pages of field notes from Cephas Snake, Moraviantown.)] MS 68 V-B, American Philosophical Society Library, Philadelphia. Wampum, John B., and H. C. Hogg 1886 Morning and Evening Prayer, the Administration of the Sacraments, and Certain Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church of England; Together with Hymns: [Munsee and English]. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge. [Wampum, John B., and H. C. Hogg] 1847 Morning and Evening Prayers, the Administration of the Sacraments, and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church. According to the Use of the United Church of England and Ireland. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge. Weslager, C. A. 1978 The Delaware Indian Westward Migration. Wallingford, Penn.: The Middle Atlantic Press. Wilson, Edward F. 1889 The Delaware Indians. Our Forest Children 3:65–69. Wonderley, Anthony 2006 Sky Dancers and Bear Chasers: What (If Anything) Does Haudenosaunee Star Lore Mean? Northeast Anthropology 71:9–21.

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Zeisberger, David 1776 Essay of a Delaware-Indian and English Spelling-Book. Philadelphia: Henry Miller. (Facsimile edition by Arthur W. McGraw [n.p., 1991].) 1887 Zeisberger’s Indian Dictionary. Edited by E. N. Horsford. Cambridge, Mass.: John Wilson and Son. 1910 History of the Northern American Indians. Edited by Archer B. Hulbert and William N. Schwarze. Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly 19:1–189.

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Munsee Delaware texts A Youth and His Uncle Written by Nelles Montour of Hagersville, Ontario (ca. 1899). For each numbered line of the edition there are four components: (1) The original Munsee text written by Montour, as reproduced in the edition of Prince (1902:23–26); (2) Prince’s translation, based closely on the one Montour provided but in some places altered on the basis of Prince’s analysis; (3) the text phonemicized and edited on the basis of a review with Anderson Pheasant of Moraviantown (9 and 11 September 1967) and additional information from other speakers and from published and manuscript sources; (4) a translation of the edited text. The lost original manuscript had the syllables written separately with no distinct indication of word boundaries (see section 2.1). Prince’s superscript subsection indicators are expanded here; e.g., his I. a is rewritten as “Ia.” and b as “Ib.” The lines of the edition, corresponding generally to sentences or major clauses, are assigned capital letters within each numbered section, and major units within the numbered sections are indicated by added paragraph breaks. The arabic numbers of the major sections correspond to Prince’s roman numerals. M 1A

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M 1B

M 1C

withkeelno wauk wsheetha A Youth and his Uncle. wΩskí·lnΩw wá·k wší·sal. A Young Man and his Uncle. (Ia.) weekwaum lawee kohpe weekena withkeelno wauk wsheetha. In a wigwam in the midst of the forest lived a youth and his uncle wí·kwahm lá·wi· kóhpi·, wi·kí·ne·w wΩskí·lnΩw wá·k wší·sal,1 There was a house in the middle of the forest, and in it lived a young man and his uncle. mahji kihkweelno wrhalin neepnumo. of many summers. méhþΩ kihkΩիwí·lnΩw xwé·lΩn ni·pΩիnámΩw.2 The older man had seen many summers.

1. Pheasant would add áhte·w ‘is {somewhere}’ and nΩ̗ ‘that (inan.)’ and change the word order: lá·wΩ kóhpi· wí·kwahm áhte·w; wΩskí·lnΩw wá·k wší·sal nΩ̗ wi·ki·né·wa. 2. Pheasant: xwé·lΩ-kătΩ̗namΩw ‘he has seen many years’.

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M 1D

(Ib.) Tah3 lickee wsheetha weenamulthoo, Once upon a time the old man was taken ill tá· lΩ̗kih4 wší·sal wi·namálsΩw. One time his uncle took sick.

M 1E

oonjeemawuh wlunquathitha aleh-mawmjeenah kihkloolaut. (and) he called his nephew to say to him his last words. o·nþi·má·wal wΩիlonkwăsΩ̗sal é·lΩ- ma·mþíhnal -kihkΩիló·la·t. And he called his nephew to talk to him for the last time.

M 1F

(Ic.) Withkeelno lawalindum, The young man grieved wΩskí·lnΩw la·we·lΩ̗ntam. The young man was despondent.

M 1G

leetahah: “gutauch wlutchawha jeeth. (and) thought thus:—“I will make everything comfortable for my uncle. li·té·he·w, “nkáta·-=þ -wΩիlaþá·ha·w nší·s. He thought to himself, “I will treat my uncle well.

M 1H

(Id.) Noolihtoomich mihtqueenootee wauk kpaheekan I will construct a basket with (lit., ‘and’) a lid, no·líhto·m=Ωþ mihtkwi·nó·tay wá·k kpahí·kan. I’ll make a basket with a lid.

M 1I

waukitch nooshwuhtoonich5 uhpeeyuhk nahtau aleenawqtheet.” and I will put in it all kinds of downs.” wá·k=Ωþ no·þΩիwáhto·n=Ωþ ăpí·wayak nah 6 tá· e·li·ná·kwsi·t.” And I’ll fill it with down feathers of every kind.”

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GODDARD

M 1K

(Ie.) waupungeek andah-keshihtootah mihtqueenootee meelaun. On the morrow, when he had finished the basket, he presented it. wa·pánki·k é·nta-ki·šihtó·tΩ mihtkwi·nó·tay, mí·la·n. The next day, after he had finished the basket, he gave it to him. Wsheethaha wlalindumoo wekwulup laulpuksho. His uncle was pleased and received it weeping (i.e., with gratitude).

3. Tah in the text (Prince 1902:23), but Tan in the commentary (Prince 1902:27). 4. /tá· lԥғkih/ ‘at some indefinite time, some time later’: Armstrong used the equivalent /tá· lԥҒkíhkwi·w/ (H 1K, 10K, 21C), but Pheasant would say tá·s lΩ̗kih or tá·s tá· lΩ̗kih, with tá·s (tá·si) ‘sometime(s)’. 5. sh for /þ/ is assumed to be an error of writing or copying. 6. nah gives no sense; Pheasant would say wé·mΩ tá·, and perhaps nah is a copying error for wa mah .

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Munsee Delaware

243

wší·sal=ha wΩիle·lΩntamΩ̗wi· kwΩիlΩ̗p la·lpákšΩw. His uncle was so glad he even wept a little. M 1L

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M 1M

(If.) Nulhuh-nuh wtaulaun wsheetha ahpeewuyuhpeenang. He then placed his uncle in the soft downy bed. nál=há=nΩ wtáhla·n wší·sal ăpi·wayapi·né·nk. Then he put his uncle in that feather bed. (Ig.) Waupungeeka weenumultheet ithpeenurhka aleet “klithtuh.” On the morrow, the sick man stretched out his hand, which meant “attention.” wa·pankí·kΩ wi·namálsi·t Ωspi·náxke·w, é·l-í·t, “kΩիlΩ̗stah.” The next day the sick man raised his hand to say, “Listen.”

M 1N

(Ih.) Wtilawul withkeelno: He told the youth (then):— wtΩlá·wal wΩskí·lnΩw, And he said to the young man,

M 1O

“ahwanitch pawhji; “Some one is coming “awé·n=Ωþ pé·w=þi. “Someone is coming.

M 1P

cheepeenawqthoo wauk ahkonjauptoona at whose terrible appearance and condition þi·pi·ná·kwsΩw wá·k ăka·nša·ptó·ne·w, He looks terrible and talks strangely,

M 1Q

kweeshulooqkich, thou shalt be terrified, kΩիwí·šalΩkw=Ωþ. and he will frighten you.

M 1R

shuqk chee weeshulooqkoowih; but fear not; šΩ̗kw þí· wi·šalΩkó·wΩ̗. But don’t be frightened by him.

M 1S

muthkuneetahaul; take courage.7 maskani·té·ha·l. Be brave.

7. Translated ‘be brave’ in the commentary (Prince 1902:29).

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244

M 1T

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M 2A

GODDARD

pawoich andah-laweetpihkahk andah-wam-quack-kaweet.” He comes in the midnight hour when all things are sleeping.” pé·w=Ωþ é·nta-la·wi·tpíhkahk é·nta- wé·m kwé·k -kawí·t.” He will come at midnight, when all creatures are asleep.” (IIa.) Nulnuh peethkahkeek andah-mahji-keeshmeettheeteetah, On that same night, after they had eaten,8 nál=nΩ pi·ské·ki·k é·nta-méhþΩ-kí·š-mi·tsihtí·tΩ, Then that same night, after they had finished eating,

M 2B

withkeelno awuthee tindawing lmutawpoowh, the youth sat on the opposite side of the fire, wΩskí·lnΩw awási· tΩnté·wΩnk lΩիmátăpΩw, the young man sat down on the opposite side of the fire,

M 2C

pahtoon tah nij alak nih aleetpihkahk. awaiting the outcome of that night. péhto·n tá·n=Ωþ é·le·k nΩ̗ e·li·tpíhkahk. and he waited for whatever was going to happen that night.

M 2D

(IIb.) weerhkawa quack konjwah wuhkoong; Suddenly there was something overhead wí·xkawΩ9 kwé·k ká·nšΩիwe·w wáhkonk. All of a sudden something made a noise up above.

M 2E

ahwan cheepeenawqthoo and a certain terrible-looking being awé·n þi·pi·ná·kwsΩw. It was a terrible-looking creature.

M 2F

wcherhakahlaun keerh keeth qta: 10 dropped down by the fire: wþi·xahkéhla·n ki·xkí·skwtΩ. And it jumped down next to the fire.

M 2G

(IIc.) “Ugh,” owh, “baum “Ugh,” said he, “I myself am here; “ ugh ,” Ω̗w, “mpá·m. “Unh,” he said, “I come.

8. Montour had “after the evening meal” (Prince 1902:29). 9. Pheasant wí·xkawi·. 10. Montour’s original spelling (Prince 1902:21), edited as keerhkee th’q’ta (Prince 1902:24).

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Munsee Delaware

M 2H

konjahwan nhukee; ká·nšawe·n nhákay. I’m a powerful person.

M 2I

nmihwa linno. I eat man; nΩիmíhmhwa lΩ̗nΩw. I eat man.

M 2J

Ktahaulaw ksheeth; 11 thou lovest thine uncle; ktahwá·la·w kší·s. You like your uncle.

M 2K

naulaw; I want him; ná·la·w. I come for him.

M 2L

Ugh, kweeshathee.” Ugh, thou fearest me.” Ugh , kΩիwi·šá·si.” Unh, you’re frightened.”

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M 2M

(IId.) Withkeelno mutahkawh weelno, The youth had fought with wild animals (?),12 wΩskí·lnΩw mătahke·wí·lnΩw. The young man was a fighter.

M 2N

shuqk wun keemoorh konjahwan but this wizard, as he must be, šΩ̗kw wán kí·mo·xw ká·nšawe·n, but this wizard was a powerful being,

M 2O

weeshulooko nawkawh. frightened him for a while. wi·šalΩ̗ko·l ná·ke·w.13 and for a time he frightened him.

M 2P

(IIe.) Nul muthkuneetaha neepahwooh; Then, summoning his courage, he stood up on his feet

11. Ktahaulaw : Ktuhaulaw (Prince 1902:30). 12. “So Montour” (Prince 1902:30). 13. Moraviantown has ná·ke· and diminutive na·ké·wi·š.

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246

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nál maskani·té·he·w, ní·pawΩw. Then he took courage, and he stood up14 M 2Q

M 2R

Owh yohquh :— “Lawpeewhich baum; Again said (the wizard) :—“I shall come here once more ; Ω̗w, “yóhkwa, lá·pi·w=Ωþ mpá·m. And (the wizard) said, “Well, I’ll be back.

M 2S

keeshajpinawitch.” let him be ready” (then). ki·še·þpΩ̗na·w=Ωþ.” You must get him ready.”

M 2T

(IIf.) Nul ktithpihlaun15 aleenquahtang. Then he leapt up through the smoke-hole. nál wtΩspíhla·n ehΩիli·nkwáhte·nk. Then he jumped up through the smoke-hole.

M 3A

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owh: — “Mawhah geesh-keeshajpinahwa.” and said :— “I cannot have him ready.” Ω̗w, “má·h=a· nkí·š-ki·še·þpΩná·wΩ,” and said, “I won’t be able to get him ready.”

(IIIa.) Nul withkeelno lmutahpoowh lawpeewh The youth sat down again nál wΩskí·lnΩw lΩիmátăpΩw lá·pi·w, Then the young man sat down again,

M 3B

wtilawul whukee yul:— and spoke thus with himself:— wtΩlá·wal hwákayal, and he said to himself,

M 3C

(IIIb.) “Kalahaat cheepahwan. “Truly he is awful. “kéhla=há=e·t þí·pawe·n. “I guess he really is a horrible creature.

M 3D

shurhke kalahnickulooqkich jeeth. It must be that my uncle shall leave me. šáxki· kéhla nΩ̗kalΩkw=Ωþ nší·s.16 It must be true that my uncle is going to leave me.

14. Pheasant denied the meaning ‘stood up’, but the word is used this way in the Prayer Book. 15. kt : some sort of error for /wt-/. 16. Pheasant would put the enclitic in second position: šáxki·w=Ωþ.

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M 3E

Quackwichha dilnoom? What am I to do? kwé·kw=Ω̗þ=ha ntΩ̗lnΩm? What shall I do?

M 3F

Dulmitheemich ahlih-|wthihkawk, I will go toward the setting sun. ntalΩիmΩ̗si·m=Ωþ éhΩիlΩ-wsíhka·k. I will go off to the west.

M 3G

tauthrha ahwanawah.” (perhaps) I may find people (there).” tá·s=x=a· awé· né·wa.”17 Maybe then I would meet someone.”

M 3H

M 3I

shuqk wtilawul wsheethul:— but he said to his uncle :— šΩ̗kw wtΩlá·wal wší·sal, But [first] he said to his uncle,

M 3J

“Lawpeewhich baum.” “I shall come again.” “lá·pi·w=Ωþ mpá·m.” “I’ll be back.”

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(IIIc.) Withkeelno uhloomthoowh, The young man (then) departed, wΩskí·lnΩw alΩ̗msΩw. The young man departed.

(IVa.) Aloorhwat quack, yih weekwaum After journeying a little, he came to a wigwam e·ló·xwe·t, kwé·k yΩ̗—wí·kwahm. As he walked along he suddenly saw a house.

M 4B

thkuhinthoowh patchihkcheewh; (where) a small boy came out skahΩ̗nsΩw pé·þΩ-kþí·w, And a boy came out

M 4C

owh :—“Taunha wtindin ksheeth?” (and) said :—“How is it with thine uncle?” Ω̗w, “tá·n=ha wtΩ̗ntΩn kší·s?” and said, “How is your uncle?”

17. Or /awé·n né·wa/.

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248

M 4D

(IVb.) (Mawshalindum) (The traveler) thought it strange:— ma·še·lΩ̗ntam, He had a strange feeling.

M 4E

Mawsheelahwahkoo almawsheel18 wam wawihtoon aylack-19 “Can one so odd looking know all about our condition?” ma·ši·lawé·hko·l é·l má·š wé·m we·wíhto·n é·yΩիle·k. [The boy] made him feel strange by seeming to know everything that had happened.

M 4F

wloowheen. (IVc.) Wauk uhloomthoowh — And he went on, wΩիló·wi·n, wá·k alΩ̗msΩw. So he passed by and departed.

M 4G

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GODDARD

wauk lawpeewh moorhkum weekwaum and again he found a wigwam wá·k lá·pi·w móxkam wí·kwahm, And he found another house,

M 4H

ahwawhlihkoo 20 where there was a wizard,21 awé·22 wàwΩիlí·hko·l. and there was someone there that brought him good fortune.

M 4I

shawa wninahko wtil- 23 who at once saw that he (the traveler) was in trouble ; šá·wΩ wΩիnΩná·ko·l wtΩ̗l-ši·we·lΩntamΩn, (The person) immediately recognized that he was troubled,

M 4J

sheewalindamoo weenawqthowh. that he looked sad. ši·we·lΩntamΩwi·ná·kwsΩw. (seeing that) he looked sad.

18. The eel is a spurious echo from the preceding word. 19. Prince (1902:25, 32) writes aylackwloowheen as one word but analyzes it as two; these are here divided between 4E and 4F. 20. The emendation assumes an eye-skip and no obviative ending; for other possibilities, see the note on awé· in the phonemicized version of this line, immediately below. See the discussion in section 4.1. 21. Prince (1902:32): “probably ‘there was a wizard’ (so Montour).” 22. Or /awé·n/ or (with obviative marked) /awé·ni·l/. 23. Assuming an eye-skip; see the discussion in section 4.1.

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249

M 4K

(IVd.) nul wam wtilauch mookahwaun. Then the youth explained all to him. nál wé·m wtΩla·þΩիmóhkawa·n, Then (the young man) gave him a complete account

M 4L

Wtil wturhquon cheepahwan. He described to him the terrible being. wtΩ̗l-wtáxkwΩn þí·pawe·n. of how the horrible creature had visited him.

M 4M

Shawa wninootumin wuh linno nanrhat Muttuntoe. Immediately the man knew that this was Muttontoe (the evil spirit). šá·wΩ wΩիnΩnóhtamΩn wá lΩ̗nΩw nán=x=e·t mătán’to·w. This man immediately understood that that (creature) must have been the Devil.

M 4N

(IVe.) Nul wtilawul withkeelno: So he said to the young man:— nál wtΩlá·wal wΩskí·lnΩw, Then he said to the young man,

M 4O

“Chee quack leetahhawa “Don’t think anything about it.24 “þí· kwé·k li·te·há·wΩ. “Don’t worry.

M 4P

dulwihkawah. I will overcome him. ntalΩիwíhkawa·w. I am more powerful than he.25

M 4Q

Ktilil yoonich ktilnumin I will tell thee what thou shalt do,26 ktΩ̗lΩl, yó·n=Ωþ ktΩlnΩ̗mΩn. I’ll tell you what you must do.27

M 4R

wauk ktiloohmoolin wanjich ahloowhweekahwut and I will explain to thee how to overcome him.” wá·k ktΩlo·hΩիmó·lΩn wé·nþ-=Ωþ -alΩwíhkawat.” And I’ll show you the way to overpower him.”

24. From the commentary, which adds: “not translated at all by Montour” (Prince 1902:32); “Do not think about it.” (Prince 1902:25). 25. Montour appears to use |alԥwíhkaw-| as ‘to be more powerful than’ (4P) as well as ‘to overpower’ (4R), but at Moraviantown this has only the second meaning. 26. “I tell thee” (Prince 1902:33). 27. Literally, ‘I tell you, this is what you must do.’

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M 5A

GODDARD

(Va.) withkeelno andah-wam-loohmoonda uhloomthoowh. After the youth had been shown all, he departed.28 wΩskí·lnΩw é·nta- wé·m -lo·hΩիmó·ntΩ, alΩ̗msΩw. After the young man had been shown everything, he left.

M 5B

andah-nuhpahtah, wama wtilauch mookuhwaun wsheethaul. When he returned, the young man told all to his uncle. é·nta- náh -pá·tΩ, wé·mΩ wtΩla·þΩիmóhkawa·n wší·sal. When he got back, he told his uncle everything.

M 5C

(Vb.) Nul andah-keeshmeetthihteet, wtulwachpeen alningich Then after they had eaten, ? ? ? ?29 nál é·nta-kí·š-mi·tsíhti·t, wtálΩ-wé·þpi·n é·lnΩnk=Ωþ. Then, when they had finished eating, he started to get ready for what he was going to do.

M 5D

keesha-wam-cheekhung neethkak. he swept up all the dirt. kí·šΩ- wé·m -þí·khank ní·ske·k, And after he had swept up all the mess,

M 5E

(Vc.) Wsheethul wtuhlaun nakah wtupeenang He put his uncle in his (the youth’s) bed, wší·sal wtáhla·n né·ka wtapí·ne·nk. then he put his uncle in his bed.

M 5F

wauk wluqknuhaun30 waupahthauni alpookwuhk andauch pookwuheeng, warheet-31 and covered him with a white blanket with a peep-hole in it, wá·k wΩիlakwΩիnáha·n wa·păsá·nay é·l-pkwáhk é·nta·-=þ -pkwahi·nkwé·xi·t. And he was covered with a blanket that had a hole in it that he could look through.

M 5G

awshta nakah wsheethul wtupeenang. and he lay down on his uncle’s bed. á·šte· né·ka wší·sal wtapí·ne·nk.32 And he (got into) in his uncle’s bed.

28. Prince (1902:33) ‘when he had shown him all’: “not translated correctly by Montour.” 29. Prince (1902:33): “Montour’s MS. is confused at this point.” 30. Translated as a passive, but it is possible that the third person prefix is gapped here (carrying over from 5E). Pronominal prefixes are sometimes missing in the Prayer Book, but Pheasant did not accept such constructions. 31. 5F–5G: Prince (1902:26, 33) gives warheetawshta as a single word. 32. Pheasant supplies nΩ̗ wšΩnki·xí·nΩn ‘he lay down there’.

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M 5H

M 5I

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(Vd.) Nul wtilahmooltheen wtilkeeshich uhloowhweekwaun. 33 Then he felt that something strengthened him (with power) to overcome. nál wtΩlamálsi·n wtΩ̗l-kí·š-=Ωþ34 -alΩwíhkawa·n. Then he had a feeling that he would be able to overpower him. (Ve.) Nul ninandpeethkahk35 lawpee cheepawaun lawinda wcheerhakahlaun: In the dead hour of night, the hideous monster again dropped down in the middle (of the wigwam). nál nΩ̗n é·nta-pí·ske·k lá·pi· þí·pawe·n la·wΩ̗ntΩ36 wþi·xahkéhla·n. Then that very night the horrible creature again jumped down in the middle of the lodge.

M 5J

“Ugh, dupih, “Ugh!” (he said) “I am here. “ Ugh , ntápi. “Unh, I’m here.

M 5K

neecheepahwaun konjawan; I am a monster. ní· þí·pawe·n, ká·nšawe·n. I’m a horrible, powerful creature.

M 5L

keeshajpe.” Be ready.” ki·šé·þpi?” You ready?”

M 5M

M 5N

251

(Vf.) Nul andah-tahwining kpuheekun, Then when he opened the lid (of the basket bed), nál é·nta-tawΩ̗nΩnk kpahí·kan, Then, when he opened the lid, pajkcheewh withkeelno the young man . . . stepped out,37 pé·þ-kþí·w wΩskí·lnΩw. the young man came out.

33. For kw read kaw . 34. Pheasant: wtΩ̗l-=Ωþ -kí·š-. 35. In the commentary nin is a separate word (Prince 1902:33). For and read andah . 36. /la·wԥғntԥ/: or /la·wԥғnte/. 37. 5N–5O were translated “the young man, looking terrible, stepped out” (Prince 1902:26), and the verb was also translated ‘There came forth’ (Prince 1902:33-34).

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GODDARD

M 5O

cheepeenawqtho looking terrible, þi·pi·ná·kwsΩw. And he looked terrible.

M 5P

uhj althithpoocheengwat uhpee. (Vg.) Wiyoh mawh-38 completely covered with feathers. áhþ é·l-sΩspwΩþhí·nkwe·t ăpi·wayáhΩիma·w. Even to his eyelids he was covered with down feathers.

M 5Q

aul39 linnapa weeshauthoowh That man-eater became frightened nál lΩ̖ná·pe·w wi·šá·sΩw, Then the (other) person was scared

M 5R

uhloomihlawh. (and) departed through the smoke-hole. alΩmíhle·w. and scrambled away.

M 6A

(VIa.) Withkeelno wauk wsheethul nulowhwee ayahpoowhuk. The youth and his uncle are (still) living (there) contentedly. wΩskí·lnΩw wá·k wší·sal naláwi· a·yăpΩ̗wak. The youth and his uncle continued living there in peace.

Moshkim

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Told by John Armstrong of Cattaraugus to Jeremiah Curtin, 28 November 1883. For each numbered line of the edition there are four components: (1) The original Munsee text written by Curtin (1883) from Armstrong’s dictation; (2) Curtin’s interlinear glosses, evidently obtained by reading the text back to Armstrong; (3) the text phonemicized and edited on the basis of a review with Anderson Pheasant of Moraviantown (30 August and 4 September 1968) and additional information from other speakers and published and manuscript sources; (4) a translation of the edited text. The arabic numbers correspond to the pages of the original manuscript; double bars (||) indicate the page breaks. The lines of the edition, corresponding generally to sentences or major clauses, are assigned capital letters, 38. 5P–5Q: Prince (1902:26, 34) gives uhpee Wiyoh mawhaul as three words. 39. For aul read nul .

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starting over with each manuscript page, and major units of the narrative are indicated by added paragraph breaks. C 1A

C 1B

nûl in pkwƯchle óhge then a hole in the ground nál=i·n pkwíhle·w áhkΩy. Then a hole opened in the ground.

C 1C

wémin lénnapéwak pinnamennéwa41 yǀn énda all the people see this this where pkwahkahke pkawhk-|ahge42 where hole in ground hole wé·m=i·n lΩ̖na·pé·wak pΩ̖namΩné·wa yó·n é·nta-pkwáhk áhkΩy. All the people looked at this hole in the earth.

C 1D

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nûl Ưn lennapewak monenawáuwûl yol hwatdjƟ then those people pull up this big 40 míntkwûl tree nál=i·n lΩ̖na·pé·wak mo·nΩիna·wá·wal yo·l xwáþi-míhtkwal. Then the people pulled up this big tree.

enda wéme pnémohdit ûmbé wǂn43 gíhgai oh where all they look at it the this chief he said é·nta- wé·mi -pΩիnamóhti·t, ámpe· wán44 kíhkay Ω̗w, When everyone looked at it, the chief also said,

C 1E

wiwûltillawel he told his wife wí·wal wtΩlá·wal, he said to his wife,

C 1F

yohnah atǀk yǀn énda pnásek yǂn well we go there that place where it is seen this pkwáhkamek the cave

40. míntkwûl en . 41. é < a . 42. Curtin wrote pkwahahge , then wrote ka over the second a to give pkwahkahge , and then rewrote the whole as pkawhk-|ahge (with inadvertent metathesis of the wa ). 43. Preceded by g . 44. Pheasant would omit /wán/.

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GODDARD

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“yóh, náh á·to·kw yó·n é·nta-pΩիná·si·k yó·n pkwáhkami·kw.” “Well, let’s go to this place where the hole in the earth can be seen.” C 1G

nûғ lkehla talmasinewa 45 So they did they went nál kéhla wtalΩիmΩsi·né·wa. So then they did indeed set out,

C 1H

noh péwak the[y] got there náh pé·wak. and they came there.

C 1I

sanakíhkai pennamen yǀn pkwáhkamek So the chief looked at it this this cave šá·wΩ ná kíhkay pΩ̗namΩn yó·n pkwáhkami·kw. So then the chief looked at the hole in the earth.

C 1J

nûltéllauƟl wewûl then told her his wife nál wtΩlá·wal wí·wal, And then he said to his wife,

C 1K

yohál pnahumbe come here you look at this too “yóh á·l, pΩիnáh=ámpe·.”46 “Come here, you look at it, too.”

C 1L

ohgwe ó47 aagƝgwéhdamen 48 the woman said I am very fraid of it óxkwe·w Ω̗w, “áhkΩy nkwíhtamΩn.” The woman said, “I’m afraid of the earth.”

C 1M

yóhkeál49 pnûh come here look at this here “yóh kí· á·l, pΩիnáh.” “You come here and look at it!”

C 1N 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50.

sa ná50 ohgwéo htan pénnamen So that woman went to look at it wa < oh < h . /ámpe·/ ‘too’: Pheasant would add kí· ‘you (sg.)’. ó h . aagƝ < akgƝ ; ahgƝ was probably intended. gwé < ngwé . A small letter obliterated before y . ná < nǂn .

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šá·wΩ ná óxkwe·w wtá·n,51 pΩ̗namΩn. So then the woman went to it and looked at it. C 1O

oh gihgai ahwékpnû said the chief look sharp at it Ω̗w kíhkay, “áhwi·-=k -pΩիnáh.52 The chief said, “Well, look closely at it.

C 1P

áhtéwil stoop down ahté·wi·l.” Bend over.”

C 1Q

nahle ǎsakgandamen53 nin54 wapasánai55 bite the robe it the blanket nál wsakántamΩn nΩ̗n wa·păsá·nay. Then she took her blanket in her teeth

C 1R

eyétdahqwéo talnûmen both sides she took hold e·yí·tăkwi·w wtalnΩ̗mΩn. and grabbed hold on both sides.

C 1S

sóhpwelindjéo nóhbe ahge wáak mƯғnnƯ-monzéssak double her fists on it with earth with huckleberry bushes sohpwi·lΩ̗nþe·w náxpi áhkΩy wá·k mi·ni·mo·nší·šak. She doubled her fists, (grabbing) earth and also little huckleberry bushes in them.

C 1T

sóksƟhk56 wǂn gihgai na57 alíphat yol wiwûl certain this chief then took hold of her this wife šá·wΩ ksƟhk 58 wán kíhkay náh e·lí·pha·t yó·l wí·wal, Suddenly the chief, grabbing his wife,

51. For /wtá·n/ (apparently ‘she went to it’, with no overt oblique complement) Pheasant would say náh é·w ‘she went there’. 52. Pheasant would not use the enclitic /=k/ ‘so’ with an imperative. 53. ǎ < obliterated letter, perhaps a ; s has th written above. 54. nin (< nen ) above crossed-out nƟu wap ҕ , a false start with incomplete p . 55. Second a < e . 56. Ɵ < a . 57. na : apparent hûh (with o above the vowel) was crossed out, and then nat (< nah ) was written below and na was written to the right. 58. The interpretation of sóksƟhk is uncertain. It is taken as a reduced form of /šá·wԥ/ ‘suddenly’ (as in 1I, 1N, 3Q) followed by an unknown word. The gloss “certain” is assumed to be a mishearing of “sudden.”

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C 1U

kwíntc|djáhenûl59 lealámƝnk pushed her in to[o] far in kwΩnþþa·hé·nal lí alá·mΩnk. pushed her down in.

C 1V

nûl ha talmehlan wǂn óhgweo. then she was falling this woman nál=ha wtalΩիmíhla·n wán óxkwe·w. And then the woman fell through.

C 1W

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GODDARD

Nûl lelawáhgaméo petcihláte this half way in the clouds falling when flying nál le·la·wáhkame·w pe·þihlá·te, Then when she had fallen halfway through the sky,

C 1X

nûl nin onûkgísgawan nil ‫ ۅ‬nƟhnindawƟssûl then this meet that comet nál nΩ̗n wΩիnakí·skawa·n ní·l nehni·ntawé·sal. she met Comet there.

C 2A

ǎhtǎғ kgol kettamƗғ kse told her you poor wtΩ̗ko·l, “kΩtΩիmá·ksi. He said to her, “You poor thing.

C 2B

ni nƟmǎnnâllnjk wendje gataúwe nihlkwan he of me jealous that the reason he wanted to kill you ní· nΩիmaná·lΩkw, wé·nþi-kătáwi-nihlkwan.”60 He is jealous of me, which is why he wanted to kill you.”

C 2C

yǀn pindjinǂhken yǀn pímolwak-|gûnink this he put hand in bosom his bosom61 | in his yó·n pi·nþi·náxke·n yó·n pi·mo·lΩիwá·kanΩnk, He put his hand inside his robe here,

C 2D

pƝtce ktínnum hwûsgwim62 out handed out corn

59. kw is preceded by a two-letter false start. 60. Pheasant would say: nΩ̗n kó·nþΩ-kătá-níhlkwΩn ‘that’s why he wants to kill you’. 61. Armstrong uses bosom in the sense of “the space included between the breast and its covering . . . . Considered as the receptacle for money or letters, formerly answering to [the] modern use of ‘pocket’.” (Oxford English Dictionary). Not “in his side” (Bierhorst 2005:69). See the remarks on line C 2C in section 5.2. 62. hwûsgwim preceded by gwos , a false start.

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pé·þi-ktΩ̗nΩm xwáskwi·m, and he pulled out some corn, C 2E

maiát ín wilohágûn a certain one (not two) ear of corn mayá·t=i·n wi·lo·há·kan. a single ear,

C 2F

wákin wahgûn amóhgweo wahgûn another thing a bone beaver kind bone wá·k=i·n wáxkan, amóxkwi·w-wáxkan, and a bone, a beaver bone,

C 2G

wákin hósis wákin tagwahhákûn63 wákin then again little kettle another little mortar and skwáhekûnnis little pestle wá·k=i·n hó·šΩš, wá·k=i·n tăkwahá·kan, wá·k=i·n škwahí·kanΩš. and a kettle, and a mortar, and a little pestle.

C 2H

nénne ént৘e thats all nál=ní=i·n txΩ̗. That’s all.

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C 2I

nûl én yǀk Mannittowûk wák odjíhdjagwûk64 then so those Great Spirits & Spirits átcmokkéwak. held council nál=i·n yó·k manΩtó·wak wá·k wþihþá·kwak a·þΩիmohké·wak. Then the manitous and the (lesser) spirits held a council.

C 2J

ówak awénétcha65 wsákiháwel yol ketmáksetcƟl said who will care for this poor thing Ω̗wak, “awé·n=Ω̗þ=ha wsa·ki·há·wal yó·l ke·tΩիma·ksí·þi·l?” They said, “Who will look after this poor thing?”

C 2K

nûl Ɲn kinhóhgwis ó Ɲn the[n] so on[e?] the pike (fish) said nál=i·n ki·nhóhkwΩs Ω̗w=i·n, Then Pike said,

63. w inserted later. 64. wák &”, replaces od g - . 65. Some overwriting and added marks in the last two syllables.

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258

GODDARD

C 2L

nƯ dilnówe he I am a man “ní· ntΩlnΩ̗wi. “I am a man.

C 2M

nílitc zákiha áptcetalíu 66 I will do it take care of her for ever & ever ní·l=Ωþ nsa·kí·ha·w á·pþi-tá·li·w.” I will look after her forever.”

C 2N

Mannittowûk ówak máha kíkic thakƯháwe the g(reat) Spirits said you cant do it take care of her manΩtó·wak Ω̗wak, “má·h=á· kí· kí·š-sa·ki·há·wi.67 The manitous said, “You would not be able to look after her.

C 2O

tháme gûptca tháme gmannónkse you too foolish you too cross wsá·mi kΩ̗pþa, wsá·mi kΩիmanó·nksi. You’re too foolish and quick-tempered.

C 2P

máha gigíci68 you cant do it má·h=á· kí· kí·ši. You wouldn’t be able to.”

C 2Q

nûl Ɲn acté-in69 tkwûh70 nûn skíhgi in then then another a turtle that a sea turtle then he oh said nál=i·n á·šte·=i·n tăkwáx, nán skihgi =i·n, Ω̗w, And then next a turtle, Sea Turtle, said,

C 2R

ni góngeam thakiha nûn lénnapéo áptcitále I can do it care for her those [people] for ever “ní· nkánki-=a·m -sa·kí·ha·w lΩ̖ná·pe·w á·pþi-tá·li·.” “I would be able to look after people forever.”

C 2S

kƟғ hla71 kí kónginalínmen. you sure can do it

66. talíu (mark above u added or crossed out) replaces dalio (with hesitation on first letter); aptctaliu rewritten below. 67. Pheasant would say má·h=á· kí·š- kí· -sa·ki·há·wΩ. 68. ci < ce . 69. é-in < aen . 70. tkwûh < takwoh ; also written tkwǂh and tkwûq . 71. kƟғ hla ki .

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“kéhla kí· kánki- nΩ -lΩ̗nΩիmΩn.” “Truly you are the one who can do it.” C 2T

Nûl kéhla máuwenne h thƗkpohkwaunéhennen72 So he (did) so he went there & put shewed73 his back out nál kéhla máwi- ní -sa·kpoxkwane·xí·nΩn.74 Then, indeed, he went and stuck his back out there.

C 2U

nûl nun nihin wtille pnih 75 mûtéhinen76 wǂn ohgwe so then she there fell there this woman nál=ní=i·n wtΩ̗li-măte·xí·nΩn wán óxkwe·w. And then that’s where the woman landed.

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C 2V

nûl nƯn tenda hlpákin then there she was there crying nál=ní=i·n wtΩ̗nta-lpákΩn. And then she was weeping there.

C 2W

tilláuêl yǀl unitcansûl 77 told her this to he[r] little child wtΩlá·wal yó·l wΩիni·þá·n’sal, She said to her little child,

C 2X

kéhla kétmáksihna nítcƗnis. we are very poor (badly off) my child little78 “kéhla kΩtΩիma·ksíhna, ni·þá·nΩs.” “We are truly in a pitiful state, my little child.”

C 2Y

Nûl Ưn pénnamen this then look at it nál=i·n pΩ̗namΩn. And then she looked at it,

C 2Z

gwegwah klínnum ohge she is there she has it in he[r] hand dirt

72. A rewriting of tha u kpohkwanehenen , in which several letters were changed; e.g., the three n s (which resemble u s) were clarified by writing n above the first and lines above the others. 73. First glossed “& put”; then “put” was crossed out and “& shewed” written to the left. 74. /máwi-/: perhaps /máw-=i·n/, but contrast /máwi-=i·n/ (H 25F). 75. False start for /-pԥࡅníhla·n/ ‘fell’. 76. q added below the h . 77. unitcansûl < unitcanul (/wԥࡅni·þá·nal/ ‘her child’). 78. Curtin uses underline for highlighting.

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kwé·kw=ha, kΩիlΩ̗nΩm áhkΩy. and here she had some dirt in her hand. C 2AA

nûl in ohtƯllasokahƟn yílle óhgenk spilled on here on below nál=i·n wtΩ̗lΩ-so·ká·he·n yΩ̗=li áhki·nk, Then she let it fall to the surface there,

C 2BB

osipnûғ men in yelléh spread then begger wši·pΩիnΩ̗mΩn=i·n yΩ̗=li. and she spread it bigger there.

C 2CC

Gwegwah ín alúmmikin there then growing kwé·kw=ha=i·n, alΩmí·kΩn. And here it grew.

C 2DD

nûl ín alúwi asƯcpnûmen this then more spread nál=i·n alΩ̗wi·79 wši·pΩիnΩ̗mΩn. Then she spread more.

C 2EE

Nûl hûlweo80 Ưn alummékin this more more growing nál hálΩիwi·w=i·n81 alΩmí·kΩn. Then more and more it grew.

C 2FF

ayáhkwin atnjpkíhkwin bye & bye grows bigger á·yaxkw=i·n ătohpkíhkwΩn. After a while it was of vast extent.

C 2GG

nûl kinéh82 gúmmƝo83 ohûlwiuh84 kcíkin this way so on more & more growing nál=k=Ωիní nkΩ̗me·w ahálΩիwi·w kší·kΩn. And then it kept growing more and more.

C 2HH 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84.

aiáhkwin míhtgwûk gisígwûk wƗgóhbnûk ‫ۅ‬ bye & bye trees grow they are growing potatoes /alԥғwi·/ (also H 7A): Pheasant would say alΩ̗wi·w ‘more’. o multiply overwritten, perhaps o < l < o . Moraviantown hálΩիwi·. ki < ke ; h crowded in at edge. o < l. o apparently deleted then restored; l added later.

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á·yaxkw=i·n míhtkwak ki·ší·kΩիwak, wá·k óhpΩիnak, Eventually trees grew, and potatoes, C 3A

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C 3B

Wákin mihûskwûl.85 also the grass grow wá·k=i·n mi·xáskwal. and also grass. Nûl86 Ưn wǂn ohgwesis Ɵғ lli maumel|awísset lih87 this the[n] this the girl while playing gohbio wood nál=i·n wán oxkwé·sΩs é·li-ma·me·lawΩ̗si·t lí kóhpi·w, And then the girl, while she was playing in the woods,

C 3C

mohkom Ưn nƯn88 énda wéwehgasƯt she found then this where where she was swinging móxkam=i·n nΩ̗n é·nta-=a· -we·wehká·si·t.89 found a place where she could swing.

C 3D

nûl Ưn nen uhtihendsin then there where she always nál=i·n nΩ̗n wtihΩ̗ntăsi·n. Then she always stayed around there doing that.

C 3E

nûl Ưn sasengehin then she lying down nál=i·n ša·šΩnkí·xi·n. Then she was lying down.

C 3F

gánzhi Ưn wingamûғ lso elƱ ksóhhenk90 ! very then fells good because wind ká·nši-=i·n -wi·nkamálsΩw é·li-kšáxΩnk. She really enjoyed the feeling when the wind blew.

C 3G

tásiin91 gihdohgwes pâpnawawûl92 where she is old woman looks at her

85. i < e ; l deleted before s ; k added after sk . 86. Preceded by n (false start) at the end of the preceding line. 87. lih < leh (?). 88. Perhaps nin with a macron-like dot similar to that of is in the interlinear to 3O. This is a general problem with Curtin’s handwriting. 89. /é·nta-=a·/ (Pheasant). 90. hh < h . 91. n over e and start of n . 92. Followed by kehl at line end.

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tá·si=i·n kihtóxkwe·s pa·pΩիnawá·wal. One time the old lady happened to look at her. C 3H

kehlaín masélendûm she wondered kéhla=i·n ma·še·lΩ̗ntam. And she just couldn’t help wondering.

C 3I

liteheen neh mas hwûskdje wǂn dánis she thinks she looks family way this daughter li·té·he·w=i·n neh ,93 “má·š xwáskwþe·w wán ntá·nΩs.” She thought, “My daughter looks like she’s pregnant.”

C 3J

nûl Ưn kwitdjimûllauƟl then she asked her nál=i·n kwΩ̖þi·mo·lá·wal. And then she asked her,

C 3K

téllauel maha-| weehga94 awƝn she told her have you ever seen anybody who ever knewawe seen anybody wtΩlá·wal, “má·h=a· wí·xka awé·n kΩիne·wá·wi?” saying to her, “Have you never seen anyone?”

C 3L

aumáhda no body Ω̗w, “mah’ta.” She said, “No.”

C 3M

gihdjohgwes oh. Walét honne. o(ld) woman said that must be kihþóxkwe·š Ω̗w, “wΩիlΩ̗t=há=ni.” The old lady said, “That’s good.”

C 3N

Mahda Ưn mihgau yok Ưn niiswûk kapƝssûk not It not long long the 2 these two twins notci-in pamƯnnehotwûk commence to talk to each other máh’ta=i·n míhkaw yó·k=i·n ní·šΩիwak kăpé·sak nó·þi-=i·n -pΩիmi·ne·hó·tΩիwak. Not long after that these two twins began arguing with each other.

93. neh “she”: interpretation uncertain. 94. Second e < a ; h over start of g or q .

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C 3O

ptcimultówak Ưn awenitcha géhgaiyo & ask e(ach) other who is going to be oldest kwþi·mo·ltΩ̗wak=i·n, “awé·n=Ω̗þ=ha kíhkayΩw?” They asked each other, “Who will be the eldest?”

C 3P

oin nílkƝtc he said I will Ω̗w=i·n, “ní·l=ke·=þ.” And one said, “I will be.”

C 3Q

senûn95 gehgaiƝt gwitdjimullauel-in yol then oldest asked the other hwésmussûl his y(ounger) brother šá·wΩ nán kéhkayi·t kwΩþi·mo·lá·wal=i·n yó·l xwi·sΩիmΩ̗sal. So then the eldest asked his younger brother,

C 3R

danitcha tille ktcim96 which way will you go come out “tá·n=Ω̗þ=ha ktΩ̗li-kþí·m?”97 “Which way will you go out?”

C 3S

yonketc ndille ktcin ngek98 wilwink there this Ill go out my mothers navel “yó·n=ke·=þ ntΩ̗li-kþí·n nkΩ̗k wí·lhwi·nk.” “I’ll go out this way, through my mother’s navel.”

C 3T

oh mósken oh 99 said Ω̗w, mó·ški·m Ω̗w, He said, Moshkim said,

C 3U

knihlauwitcwa kékno100 youll kill our mother “kΩիníhla·w=Ωþ wá kΩ̗kΩիna.” “You’ll kill our mother.”

C 3V

senalin101 téllauel The other102 told him

95. e < ai . 96. m < n by adding stroke. 97. /-kþí·m/ (AP). 98. n < en . 99. The n is like a u . 100. The o is clear. 101. e < a ; i like dotted e .

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GODDARD

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šá·wΩ nál=i·n wtΩlá·wal, So then he told him, C 3W

kwaietchagí ktessenzitc mahlis they! you will be youll be named flint “kwáy=Ω̗þ=ha kí· ktΩší·nsi·=þ ‘máhlΩs’.” “Now you shall be named ‘Flint’.”

C 3X

nyoh oh wǂn mahlis yes said he “y۲h,” Ω̗w wán máhlΩs. “Alright,” said Flint.

C 3Y

gatcitcgii ptissenࡃ zitc Moskem103 you will will be named káþ=Ωþ kí· ktΩší·nsi·=þ ‘mo·ški·m’, “But you will be named ‘Rabbit’ (Moshkim),

C 3Z

Ɵlle Ɵlle Moskemmûnk104 wihwinge ktcƝkso105 because he is alwa[y]s always goes out é·li mó·ški·m=ank wihwí·nki-kþí·kwsΩw, because the rabbit always likes to crawl out

C 3AA

wakpindjékto106 nƟnle walahgwink107 goes in that the way wá·k pi·nþí·kwsΩw108 nΩ̗n=li wá·lăkwΩnk. and crawl in through that hole.

C 3BB

sáwitc kikwai ktissenze Moskem so you will so you now will be named rabbit or hare šá·wi·=þ kí· kwáy ktΩší·nsi ‘mó·ški·m’.” So you shall now be named ‘Rabbit’.”

C 3CC

nûl in kissik109 in wǂn moskem born nál=i·n ki·ší·kΩw=i·n wán mó·ški·m. And then Moshkim was born.

102. Followed by “the other ” with “ other ” above. 103. Final m < n (resembling u ) by adding a stroke. 104. m over b . 105. cƝ < c . 106. The t has the cross stroke displaced to the right (as often), resembling a macron over the o . 107. gwink < gûnk . 108. Pheasant: /é·li/ in 3Z requires a conjunct verb in 3AA. 109. Final syllable not written; the word should be kissikko (cf. 3EE, 3FF).

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C 3DD

ha kânze Ưn gihdjohgwes in ulelûndûm great o(ld) woman glad ăká·nši=i·n kihþóxkwe·š=i·n wΩիle·lΩ̗ntam.110 The old lady was really happy.

C 3EE

nûl wakin ktûkan wak kissikko then again another born nál wá·k=i·n ktákan wá·k ki·ší·kΩw. Then the other one was born.

C 3FF

Ɨcsteén wǂn máhlis. ‫ ۅ‬Mҩhlis nalখn kisíko111 then the he was born á·šte·=i·n wán máhlΩs . . . máhlΩs nál=i·n ki·ší·kΩw. But Flint, . . . Flint, then he was born.

C 4A

nûlƯcn mûniqléo nûn oqgwesis died woman nál=i·n maníhle·w nán oxkwé·sΩs. Then the young woman died.

C 4B

nun in wa kidjûqgwes112 nûl in hlpûk this o(ld) woman cried nál=i·n wá kihþóxkwe·š nál=i·n lpákw. And then the old lady wept.

C 4C

aieqgwíƱn hlpûkgƟ nûl in wâlheo wûn aft when stopped cry then she dug kiqdjóqgwƟs

265

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a·yéhkwi=i·n -lpákke, nál=i·n wá·lhe·w wán kihþóxkwe·s. After the old lady stopped crying, she dug a hole. C 4D

éle ín usíqgât wƟntagwéo tƱғloqgweoq|máwûl113 nil in west in that way she laid her head that uqtҩnsûl in daughter é·li-=i·n -wsíhka·t wΩ̗ntăkwi·w wtΩlohkwe·xΩիmá·wal ní·l wtá·n’sal=i·n, She laid her daughter with her head to the west,

110. ha kânze is taken as a free particle /ăká·nši/; cf. the preverb ká·nši ‘great, wonderful’ and the initial ăka·nš-. 111. The narrator apparently hesitated and repeated himself when Curtin turned the paper over. 112. After ki a q was written and later crossed out. 113. e added; á has two accents.

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C 4E

tiláwûl ki ksaiyéoqe114 she told her you go first wtΩlá·wal, “kí· kšayé·wxe. and told her, “You go the first.

C 4F

wemƱғtcawén nin tíle aûn everybody go there eqkweóntalé pamáothíte when do ever finished in this world life wé·m=Ω̗þ awé·n nΩ̗n wtΩ̗li-á·n éhkwi- yó·n -talí-pΩիma·wsí·te. That’s where everyone will go when their life here is done.

C 4G

nƱntdje tƱғleân this way go nΩ̗n=þi wtΩ̗li-á·n. That’s the way they shall go.

C 4H

kwaiqkíi ksaiyeuqé now you ahead kwáy kí· kšayé·wxe. Now you go first.

C 4I

nintci wemawen tƱlean dalíu hâlmҩqkamíu = 115 this way everybody go forever for ever (all the days) nΩ̗n=þi wé·m awé·n wtΩ̗li-á·n tá·li·w halΩիmáhkami·kw. That is the way everyone will go for ever and eternity.

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Origin Myth Told by John Armstrong of Cattaraugus to J. N. B. Hewitt, 8 October 1896. For each numbered line of the edition there are four components: (1) The original Munsee text written by Hewitt (1896a) from Armstrong’s dictation; (2) Hewitt’s interlinear glosses (for the first thirteen manuscript pages and additional scattered words), evidently obtained by reading the text back to Armstrong; (3) the text phonemicized and edited on the basis of a review with Anderson Pheasant of Moraviantown (4–7 September 1968) and additional information from other speakers and published and manuscript sources; (4) a 114. é added. 115. íu replaces several overwritings with different vowels. Curtin wrote two parallel lines, like a long equals sign, at the end of the last line, evidently to indicate the end of the text.

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translation of the edited text. Within component (2), italicized glosses are Seneca; notes on these give phonemic transcriptions and glosses provided by Wallace L. Chafe. The arabic numbers correspond to the pages of the original manuscript; double bars (||) indicate the page breaks. The lines of the edition, corresponding generally to sentences or major clauses, are assigned capital letters, starting over with each manuscript page, and major units of the narrative are indicated by added paragraph breaks. H 1A

H 1B

gƱ‫ލ‬-gai‫ލ‬ ’in lawodänai-ä‫ލ‬ wİ’-gin head man gi’-oĶ117 in the middle of the village kíhkay=i·n la·wo·té·naye wí·ki·n. And the chief lived in the center of the town.

H 1C

wİ-wo’ in118 he has got a wife wí·wΩw=i·n, And he had a wife.

H 1D

woak ’in nİ dja-no‫ ލ‬o‫ލ‬-gwäsis ’in and he’s got a child A girl wá·k=i·n ni·þá·nΩw, oxkwé·šΩš=i·n. And he also had a child, a baby girl.

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A-wă-çagămäu‫ލ‬116 dallao‫ލ‬çoăk above the sky they lived awasáhkame·w tala·wsΩ̗wak. They lived above the sky.

H 1F

116. 117. 118. 119. 120.

da-çİ’in wu-notcİ’in119 ma‫ލ‬-o-lallendamo-wi‫ލ‬ sometimes he began to be dissatisfied tá·si=i·n wá nó·þi=i·n máh wΩիle·lΩntamó·wi. And at some point he began to feel out of sorts. niskhallendămoin he feels bad “ni·ske·lΩ̗ntam,” Ω̗w=i·n.120 “Something is weighing on my mind,” he said.

ç < ss ; u < m . Seneca gyІ’Іh ‘it is said’, always written gi’-oĶ by Hewitt. ‫ < ܭ‬o. w < ӑ- . See the remarks on H 1F in section 5.3.

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GODDARD

H 1G

in manaso’in he was jealous í·n maná·sΩw=i·n. In fact, he was jealous.

H 1H

in winginƗu he wants something í·n wi·nkí·nam. He wanted something.

H 1I

wä-mä’-in a-wän gwƱ‫މ‬-gjİ windaumowawall Everybody they tried to tell him what he wanted wé·mΩ=i·n awé·n kwΩ̗þi-wi·ntamawá·wal. Everyone tried to tell him what it was.

H 1J

maha in awän gwizİ iw‫ࡅܭ‬n da-nät gwäk it can’t who can whatever anything ayăndăñ wa-gİ‫ލ‬-gai‫ލ‬ what he wanted this chief má·h=á·=i·n awé·n kwí·ši-í·wΩn tá·n=e·t kwé·k a·yá·ntank wá kíhkay. No one could say what it was that the chief wanted.

H 1K

Da in lƱk-iq gwİ-o‫ ލ‬nall in mai-a-o-tho lino some time after then one man o+in o-in, he said tá·=i·n lΩ̖kíhkwi·w nál=i·n mayá·wsΩw lΩ̗nΩw, “o·,” í·n Ω̗w=i·n, Then sometime later one man said, “Oh,

H 1L

ni-ha-mƱĶtc dƱlli de-ha ‫ ۅ‬yo-nät wǎkdă-yaĶ-damƱn I think so I really think this might be he wants “ní·=ha méhþ ntΩli·té·ha, yó·n=e·t wta·yá·ntamΩn: I now think that this is what he probably wants:

H 2A

lit-dä-hä-wät wǎn mƱ‫މލ‬tkum am mă‫ލ‬-kinâ he think this my tree then to pull the li·té·he·w=e·t, ‘wá nΩիmíhtkwΩm=a·m máhkΩիna·w. He probably thinks, ‘This tree of mine should be pulled up,

H 2B

male121 wam nipalla tree up set it aside palí·w=a·m ní·pala·w.’” and set to stand someplace else.

121. m written for /p/; see section 4.2.

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H 2C

nallin wämƱ‫ ލ‬a’wän in pä-ǎ‫ލ‬ then they did every body perhaps come nál=i·n wé·mi awé·n=i·n pé·w. Then everyone came.

H 2D

nall’in wä-ma’-wän nă‫ ލ‬o‫ލ‬-dall na-wǎl then they did it everybody they took hold of the tree yoll mƱ‫ލ‬tkwull this the tree nál=i·n wé·m awé·n náh wtalná·wal yó·l míhtkwal. Then everyone took hold of that tree.

H 2E

nall’in gwİsİ‫ ލ‬ma‫ލ‬kinawawăll then they did pull it up. nál=i·n kwí·ši-mahkΩիna·wá·wal. Then they succeeded in pulling it out.

H 2F

pallewƱ’in winipallawawall another place they set it palí·wi=i·n wΩիni·pala·wá·wal. And they stood it someplace else.

H 2G

nall’in ktcƱ-pkwƱ‫ލ‬-läl w‫ࡅܭ‬ñ-djƱk-kdİ-nƟĶt then the bottom dropt they pulled it out wǎn-mƱ‫މލ‬-tuk this tree nál=i·n kþí-pkwíhle·w wé·nþi-ktΩ̗nΩnt wán míhtΩkw.122 Then the bottom of the hole dropped out where the tree had been taken out.

H 2H

nall’in wä‫ލ‬-ma’-awän123 in pƟnamin yon then everybody perhaps looked at it into it this ändăpkwak where the hole is nál=i·n wé·mΩ awé·n=i·n pΩ̗namΩn yó·n é·nta-pkwahk. Then everyone looked at the place where the hole was.

H 2I

än-da‫ލ‬ wämă’awän ända wäme‫ ۅ ލ‬gi-sƱ‫ލ‬124 whenever everybody whenever all finished pƟnǎñ-g‫ࡅܭ‬ seeing it

122. Pheasant rejected /kþi/ ‘out’ as a preverb. 123. a added above. 124. Word added.

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é·nta- wé·mΩ awé·n é·nta- wé·mΩ -kí·ši-pΩիnánke, When everyone had finished seeing it all, H 3A

nall’in wa-gƱ‫ލ‬-gai 8dƱlla-wal125 wİwăll chief told his wife nál=i·n wá kíhkay wtΩlá·wal wí·wal, then the chief said to his wife,

H 3B

nyo‫ލ‬hă ambİä‫ ލ‬mawİ‫ ލ‬pnummǀdok well we must go see it “y۲h, ámpe· mawí-pΩիnamó·to·kw.” “Alright, let’s us go look at it, too.”

H 3C

nall’in wa’-o‫ލ‬-gwä-o‫ ލ‬onatnawul w-unitcanăll126 this woman she picked up her child nál=i·n wá óxkwe·w wΩիna·tΩիná·wal wΩիni·þá·nal, Then the woman picked up her child—

H 3D

djañ-go‫ލ‬-gwä-sƱs little girl þankoxkwé·šΩš. it was a little girl.

H 3E

wonaiyomawăll’in she placed her on her back. wΩիnayo·má·wal=i·n. And she carried her on her back.

H 3F

năhin bä-ya‫ލ‬-di-dİ‫ލ‬ İnda wallagăk they two reached there at that hole náh=i·n pe·yahtí·te é·nta-wá·lăkahk, When they arrived over where the hole went in,

H 3G

nall’in wallinoq pƟnǎminliallau|-ming then this man looked far into it nál=i·n wá lΩ̗nΩw pΩ̗namΩn lí alá·mΩnk. then the man looked down into it.

H 3H

nall’in pǎskwin then he stood up nál=i·n páskwi·n, Then he stood up,

125. 8 < o . 126. w-u < o- .

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H 3I

dƱllawal wiwall127 he told his wife wtΩlá·wal wí·wal, and he said to his wife,

H 3J

yo‫ލ‬128 gİ ambİä gi pƱnaȤ yon pkwăgamiñkw, well you too you look at this hole “yóh, kí· ámpe·, kí· pΩիnáh yó·n pkwáhkami·kw.” “Well, you too, you look at this hole in the ground.”

H 3K

O. ino‫ލ‬ wa‫މ‬-o‫ލ‬-gwä-o‫ލ‬ O. she said this woman “o·,” í·n Ω̗w wá óxkwe·w, “Oh,” said the woman,

H 3L

g‫ࡅܭ‬Ķ‫މލ‬-lă ‫ࡅܭ‬Ķ-gwӏ‫ލ‬damin truly I am very much afraid “kéhla nkwíhtamΩn. “I am truly afraid of it.

H 3M

djipina-kwǎt ‫ ۅ‬129 it looks ugly þi·pi·ná·kwat. It looks frightful.”

H 4A

nall’in wapaça-nai Now perhaps (as related by another) her blanket yİ ’in dİllnomin thus it is said nál=i·n wa·păsá·nay yΩ̗=i·n wtΩlnΩ̗mΩn, Then she did this with her blanket (demonstrating):

H 4B

o-çak-gănt-dămin- ’in130 nƱn wa-paça-nai‫ލ‬ she bit it it is said then he[r] blanket. wsakántamΩn=i·n nΩ̗n wa·păsá·nay. she held her blanket in her teeth.

H 4C

127. 128. 129. 130. 131.

nall’in yulak’in wǎndakwİo‫ ލ‬8dallno-min131 Then it is said this side side of a thing she siezed it

l wiwall < ll . yo‫ < ލ‬hau . dj < g . k < g ; dă < do . 8 < wǎ .

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nä’-a‫ލ‬-gƱ on the ground nál=i·n yó·lak=i·n wΩ̗ntăkwi·w wtalnΩ̗mΩn nΩ̗ áhkΩy, Then she put her hand on the earth on the far side, H 4D

wak’in yulak’ in Then again it is said this side it is said wá·k=i·n yó·lak wΩ̗ntăkwi·w also on the far side.

H 4E

the’-in yo‫ލ‬-dƱllnomƱn she did this šá·wΩ=i·n yó wtΩlnΩ̗mΩn. So then she did like this (gesturing).

H 4F

o‫ލ‬dăn-zİn-min’in yo’-ă‫މލ‬-gİ 132 she siezed this earth wtansΩիnΩ̗mΩn=i·n yó áhkΩy. She grasped a handful of the earth.

H 4G

nall’in dallİ-ni-mi-k’in133 now it is said she stooped down it is said nál=i·n wtálΩ-nΩիmí·ki·n.134 Then she began to bend forward.

H 4H

nall’in wun-lino‫ ލ‬o‫ލ‬-çăk-gƗt-däb-hƗ-wǎl135 this man her legs he siezed nál=i·n wán lΩ̗nΩw wsakka·te·phá·wal, Then that man seized his wife by the legs,

H 4I

o‫ލ‬-dillipena-hä-nul yol wiwǎl he pushed her in his wife wtΩ̗li-pΩիna·hé·nal yó·l wí·wal. and pushed her in.

H 4J

132. 133. 134. 135.

wǎndă-gwİ-o‫ލ‬ this side of a thing

ä-li‫ލ‬-pƟnƱ‫ލ‬lat nall’in wǎn ne‫ލ‬nindawäs while she was falling this the fire dragon pä-tcƱ‫ލ‬-lau it came é·li-pΩիníhla·t, nál=i·n wán nehní·ntawe·s pe·þíhle·w. As she was falling, this Fire Dragon came flying. o‫ލ‬dan < o‫ލ‬dăllin ; yo’-ă‫މލ‬-g‫ ܭ‬added. da : a < i . See the discussion of H 4G in section 5.3. çăk-gƗ < ça-ga-

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H 4K

yolhawa‫ލ‬ mänƗ-lat-djil. wagƱ‫ލ‬gai‫ލ‬ this is the one he is jealous of this chief yó·l=há=wa me·na·lá·þi·l wá kíhkay. This was the one the chief was jealous of.

H 4L

nall’in wǎn nƟnin-dawäs136 ‫’ ۅ‬in mƯlƗwăl yol this the fire dragon it is said gave her this o‫ލ‬gwä-wal wilohƗgăn woman ear of corn nál=i·n wán nehní·ntawe·s=i·n mi·lá·wal yó·l oxkwé·wal wi·lo·há·kan. Then the Fire Dragon gave the woman an ear of corn.

H 5A

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273

mi-at’in-sǎk.137 just one mayá·t=i·n šΩ̗kw. It was just one.

H 5B

nallwak’in djuñ-gƱ-ho-sƱs Then again it is [said] small kettle nál=wá·k=i·n þánki·-hó·šΩš, And also a small kettle,

H 5C

nallwak’in djuñ-gƱ-tcgwă-hă-gănƱs wak’in a-mo‫ލ‬-gwi-u138 small mortar a-İ’ 139 beaver wa‫ލ‬-găn bone nál=wá·k=i·n þánki·-þăkwahá·kanΩš, wá·k=i·n amóxkwi·w-wáxkan. and a small mortar, and a beaver bone.

H 5D

nall’in ausdä-o‫ލ‬ yok-a‫ލ‬-kiñk ä-pİ‫ލ‬-dit ne’-ne-wă140 beneath the[y] live manƱt‫މ‬-do-wăk o, wak’in Spirits they said nál=i·n á·šte·w yó·k áhki·nk e·píhti·t manΩtó·wak Ω̗wak=i·n, Then for their part the Manitous of the earth said,

H 5E

136. 137. 138. 139. 140.

yo‫ލ‬ pnauwallindamǀk Now, you must think of one “yóh, pΩիnawe·lΩ̗ntamo·kw “Alright, you must think over in your minds Ɵ < ä. ’in added above; ǎ < o . i < ‫ܭ‬. Seneca ae’ ‘again, also’. Seneca ne:’ né:wa’ ‘this time’, (Hewitt) ‘then next in order’.

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GODDARD

H 5F

gƯsa‫ މ‬widahämawa‫ލ‬ nano‫ލ‬gwäo‫ ލ‬gätma-ksit inowak whether you can help her this woman wretched they said kí·š-=a· -wi·ta·he·má·wa nán óxkwe·w ke·tΩիmá·ksi·t,” í·n Ω̗wak. whether you would be able to help this poor woman,” they said.

H 5G

nangƗ‫ލ‬ mo‫ލ‬gwa-tcƱl-İs it must be sun-fish “nán=k=a· mohkwăþΩ̗li·š.” (Some said,) “Let Rock Bass do it.”141

H 5H

inóq nila nça-gi-hƗ nan lina-pä-o‫ ލ‬142 I can care for the people í·n Ω̗w, “ní·l=a· nsa·kí·ha·w nán lΩ̖ná·pe·w.” And he said, “I could look after the people.”

H 5I

nall’in nik-dă-gã-nik143 o wak’in the others they said a-İ’ gƱ’-oĶ144 nál=i·n ní·k ktákani·k Ω̗wak=i·n, Then the others said,

H 5J

mo‫ލ‬gwă-tcƱl-İs mahagis gwäkw ça-kƱ‫ލ‬-du-wƱ‫ލ‬ sun fish he could not anything to care for “mohkwăþΩ̗li·š má·h=á· ki·š- kwé·kw -sa·kihtó·wi, “Rock Bass couldn’t look after anything,145

H 5K

mäd-çiçit too ugly looking you are me·tsí·si·t,” ugly as he is.”146

H 5L

inowăk ginho‫ލ‬-gwƱ-ç-aum147 they said muscalonge may be í·n Ω̗wak, “ki·nhóhkwΩs=a·m.” And they said, “Maybe Pike could do it.”

141. “Black Bass” in the Seneca version. 142. Whole line added. 143. nik < Ķk . 144. Seneca ae’ gyІ’Іh ‘again, it is said’; Armstrong mistook Hewitt’s reading back of wak (the second syllable of Ω̗wak ‘they say {so}’) as wá·k ‘also’. 145. “Pickerel” in the Seneca version, but the Seneca word is translated ‘pike sp.’ in Chafe (1967, no. 769). 146. Pheasant translates in 5J: “That homely-looking bass can’t look after nothing.” 147. gwƱ- < go- .

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H 5M

nallwak’in ‫ ۅ‬wakgătc owak ktă‫ލ‬-ga-nik these spirits they said the others nál=wa·k=i·n wá·k=kaþ Ω̗wak ktákani·k,148 Then others said, however,

H 6A

aluwİnă‫ލ‬ ma-dİ-çİ-çǎ gin-h৒-gwƱç he is worse homely looking thing pike “alΩ̗wi·- ná -mătΩsí·sΩw ki·nhóhkwΩs.” “The Pike is even uglier.”

H 6B

nallwak’in kda-ga-nik owăk the others they said nál=wa·k=i·n ktákani·k Ω̗wak, Then others said,

H 6C

da-gwaȤ-aum mƱñga-çă Turtle may might be he is better (să’-gwă)149 “tăkwáx=a·m mí·nkăsa. “Turtle would be better.

H 6D

H 6E

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H 6F

H 6G

275

muç-ga-nƟ‫މ‬-çu he is strong.” maskanΩ̗sΩw.” He’s strong.” nall wämƱ’in dilliwullinominau then all it is said They became of one mind nál wé·mi=i·n wtΩ̗li-wΩիli·namΩ̗ne·w. Then everyone was in favor of it. nall’in wa‫ ލ‬dă-gwăȤ nƱn o-ça-gi-Ȥi-nin this turtle this it showed its back nál=i·n wá tăkwáx nΩ̗n wsa·ki·xí·nΩn. Then the turtle stuck its back out there. tckau-wİ-wƱs o‫ލ‬dƱllƱ pƟnƱ‫ލ‬lan o‫ލ‬dƱllƱ slowly on she fell on ma-dä-aȤ-i-niñk150 where she fell supine pr sitting þkawí·wi·š wtΩ̗li-pΩիníhla·n, wtΩ̗li-măte·xí·nΩn. Slowly she fell there and landed there.

148. Pheasant rejected /káþ/ here. At Moraviantown this is either a sentence-initial conjunction meaning ‘but’ or an adverb meaning ‘already’ (H 6K, 7B). 149. Seneca sa’gwah ‘better’. 150. -niñk < -nin .

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GODDARD

H 6H

nall’in ne‫ލ‬o‫ލ‬dƱllƱ lƟmăt-ă‫ލ‬-pƱn the on she arose & sat nál=i·n ní wtΩ̗li-lΩիmátăpi·n. Then she sat up there.

H 6I

nall’in mƱғs-hƗ-da-min151 o‫ލ‬-dƱllƱ klƱnmän nä’ă‫ލ‬-gi152 she thought she held it this earth nál=i·n mΩ̖šá·tamΩn wtΩ̗li-kΩիlΩ̗nΩիmΩn nΩ̗ áhkΩy. Then she remembered that she had that earth in her hand.

H 6J

nall’in o‫ލ‬dille si-pi-aȤ-don she spread it nál=i·n wtΩ̗li-ši·pí·xto·n. Then she spread it around there.

H 6K

the’in äle‫ۅ ލ‬ ok-djok-o-nƱñk agwas gƱ’-on153 na’-onƱs-he’t154 spreading (stirring) it gatc-a-lum-mi-kƱn155 it began to grow šá·wΩ=i·n é·li-kwΩ̖kwþΩ̗kwΩիnΩnk156 káþ alΩmí·kΩn. As she moved it around, right away it started to expand.

H 7A

nallha’in allu’İ’in o-İ-a-moȤgnǎmin more and more she was stirring it again nál=ha=i·n alΩ̗wi·=i·n o·yamoxkΩիnΩ̗mΩn. Then she stirred it all the more.

H 7B

nall’in ma‫ލ‬da miqgău nall’in gatc’in miăȤ-haç-kwǎll not long truly (na-İ‫)ލ‬157 grasses gi-sİ k-nol l they grow nál=i·n máh’ta míhkaw nál=i·n káþ=i·n mi·xáskwal ki·ší·kΩիno·l. Then not long afterwards grass even began to grow,

H 7C

wak’in mƱ‫ލ‬-kwǎ-çal bushes

151. s-h is used for /š/ also in 25I. 152. Before nä , yon was added and deleted. 153. Seneca agwas ‘very’; gyІ’Іh ‘it is said’. 154. Resembles Seneca na’yІ̗nishe’t ‘how long it lasted’. 155. -a-lum-mi < -lum-i . 156. ok- must be for /kwԥҒkw-/; neither /okw-/ nor /ԥkw-/ is a possible wordinitial sequence. 157. Seneca naeh ‘indeed’.

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wá·k=i·n mihtkwΩ̗sal. and bushes. H 7D

nallwak’in ma‫ލ‬da-mƱ‫ލ‬-kau unämin wun oȤgwä-au, Da onѓիİ gƱ’-on158 not long she saw this woman le‫ލ‬ a-lum-i-k’in wä-mă-kwäk it is true it is growing all things nál=wa·k=i·n máh’ta míhkaw wΩիné·mΩn wán óxkwe·w lí-alΩmí·kΩn wé·mΩ kwé·k. Then not long afterwards the woman saw that everything was growing.

H 7E

wakw159 ä-kwäkw äyҽ-de‫ލ‬160 wa’-oȤ-gwä-o‫ ލ‬nǎn-i-lä-o‫ލ‬ Whenever she says this woman it will be so 161 wá·k kwáy kwé·kw e·yí·te wá óxkwe·w, nál=nΩ lé·w.162 And also whenever that woman said for anything to be, it came true.

H 7F

ma‫ލ‬-dă’-in-miq-kau in-le-te-hau not long after then she thinks máh’ta=i·n míhkaw=i·n li·té·he·w, Not long afterwards she thought,

H 7G

gwai-yam wäĶ‫މ‬-hu-le‫ލ‬163 gi-soȤ164 apit now ought to be then it ought to be sun let it be “kwáy=a·m wéhwΩիli- kí·šo·xkw -ăpí·t.” “Now there ought to be a sun.”

H 7H

sau-‫ތ‬in nin läo‫ ލ‬165 thus it was šá·wΩ=í·n nΩ̗n lé·w. And it was so.

H 7I

nall o‫ލ‬dăpin wun ‫ ۅ‬gis-gwa-hum gi-soȤ now there is there this daily (sun) sun nál wtápi·n wán ki·škwáhΩm (kí·šo·xkw). Then this luminary of the day existed.

158. 159. 160. 161. 162. 163. 164. 165. 166.

166

Seneca da:h o:nĊh gyІ’Іh ‘so then, it is said’. Second w added. äyҽ- < i- . Pheasant: wá·k kwáy kwé·kw é·yi·t ‘whatever she says’. The interpretation of nǎn-i- as /nál=nԥ/ follows Pheasant. u < o. Ȥ < uncertain mark + a . Line added. gi-soȤ added.

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278

GODDARD

H 8A

äntȤaiĶnƱtc-wƗ-pǎñk167 pƟmiç-çe-o wǎn gís-gwă-hǎm each morning he habitually went this daily (sun) gi-soȤ168 sun é·ntxΩn-=Ωþ -wá·pank pΩիmΩ̗sΩw wán ki·škwáhΩm kí·šo·xkw. “Every day this daytime luminary shall go by.”

H 8B

nall’in wak ǂçín yo‫ލ‬, inó‫ލ‬q169 a-İ’ She said well, she said nál=i·n wá·k wsí·n, “yóh,” í·n Ω̗w, Then she said, “Alright now,

H 8C

wakg੼tc allañgwä-wi‫ލ‬-gä-au that also there will be stars wá·k=Ωþ ala·nkwe·wíhke·w.” let there also be lots of stars.”

H 8D

nall’in gä-la ni lä-au And it was so nál=i·n kéhla ní lé·w. And sure enough it was so.

H 8E

nall’in ǂ‫ލ‬dă-wä-hän-‘in yon170 onaȤ She used it this finger nál=i·n wtawé·he·n yó·n wΩիnáxk, Then with this finger

H 8F

ǂ ‫ލ‬dƱllǀ‫ލ‬minin İlapƯ‫ލ‬-tit yog she pointed where they were (these) them alâñ-gwä-wak 171 stars wtΩló·hΩիmΩn=i·n é·l-ăpíhti·t yó·k ala·nkwé·wak. she pointed to where these stars were.

H 8G

o‫ލ‬win yu-g੼tc naĶ-wa-laȤ-gwä-djik she said ne’ na-İҳ nƟñ-gƟñ bear chasers172 Ω̗w=i·n, “yó·k=Ωþ na·walaxkwé·þi·k. And she said, “These shall be the Bear Chasers [the Big Dipper].

167. 168. 169. 170. 171. 172.

tȤ < h . gi-soȤ added. q added. n-‘in < n ; yon < yol . yog < yok ; â < ă . Seneca ne:’ naeh nĊ:gĊ:h ‘indeed this/these’.

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H 8H

ga-djƱ-djƱ-ok män-hăñ-gİk ?these others they will be dancers káþ=Ωþ yó·k me·nhánki·k. While these will be the Bunched Paddlers [the Pleiades].

H 8I

yu-kİtc a-wá-năk lo-wă-no-wİ they will use winter time yó·k=Ωþ awe·hé·nak lo·wanΩ̗wi·. These will be used in winter.

H 8J

on-djƱ-İtc wä-wƱ‫ލ‬-do-nä-wă äl-gƱ‫ލ‬-pä-yä-wİk it will cause they will know how far it has passed ne-l৒wan.173 the winter ó·nþi-=Ωþ we·wihto·né·wa é·lkih-pe·yé·wi·k ní ló·wan.” By them [people] will know the time when winter is coming.”

H 8K

nall’in wǎn o‫ލ‬gwä-çƱç174 mä‫ލ‬-tcƱ’-in qhó-kil ‫ۅ‬ this a girl ?now ?large nál=i·n wán oxkwé·sΩs méhþi=i·n xwΩ̗ki·l.175 Then by then this girl was big.

H 9A

inǎñk ä-swá-pǎñk alǎm-çu‫ލ‬ in-yä-lăk-dƗ So each morning she goes away at a distance í·n=ank é·he·š-wá·pank alΩ̗msΩw=i·n yé·lak=ta·. They say that every morning she went a distance away.

H 9B

mhwoç-‘in nänämƱ‫ލ‬-läu‫ލ‬-in a branch it is said it springs mxwΩ̗s=i·n ne·ne·míhle·w=i·n. There was a branch that swung up and down.

H 9C

nƱn’in 8te‫ލ‬-hindă nä-nämutc-kan there it is said heoñwİ176 she bounces (yon-doñ-wi-da’t-hă’)177 nΩ̗n=i·n wtihΩ̗nta-ne·ne·mó·þka·n. And she used to bounce on it.

279

173. ne- added. 174. çƱç < sƱs . At the top of the page Hewitt wrote “o‫ލ‬gwä-sƱs = small girl” and (expanding his ditto marks) “o‫ލ‬gwä-çƱç = larger girl.” At this point the girl has become sexually mature, and the nondiminutive form of the word for ‘girl’ begins to be used. 175. Pheasant thought this was unidiomatic unless nΩ̗ lΩ̗kih ‘at that time’ was added. 176. Seneca hĊ̗:Іweh ‘where’. 177. Apparently Seneca yІdІwedá’ta’ perhaps meaning ‘she shakes it’.

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280

GODDARD

H 9D

ínǎñk ändă‫ލ‬ si-waçanitä that truly as soon as she wearied í·n=ank é·nta-ši·wăsaní·te, And whenever she got tired,

H 9E

nallăñk’in ni-aȤhi-wăñk’in178 179 then (onƟĶ na-İҳ gƱ’-oĶ gƟñs) she got down nál=ánk=i·n ní·xi·w=ánk=i·n, then she would get down

H 9F

a‫ލ‬kƱñgǎñk’in, 8tƱllƱ prostrated herself on elbows and knees İҳ-dă’-gİ181 (o’-dyonodyos-gwѓիĶ-dƗ-Ɵñ’)180 ni-cİt-kwƱn she kneel áhki·nk=ánk=i·n wtΩ̗li-ni·ší·tkwi·n. and would crouch down on all fours.182

H 9G

nalluñk’in älƱ k-ksaȤ-hañk o‫ލ‬-da-mandamƱn183 184 onƟĶ gƟñs wind blows (he gäҳ-hă’) she felt it nál=ánk=i·n é·li-kšáxΩnk, wtamántamΩn, And then when the wind blew, she would feel it,

H 9H

nalluñk’in wiñ-gä-lin-dăm then she enjoys it (as-găs-da-ni’-ă)185 nál=ánk=i·n wi·nke·lΩ̗ntam. And she would enjoy it.

H 9I

nall’in newin-djİ 8dămand-a-mƱn’in it causes she felt it nál=i·n ní wΩ̗nþi wtamántamΩn=i·n. Because of that she felt it.

H 9J

a‫ލ‬-po’-wät 8hăk‫މ‬-gäñk186 gă’ү-noĶt187 in her body

178. aȤh < Ȥ . 179. Seneca o:nĊh naeh gyІ’Іh gĊ:s ‘then indeed, it is said, habitually’. 180. Apparently Seneca o’jonojosgwĊda:Ċ’ but unrecognizable. 181. Seneca ehdá’geh ‘on the bottom’. 182. Follows Hewitt; see the remarks on H 9F in section 5.3. 183. Last word added. 184. Seneca o:nĊh gĊ:s heh gæ:ha’ ‘then habitually (or repeatedly) there the wind blows’. 185. Seneca osga:s da:h ni:’ah ‘it’s pleasant to me (sexually)’; the sentence connective da:h ‘so, and’ would be expected to be sentence-initial. 186. In ăk the k was added later.

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ăpΩ̗w=e·t wháke·nk. He must have been inside her body.

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H 9K

nall’in wun wä-ni-dja-nit ǎnƱna-wawal188 8ni-dja-nal this mother she noticed it her child nál=i·n wán we·ni·þá·ni·t wΩիnΩnawá·wal wΩիni·þá·nal. Then the mother noticed something about her daughter.

H 9L

gwägwät-int 189 she was in trouble “kwé·kw=e·t Ω̗nt. “Maybe something is the matter with her.

H 9M

mƗs-Ȥät Ȥhwăç‫މ‬-ktcä-o‫ލ‬ possibly she is éncienté má·š=x=e·t xwáskwþe·w.” Actually, she looks like she could be pregnant.”

H 9N

nall’in kwİ-tci-mo-la-wǎl ‫ۅ‬ she asked her nál=i·n kwΩ̖þi·mo·lá·wal, Then she asked her,

H 10A

8dillawal’in awänăñk-hă kƱ-nä-wă‫ ލ‬ända‫ ލ‬mä-la-wǎç-yǎn she told her who is it you saw where you were playing wtΩlá·wal=i·n, “awé·n=ánk=ha kΩիné·wa é·nta-me·lawΩ̗sΩիyan?” saying to her, “Who do you see where you were playing?”

H 10B

o‫ލ‬-kwä-çăç-o‫ލ‬ the large girl oxkwé·sΩs Ω̗w, The girl said,

H 10C

mă‫ލ‬-dau-wİ-a‫ލ‬-kă a-wän nä-wa-wİ‫ލ‬ no time (never) somebody I saw “máh’ta wí·xka awé·n ne·wá·wi.” “I’ve never seen anyone.”

H 10D

nall’in 8dƱllawǎl she told nál=i·n wtΩlá·wal, Then she said to her,

187. Seneca ga’nІ:t ‘it’s inside it’. 188. ǎ < 8 . 189. in is unclear.

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H 10E

daçhétc gonedjƗ‫މ‬nƱtc it may be that you will have a child “tá·s=x=Ωþ ko·ni·þá·ni=þ.” “Well, maybe you’ll have a child.

H 10F

danäthă wƱndjiäyǎo wäĶ-djİtc from where it will come what causes (na’-ot nƟñ ga-yoñ-ni)190 wƱn-ni-dja-nyǎn you will have a child tá·n=e·t=ha wΩnþí·yayΩw wé·nþi·-=þ -wΩիni·þá·nΩիyan?” Where did the one that’s the reason you’re having a child come from?”

H 10G

mă‫ލ‬-da‫ލ‬-ha‫ލ‬-wİ-a‫ލ‬-kă awän nä-wa-wİ‫ލ‬ never (no time) anybody I saw “máh’ta wí·xka awé·n ne·wá·wi. “I’ve never seen anyone.

H 10H

so-kwǎ‫މ‬ñk ända‫ލ‬pi-añk191 ä-li-uñk ksă‫ލ‬-qäñk192 that usually when it touched me ?usually it blows ndamunda-mƱnañk I felt it šΩ̗kw=ank é·nta-ăpΩ̗ya·n=ank é·li-=ank -kšáxΩnk ntamántamΩn=ank. It’s only that, when the wind blows, I feel it on where I sit.

H 10I

wƱñ-gâñg-lä-au‫ލ‬ it was good wí·nk-=ank -lé·w. It’s enjoyable.

H 10J

nƱn-nät wƱn-dji-ai-ǎ‫ ލ‬wän-dji-gwai‫ލ‬ nƱn I think that it came from So now (nƟngƟn ne-wă’)193 I! le‫މ‬-nak-çi-an. my body looks like nΩ̗n=e·t wΩnþí·yayΩw wé·nþi- kwáy nΩ̗n -li·na·kwsΩ̗ya·n.” I think that’s the reason why I look that way now.”

H 10K

190. 191. 192. 193.

Da-‘in-lƱk-Ʊ‫ލ‬-gwİ-o‫ ۅ ލ‬nall’in kpä‫މ‬-săk’in gi-si-gwǎғ k 8dăl-lƱ‫މ‬ Some time after twins grew there alamă‫ލ‬-dai-yä wǎn o‫ލ‬-gwä-çƱç in her body this large girl Seneca na’ot nĊ:h gáíІ:nih ‘this sort of thing is the reason’. pi-|añk for pi-an-añk (i.e., /pԥғya·n=ank/) by haplology. q < h. Seneca nĊ:gĊ:h né:wa’ ‘at this time’.

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tá·=i·n lΩ̖kíhkwi·w nál=i·n kăpé·sak=i·n ki·ší·kΩիwak talí ala·mătáye wán oxkwé·sΩs. Then some time later twins had grown in the belly of that girl. H 11A

nallañg’in yug kpä-săk p‫ࡅܭ‬mi-nä-hot-wăk those twins quarrelled nál=ánk=i·n yó·k kăpé·sak pΩիmi·ne·hó·tΩիwak. Then those twins would argue.

H 11B

ahăsdä-wañk’in o-wăk-añg-‘in one against the other they say a·há·šte·w=ánk=i·n Ω̗wak=ánk=i·n, First one and then the other would say,

H 11C

gil-djİ-gİ‫ލ‬-gai-ä you must be the older “kí·l=þi kíhkayi.” “You must be the oldest.”

H 11D

a-hăs-dä-‘in owăk gil-gätc they said you (is gwƗ)194 a·há·šte·=i·n Ω̗wak, “kí·l=ke·=þ?” Back and forth they said, “Why don’t you be it?”

H 11E

gwä-gwƱn-tchă nƱn li-dä-haiyăn what comes (na’ot ga-yon-ni‫)މ‬195 that you think “kwé·kwΩnþ-=ha nΩ̗n -li·té·hayan?196 “What makes you think that?

H 11F

ça-mík-küp-tcă wak kǎ-mút-çi-çİ 197 you are foolish and you are ugly looking wsá·mi kΩ̗pþa, wá·k kΩիmatsí·si.” You’re too stupid and ugly.”

H 11G

nall’in wă‫ ލ‬wäl-çit o‫ލ‬ this he is handsome he says nál=i·n wá wé·lsi·t Ω̗w, Then the handsome one said,

H 11H 194. 195. 196. 197. 198.

yo‫ލ‬hă gwai-hă gi-çi-kƱ well, (hau’) now (onİҳࢴ) I will be born198 Seneca i:s gwa:h ‘but you’. Seneca na’ot gáíІ:nih ‘what sort of thing is the reason’. Follows Pheasant; same construction in 25H. çi < ç‫ ܭ‬. Seneca hao’ ‘alright’, o:nĊh ‘now’.

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GODDARD

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“yóha, kwáy=ha nki·ší·ki. “ Alright, I’m being born now. H 11I

ambƱ-djăi-ki so you will go the same way (na-İ’ gwaҳ kho nƟñ is)199 nallitcnƱ k-dƱlle-‘an nín-äl-li’‫މ‬-ai-an 200 201 Then (dƗ) there you will go where I will go ámpe·=þe· kí· nál=Ωþ ní ktΩ̗li-á·n nΩ̗n é·li-ayá·n.”202 And you will then go the same way I go.”

H 11J

nall’in gä‫ލ‬-ä-lu gwi-ci-k’in truly (verily) he was born nál=i·n kéhla kwi·ší·ki·n. Then he was indeed born.

H 11K

nalle’in womai-‫ۅ‬aǎçǎ gi-çi-kǎ 203 204 (nƟñgeñsha-yă’-dat) he was born nál=i·n wá mayá·wsΩw ki·ší·kΩw. Then the other of them one was born.

H 12A

nƱn-in-wƱl-wƱñ gwǎk-ǎl nƱn oñ-djƱk-dji-k-kwçƱn where the navel his mother’s there he came out nΩ̗n=i·n wí·lhwi·nk kwΩ̗kal nΩ̗n ó·nþi-kþí·kwsi·n. His mother’s navel was where he crawled out.

H 12B

sƗ-wİ’in mo-nƱ‫ލ‬-lä-o‫ ލ‬wă-wä-ni-dja-nit right away (onƟĶ-shoñkho)205 she died she brought forth šá·wΩ=i·n maníhle·w wá we·ni·þá·ni·t. Right away the mother died.

H 12C

ändă’in gi-çƱ o-le-ăȤ-mƗ‫މ‬-de yol-oȤ-hwe-çăl206 when she finished she finished those grandchildren é·nta-=i·n -kí·ši-wΩիli·xΩիmá·te yó·l o·xwí·sal, When she had finished putting her grandchildren to bed,

199. Seneca nae’ gwa:h koh nĊ:h i:s ‘but also again you’. 200. llitc < ll ; nín- < ní- . 201. Seneca da:h ‘so, and’. 202. ambƱ-djăi (11I) and umbİ-tcİ (13B) write the combination of /ámpe·/ ‘too’ and the future enclitic, which Halfmoon’s transcriptions suggest is /ámpe·=þe·/ and apparently also /ámp=þe·/. 203. çi : ç < c . 204. Seneca nĊ:gĊ:h shayá’da:t ‘this other one (male)’. 205. Seneca o:nĊh shІ:h koh ‘and just then’. 206. -oȤ : -o < -lo .

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H 12D

nall’in as-dä yol 8dan-çăl o-le-ăȤ-ma-wăl those! her daughter she laid her out nál=i·n á·šte· yó·l wtá·n’sal wΩիli·xΩիmá·wal. then, in turn, she laid her daughter to rest.

H 12E

dƱllo-gwä-aȤ-ma-wǎl207 she headed her west (wtΩlohkwe·xΩիmá·wal . . .) (She laid her with her head towards . . .)

H 12F

nall’in ne‫ ލ‬gwǎtci‫މ‬-miñk 8-dƱ‫މ‬n-da wƗl-hän out of doors where it was done dug the grave nál=i·n ní kwáþΩիmΩnk wtΩ̗nta-wá·lhe·n. Then she dug a grave outside there.

H 12G

in äl-u‫ލ‬-çe‫ލމ‬-gƗk wƱn-da‫ލ‬-gwİ-o‫ ލ‬8dƱl-lo-gwä-aȤ-mƗ-wǎl west direction she placed her head í·n é·lΩ-wsíhka·k wΩ̗ntăkwi·w wtΩlohkwe·xΩիmá·wal. And she laid her with her head to the west.

H 12H

in pumdonhalawǎl yol 8dănçul then she talked to her those! her daughter í·n pΩ̖mto·nha·lá·wal yó·l wtá·n’sal, And she addressed her daughter,

H 12I

8dƱl-la-wǎl gi sä-yä‫ލ‬-Ȥäñk Ɨ‫މ‬-nai‫ ލ‬go-li‫ލ‬-don she told her you thou art first! road you prepare ä-la‫ލ‬-dä-Ȥäñk a-wa-çă-‫ۅ‬ga-mä-o‫ލ‬ where it will be clouds on the other side wtΩlá·wal, “kí· še·yé·xΩnk á·nay ko·líhto·n e·lăté·xΩnk awasáhkame·w. saying to her, “You make the first road that goes beyond the sky.

H 13A

kmƗ-wİtc wul-le-aȤ-don you will go you will prepare nƱnitc pƟ‫ލ‬-patit (ne’nehoheoñwe) where they will arrive (ѓիĶ-di-yoĶ’-dăҳүgwƗg)208 yondăllƱ a‫ލ‬-gƱñk nƱñk wä-lip-mau-çƱ‫ލ‬-tit those the righteous people this here on earth kΩիmáwi·-=þ -wΩիlí·xto·n nΩ̗n=Ωþ pehpáhti·t ní·k wé·li-pΩիma·wsíhti·t yó·n talí áhki·nk. You go to prepare the place where those that live right on this earth will come.

207. Added superfluously (cf. 12G). 208. Seneca ne:’ ne’hoh hĊ̗:Іweh . . . ĊdiyІ’dáhgwa:g ‘it is there where . . . they (masc. du.) will be arriving’. The dual is inappropriate.

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H 13B

gi-si-aȤ-do-nƱtc umbİ-tcİ-ni-lon you will have prepared ?so we will (ha-İ’gwakho nƟñ i’a)209 pİ-Ɨ-yäñkw210 äl-gİâ-lǎm-çi-äñk where we will arrive whenever211 we two! will go win-dji-yǎ‫ލ‬a‫ލ‬-gƱñk right here on earth ki·ší·xto·n=Ωþ ámpe·=þe· ní·lo·n pé·yaye·nkw é·lkih-alΩmsΩ̗ye·nkw wΩ̗nþi yó áhki·nk.” You will prepare the place where we, too, will come when we leave this earth.”

H 13C

nall’in 8dă-indă çƗ-gi-han yol o‫ލ‬-hwİ-çal that thus (there) care for those grandchildren nál=i·n wtihΩ̗nta-sa·kí·ha·n yó·l o·xwí·sal.212 Then she always took care of her grandchildren there.

H 13D

gä‫ލ‬-la’in ma‫ލ‬damin-kau‫ ލ‬nall’in verily not long mañk-gi-log yog sgau-hƟn-djo-săk213 u 214 they are large (dƯ-go-wa-nƟ ) kéhla=i·n máh’ta míhkaw nál=i·n mankkí·lo·k yó·k škahΩnšó·šak. And so it happened then that in a short time those little boys were big.

H 13E

nall’in al-lu-wi-nhäl ksƱ‫ލ‬gi-si-gan yon-aȤ-gƱ nál=i·n alΩ̗wi· nhé·l kší-ki·ší·kΩn yó·n áhkΩy. Then the earth grew even faster.

H 13F

wak’in yog sgau-hin-djo-sak ‫ ۅ‬nƱ‫ލ‬-da-wăp-do-nä-wăk wá·k=i·n yó·k škahΩnšó·šak nihta·wa·pto·né·wak. And also those little boys could talk well.

H 14A

nall’in wun Moskim 8dƱllawǎl o‫ލ‬mǎl nál=i·n wán mó·ški·m wtΩlá·wal ó·hΩիmal, Then Moshkim said to his grandmother,

H 14B

yonƱtc 8dƱ-‫ލ‬sinsin 8 wun nă-xİ‫މ‬-smiç “yó·n=Ωþ wtΩší·nsi·n wán nxí·sΩիmΩs: “This will be the name of my younger brother:

209. 210. 211. 212. 213. 214.

Seneca háé’gwah koh nĊ:h i:’ah ‘and also we’. -Ɨ- < -ă- . “whenever” < “wherever”. 8dă-indă /wtihԥғnta-/; cf. 8te‫ލ‬-hindă /wtihԥғnta-/ (9C). hƟn < hƟñ . Seneca digowanĊh ‘they (masc. du.) are big’.

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H 14C

sin-za-wƱtc Mă‫މ‬ha-lƱç ší·nsΩw=Ωþ ‘máhlΩs’, His name will be ‘Flint’,

H 14D

wƱndja-İa-lƱ ni‫ލ‬-lat215 nil n-gİk-na-nal 216 wΩ̗nþΩ é·li-níhla·t ní·l nkΩkΩիná·nal.” because of how he killed our mother.”217

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H 14E

nall’in ma‫ލ‬-mƱ‫ލ‬-kau‫ ލ‬wun’in MoskƱm gwƱ-tcƱ-mo-la-wǎl nil o‫ލ‬mul nál=i·n máh míhkaw wán=i·n mó·ški·m kwΩ̖þi·mo·lá·wal ó·hΩիmal, Then not long after that Moshkim asked his grandmother,

H 14F

8dƱl-la-wǎl awän ha-ni no‫މ‬q wtΩlá·wal, “awé·n=ha ní· nó·xw?” saying to her, “Who is my father?”

H 14G

gİ‫ލ‬-do-gwäç o‫ލ‬ kihtóxkwe·s Ω̗w, And the old lady said,

H 14H

yonhă gäsȤƱ‫މ‬ñk nƱn gi-goȤ “yó·n=ha ké·šxΩnk nΩn kí· kó·xw.” “The Wind is your father.”

H 14I

nall’in wa MoskƱm gwătc-miñg’-in wun-İ-pa-wƱn nál=i·n wá mó·ški·m kwáþΩիmΩnk=i·n wΩիní·pawi·n. Then Moshkim stood outside.

H 14J

nall’in pi‫މ‬namƱn218 ‫ ۅ‬da-wän-tȤƱñk nál=i·n pΩ̗namΩn tá· wé·ntxΩnk. Then he looked at where the wind was blowing from.

H 15A

owİn‫ މ‬yon wän-tȤi-Ķk nƱn wİ‫މ‬gƱn nǎn-no‫މ‬Ȥ 219 Ω̗w=i·n, “yó·n wé·ntxΩnk nΩ̗n wí·ki·n nán nó·xw. And he said, “Where this wind blows from is where my father dwells.

215. 216. 217. 218. 219.

287

‫ ܭ‬added before a , or ‫ < ܭ‬a . n- < ‫ࡅ ܭ‬Ķ- . Pheasant: ‘because he was the cause of our mother’s death’. i‫ < މ‬e‫ މ‬. no‫މ‬Ȥ : Ȥ < q .

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GODDARD

H 15B

wƗ-gİtc wä-mă-gwäk nǎn-nƱtc gwi-sİ-lƱn-dƗ-mƱn wá·k=Ωþ wé·mΩ kwé·k nΩ̗n=Ωþ kwi·še·lΩ̗ntamΩn. And everything will be his creation,

H 15C

wa-kƱtc– wä-mƱ‫ ލ‬a-wä‫މ‬-Ʊ‫ލ‬-săk wá·k=Ωþ wé·mi awe·yayΩ̗sak. and all the animals as well.

H 15D

nƱn-tcİ dƱn-thi‫ ލ‬wƱñtc-mokon nǎn n৒Ȥ 220 nΩ̗n=þi ntΩ̗ntxi-wi·þΩիmΩ̗kwΩn nán nó·xw.” That will be how much my father helps me.

H 15E

nall’in 8dƱl-la-wǎl nil o‫ލ‬-mul nál=i·n wtΩlá·wal ní·l ó·hΩիmal, Then he said to his grandmother,

H 15F

gwai‫ ލ‬nă‫ލ‬-hƱn-dă‫ ލ‬ä-pit no‫މ‬Ȥ 221 “kwáy náh ntá é·pi·t nó·xw. “Now I am going to where my father is.”

H 15G

nall’in 8dăl-mǎç-’in nál=i·n wtalΩիmΩ̗si·n. Then he left there.

H 15H

â-lo-hwät-’in wu-nä-mƱn-’in wi-gwă ä-‫ލ‬däg o‫ލ‬-hwal wi-git. e·ló·xwe·t=i·n wΩիné·mΩn=i·n wí·kwahm éhte·k, ó·xwal wí·ki·t. As he was walking along he saw where there was a house, his father’s house.

H 15I

nƱs-wul’in gwİ-sul nă‫ލ‬po-wǎk ní·šΩիwal=i·n kwí·ssal, náh ăpΩ̗wak, He had two sons, and they were there,

H 15J

wak’in 8dan-sul nis-wuk wak’in nik ‫ۅ‬ wá·k=i·n wtá·n’sal ní·šΩիwak, wá·k=i·n ní·k. and he had two daughters also, and they were, too.

H 16A

in wal-lƱn-no‫ ލ‬na‫ ލ‬äpit 8dƱl-la-wăl’in í·n wá lΩ̗nΩw náh é·pi·t wtΩlá·wal=i·n, The man who was there said to him,

220. Ȥ < q . 221. ä < ‫ ܭ‬.

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H 16B

mä‫ލ‬-tci-o‫ލ‬k-pa‫ ލ‬gwİ‫މ‬s “méhþi yóh kpá, nkwí·s.”222 “Now you have come, my son.”

H 16C

inóȤ Moskim í·n Ω̗w mó·ški·m, Moshkim said,

H 16D

8nƱ-‫ލ‬ga-ma ni ni‫ލ‬-la-dă-mƱ n yon a‫ލ‬gİ‫ލ‬. 223 Ω̗w, “nihn’kΩ̗me· ní· nihlá·tamΩn yó·n áhkΩy. he said, “I own this earth and always will.

H 16E

nondji-yo‫ލ‬han nó·nþi- yóh -á·n. That’s why I come.

H 16F

gwi-İtc mitc kΩիwí·þΩիmi·=þ. You must help me.

H 16G

da-yan-da-mƱn wä-mƱ -a-wä-nik nta·yá·ntamΩn wé·mi awé·ni·k. I need to have all the game animals.”

H 16H

owin wun lino‫ލ‬ Ω̗w=i·n wán lΩ̗nΩw, And the man said,

H 16I

nalƱtc-ní‫ލ‬-lä-ǎ‫ލ‬ “nál=Ωþ ní lé·w. “Then it shall be so.

H 16J

sok să-yä-ǎ‫ ލ‬nda-yandǎm npƟnnolum-wƗtc 224 šΩ̗kw šayé·w nta·yá·ntamΩn, kpΩno·lóhmwa·=þ, But first I want to watch you

H 16K

kmä-la-wa-çƱmwatc yog gİ-ma‫ލ‬-dƱ‫ލ‬-çăk kΩիme·lawΩsíhmwa·=þ yó·k ki·mătΩ̗sak. and your brothers here play a game.

222. /kpá/ ‘you come’: Pheasant preferred the variant inflection kpá·m. 223. 8 added. 224. sok : o < u ; -ǎ‫ < ލ‬-wa .

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GODDARD

H 16L

da-yan-da-mƱn kmä-mä-lun-dƱ‫ލ‬-mwƗtc nta·yá·ntamΩn, kΩիme·me·lantíhmwa·=þ. I want you to have a race.

H 16M

n-gă-‫ލ‬ha-ne‫ ލ‬ape‫މ‬kwǎn. flute225 nkáxani ăpí·kwan. And I have a flute.”

H 16N

nall’in gä‫ލ‬-ă-lİ‫ ލ‬mä-mä-‫ۅ‬lun-hƱ-dƱ-nä-wă‫ލ‬ nál=i·n kéhla me·me·lanthati·né·wa,226 Then they did indeed all race each other.

H 17A

o-wă‫ ލ‬lƱno‫ލ‬ Ω̗w wá lΩ̗nΩw, The man said,

H 17B

gwi-wƱ-nƱ‫ލ‬-la-nä-wƗtc227 yon-a‫ލ‬-gİ‫ލ‬ “kΩիwi·wΩիnihla·né·wa·=þ yó·n áhkΩy.” “You must run the circuit of the earth.”

H 17C

nall’in Moskim o‫ލ‬ nál=i·n mó·ški·m Ω̗w, Then Moshkim said,

H 17D

yontcƱ wonipau-wƱn wun Ȥoiñkw-ha-le-găn “yó·n=þi wΩիní·pawi·n wán xwi·nkwha·lí·kan.” “Let the False Face Person be standing here.”

H 17E

Moskim 8dƱl-la-wǎl mó·ški·m wtΩlá·wal, And Moshkim said to him,

H 17F

gi-letc ksai-yä‫ލ‬-lă‫ލ‬ “kí·l=Ωþ kšayéhla. “You must run ahead.

H 17G

na-lƱtc-ni glâ-pa-lİ‫ލ‬-gol228 nál=Ωþ ní· kΩիla·palíhko·l. And then I shall step in your footsteps.”

225. “flute” < “fruit”. 226. hƱ-dƱ might suggest a collective plural stem with /-hԥti·-/ rather than /-hati·-/, but as this is not attested for any stem, hƱ is taken as an error of hearing or writing. 227. wƱ- added. 228. â < au .

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H 17H

nall’in kwut-da‫ލ‬gİ-Ȥin-nä-wa‫ލ‬ nál=i·n kwΩtăki·xi·nΩիné·wa. Then they started running.

H 17I

sa-wİ’in sa-yä‫ލ‬-lä-ǎ‫ ލ‬wun Ȥoiñkw-ha-le-găn false face šá·wΩ=i·n šayéhle·w wán xwi·nkwha·lí·kan. Right away the False Face Person ran ahead.

H 17J

pä’tci-’in sa-yä‫ލ‬-lä-wǎk wun Moskim 8djo‫މ‬-cul pé·þi=i·n šayehlé·wak wán mó·ški·m wþó·sal. And Moshkim and his friend came in first.

H 17K

ino‫މ‬Ȥ wâ-mƱғ‫ލ‬-lo-çƱç í·n Ω̗w wá mihló·sΩs, The old man said,

H 17L

g‫ࡅܭ‬Ķ‫މ‬-lă‫ ލ‬mä‫ލ‬-tce kau-hin‫ މ‬yon nda‫މ‬-pe-kwun ‫ۅ‬ “kéhla méhþi káwhi·n yó·n ntapí·kwan.” “You have indeed won my flute from me.”

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H 18A

291

nall’in sa‫ލ‬kinodäç’in ă‫ލ‬-dä-ǎ‫ލ‬ nál=i·n šàki·nó·te·s=i·n áhte·w. Then there was a bag there.

H 18B

wă‫ލ‬-tco-wă‫ލ‬-dä-ǎ‫’ ލ‬in wþΩwáhte·w=i·n. And it was full.

H 18C

8do-go-lin yol oq‫މ‬-wul wtΩ̗ko·l=i·n yó·l ó·xwal, And his father said to him,

H 18D

yonhă 8dăl-mo-8don-İtc-wakyon qpe-kwǎn229 “yó·n=ha wtalΩիmó·xwăto·n=Ωþ, wá·k yó·n ăpí·kwan. “You shall take this with you, and this flute as well.”

H 18E

nall’in g‫ࡅܭ‬Ķ‫ލ‬-lä Moskim 8nai-yon-da-mƱn nál=i·n kéhla mó·ški·m wΩիnayó·ntamΩn. Then Moshkim did as he was told and carried it on his back.

H 18F

da’in wă‫ލ‬-lä-mƱñk pä-ya-de‫ ލ‬8dă‫މ‬-mǎnd-a-min-’in kǎk-tco-kwi-yo’in

229. q has 8 written above.

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tá·=i·n wáhlΩիmΩnk pe·yá·te, wtamántamΩn=i·n kwΩ̖kwþΩ̗kwi·w=i·n. And when he got quite a ways away, he felt it move. H 18G

in lİ-dä-häǎ‫ ލ‬yo‫ ލ‬pƟn-a-mƱn í·n li·té·he·w, “yóh, mpΩ̗namΩn.” And he thought, “Well, I’ll take a look at it.”

H 18H

kwäk-hoi-yo lƱk-İ na-zİ‫މލ‬-găn kwé·kw=há=yo lΩ̗kih la·nšíhkan.230 He was surprised at how heavy it was.231

H 18I

nall’in ঄on-hƱn nál=i·n pó·nxi·n. Then he put down his bundle,

H 18J

djǎñ-gİ-wis-’in 8don-nǎm’in þankí·wi·š=i·n wto·nkΩիnΩ̗mΩn. and he opened it a little ways.

H 18K

nall’in pä-djİ kda-mă-nä-Ȥi-nog wä+ma’-a-wä-neg a-wä-Ʊ-çăk ‫ۅ‬ nál=i·n pé·þi-kta·mane·xí·no·k wé·+mΩ awé·ni·k, awe·yayΩ̗sak. Then all the kinds of creatures and animals came trooping out.

H 19A

yu-lak’in 8dƱl-le-ka-wİ‫ލ‬-lƗn yó·lak=i·n wtΩ̗li-kawíhla·n. He fell over backwards,

H 19B

8dă-mă‫ލ‬-gİ-gak kol yol a-wä-Ʊ-‫ލ‬çăl wtamăkihká·ko·l yó·l awe·yayΩ̗sal. and the animals trampled over him.

H 19C

nall’in pum-wâ-wǎl nil o‫ލ‬-djäñk-sal fawn nál=i·n pΩ̖mwá·wal ní·l ohþé·nkšal.232 Then he shot the fawn,

H 19D

o-naȤkiñg 8dăll-ha-wǎl wΩիnáxkΩnk wtalhá·wal. hitting it on the foreleg.

230. =yo : Pheasant =yԥ . 231. The interpretation follows the Seneca version: “. . . and the sack began to be heavy” (Hewitt 1903:235); for the idiom cf. C 2Z and 2CC. 232. Or possibly /wþé·nkšal/; see the remarks on H 19C in section 5.3.

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293

H 19E

pol kolin yol o‫ލ‬tcäñksăl pó·lko·l=i·n yó·l ohþé·nkšal. And the fawn escaped from him.

H 19F

onatnummǎn’in yón wİ‫މ‬p wΩիna·tΩիnΩ̗mΩn=i·n yó·n wí·p. It took his arrow with it.

H 19G

wunämin’in äl-ha-tcil wΩիné·mΩn=i·n e·lhá·þi·l. And he looked at where his shot had hit it.

H 19H

inóȤ nyon gwai‫ ލ‬äl-ho-lan ma-ha-wİ-a‫ލ‬-kă gigigä-wan í·n Ω̗w, “y۲h, kwáy e·lhó·la·n má·h=a· wí·xka kí· ki·ké·wΩn. He said, “Alright, in the place where I shot you, you will never heal now.

H 19I

awän-djǎñk wƱs-kiñdj-gwi-nä-tä233 yon djǎñk 8dau-wİ-hän awé·n=þ=ank wΩski·nþkwi·né·te, yó·n=þ=ank wtawé·he·n. Whenever in the future anyone has sore eyes, this is what he will use.

H 19J

8dă‫ލ‬-he-pi-cin djuñk yon ‫ࡅܭ‬l-ho‫މ‬-lăn a‫ލ‬täk ä-la‫މ‬-mƱñk234 ‫ ۅ‬nƱn pƟ‫މ‬m-İ wtaxihpí·si·n=þ=ank yó·n e·lhó·la·n éhte·k alá·mΩnk nΩ̗n pΩիmΩ̗y. He will treat them with the oil that is inside that place where I shot you.”

H 20A

nall’in na‫ލ‬pan o‫ލ‬mƱñk wak-Ȥoİs-mƱs-săl Măhă-lƱç nál=i·n náh pá·n ó·hΩիmΩnk wá·k xwi·sΩիmΩ̗sal, máhlΩs. Then he came to his grandmother’s, and his younger brother, Flint.

H 20B

8dƱl-la-wǎl-’in yol Ȥoİç-mƱç-çăl MăhalƱç-ăl wtΩlá·wal=i·n yó·l xwi·sΩիmΩ̗sal máhlsal. And he said to his younger brother, Flint,

H 20C

goq‫މ‬-nă‫ ލ‬kmi‫މ‬l goq-nă‫ ލ‬a-wä-çăl 235 “kó·xΩիna kΩիmi·lkó·na awe·yayΩ̗sal.” “Our father gave us animals.”

233. 234. 235. taken to doublet.

-tä < -tƱ . a‫ލ‬t < ‫ލܭ‬t ; consequently, a- ... ä- is written for ä- ... a- . The second goq mirrors the first; the q is spurious. a-wä-çăl (cf. 36H) is be a graphic variant of a-wä-Ʊ-‫ލ‬çăl (six occurrences) rather than a distinct

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294

GODDARD

H 20D

nall’in wä-mƱғ‫ ލ‬gwƱ-djol-di-nä-ǎ‫ލ‬236 nál=i·n wé·mi kwΩ̖þo·ltí·ne·w, Then they all went out,

H 20E

pƱ n-nau-wa-wa-wal yol a-wä-i-çal pΩ̖nawa·wá·wal yó·l awe·yayΩ̗sal. and they saw those animals.

H 20F

wa-mƱ-’in237 a-wä-nek păg-wa‫މ‬-gǎn wé·mi=i·n awé·ni·k pa·kΩիwá·kan. There was a great din from all the creatures.

H 20G

nall’in wun gƱ‫ލ‬-do‫ލ‬-gwäç 8dƱl-la-wǎl yol o-hwİ‫މ‬-çăl nál=i·n wán kihtóxkwe·s wtΩlá·wal yó·l o·xwí·sal, Then the old lady said to her grandsons,

H 20H

wun gwai‫ ލ‬ciñ-dho‫ލ‬238 moĶç “wán kwáy ší·nsΩw ‘mó·s’. “This one is now named ‘Elk’.

H 20I

gă-tcƱtc-wak-wă‫ ލ‬sin-dho-wİtc a-do‫ލ‬w239 ‫ۅ‬ káþ=Ωþ wá·k wá ší·nsΩw=Ωþ ‘ătóhw’. While this one will be named ‘Deer’.”

H 21A

nall-gi-nä-wiñtc wämƱ-’in a-wä-i-săl wƱ‫ލ‬-la-wǎl nál=k=ΩիnΩ̗ wΩ̗nþ wé·mi=i·n awe·yayΩ̗sal wihlá·wal, So then, beginning with that, she named all the animals,

H 21B

wä-mƱ-nik a-wä‫މ‬-lä-so-săk. wé·mi ní·k awehle·šó·šak. as well as all the birds.

H 21C

236. 237. 238. 239. 240.

nall’in da-lƱk-kƱ‫ލ‬-gwi-ǎ‫ ލ‬ciñ-gi-na-wa-wăk-’in Moskim wak Ȥowİk-mƱc-ăl 240 nál=i·n tá· lΩ̖kíhkwi·w ši·nki·nawá·wak=i·n mó·ški·m wá·k xwi·sΩիmΩ̗sal. Then sometime later Moskim and his younger brother were hated.

di < gi . wa- is for wä- . ciñ- < ciĶ- ; dh < ç . o‫ ލ‬: ‫ < ލ‬h (?). In the last word k is written for c .

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H 21D

năllañg’in a-lum-ço-ag 8-da-nä nál=ánk=i·n alΩmsΩ̗wak, wtá·ne·w.241 Then they used to leave and go there.

H 21E

gla-hi-ga-nă-hä-wak’in kΩիlahi·kanahé·wak=i·n. They set traps.

H 21F

ääs-wa-pǎĶk mau-wİ‫ ލ‬pnum-nä-wă‫ ލ‬gwƱl-hi-gan no-wa-wal é·he·š-wá·pank màwi-pΩիnamΩիné·wa kwΩ̖lhi·kanΩwá·wal. And every morning they went to inspect their traps.

H 21G

ngwƱ-de’-in gi‫މ‬s-go‫ ލ‬8dƱl-la-wǎl ’in Ȥoİç-mƱç-çăl nkwΩ̗ti=i·n kí·škΩw wtΩlá·wal=i·n xwi·sΩիmΩ̗sal. One day he said to his younger brother,

H 21H

yo‫ލ‬-gi nȤo-hă ma-wƱ p‫ࡅܭ‬n-nă nil gla-hi-gan-al traps gil-hi-ga-nƱ n-a-năl ‫ۅ‬ our traps “yóh, kí· nxó·ha mawí-pΩիnáh ní·l kΩիlahí·kanal, kΩ̖lhi·kanΩná·nal.” “Alright, you go alone and inspect the traps, our traps.”

H 22A

wä-la-gwi-kİ -’in mă‫ލ‬-dă-’in pä-w‫ ࡅܭ‬wǎn Mă-hă-lƱç we·la·kwí·ke=i·n máh’ta=i·n pé·wi wán máhlΩs. That evening Flint did not come back.

H 22B

ăhă‫ މ‬ino‫މ‬Ȥ Moskim 242 “ahá!” í·n Ω̗w mó·ški·m.243 “Alas!” said Moshkim.

H 22C

să-gi-wät mä‫ލ‬-djİ nƱ‫ލ‬-la wun na-Ȥİç-mǎç “šáxki·w=e·t méhþi níhla·w wán nxí·sΩիmΩs.” “I guess my younger brother must now have been killed.”

H 22D

nall’in sa-wİ‫ ލ‬o-lå-pă-kƱn244 nál=i·n šá·wi wΩիlΩ̗păkΩn. Then right away he wept.

295

241. Pheasant would use wta·né·wa ‘they went {there}’ only with an overt locative complement, such as kóhpi· ‘to the woods’. 242. Hewitt has a note: “Nănă-bu‫މ‬-con (Odj.),” linking Moshkim to the Ojibwe culture hero Nenabozh (Nenaboozhoo). 243. The transcription of /ahá/ is conjectural. 244. a࢓ was changed from original u .

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GODDARD

H 22E

ändă’in lpǎk-kyä nall’in kañz-wä-ǎ‫ލ‬ é·nta-=i·n lpákke, nál=i·n ká·nšΩիwe·w, When he wept, there was a great roar,

H 22F

ktǎ‫ލ‬-wä-ǎ‫ ލ‬nu-wҳ‫ލ‬kw któhΩիwe·w nΩ̗ wáhkw. and the heavens made a loud crack.

H 22G

nall’in wam-a’-wän245 wİ-ca-çǎ‫ލ‬ nál=i·n wé·m awé·n wi·šá·sΩw, Then everyone was scared

H 22H

ä-pi-yǎ‫ ލ‬pi-nƱ‫ލ‬-lä-ǎ‫ ލ‬yu-wa‫ލ‬kw ápih yóh pΩիníhle·w yó wáhkw. that the sky might fall down here.

H 22I

nall’in wăm-’a-wän246 o‫ލ‬w nál=i·n wé·m awé·n Ω̗w, Then everyone said,

H 22J

lau-pi-8-wƱtc247 pa-mal-çu wal nil Ȥoİç-mƱç-căl “lá·pi·w=Ωþ pΩիma·wsΩ̗wal ní·l xwi·sΩիmΩ̗sal.” “His younger brother must come back to life.”

H 22K

nall’in wä-wƱ‫ލ‬-don 8dƱl-letc-la-pi-ǎ‫ ލ‬pa-mal l -çin248 ‫ ۅ‬nil Ȥoİç-mƱççăl nál=i·n we·wíhto·n wtΩ̗li·-=þ lá·pi·w -pΩիmá·wsi·n ní·l xwi·sΩիmΩ̗sal. Then he knew that his younger brother would come back to life.

H 23A

nall’in mi-ă-Ȥa-nƱç-’in249 nál=i·n mi·xanΩ̗si·n. Then he was ashamed at it.

H 23B

nall’in kwopphamin yon wƱ‫ލ‬-gƱ‫ލ‬-dit nál=i·n kwΩphámΩn yó·n wi·kíhti·t. Then he shut up their house.

H 23C

wämƱ‫ލ‬in da-le‫ ލ‬ändă‫ ލ‬popkwă‫ލ‬k ol-lƱ-’in kpa-ha-mƱn wé·mi=i·n talí é·nta-pΩ̗pkwahk ó·li-=i·n -kpahΩիmΩn. Every place where there were holes he plugged them up completely.

245. 246. 247. 248. 249.

wam for wäm . wă < w‫ ࡅܭ‬ҕ . 8 < u‫ ލ‬. ma < ৆-na . ă added.

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H 23D

nall’in na-ga-yäk pä-ǎ‫ ލ‬wă‫ ލ‬Mă‫މ‬haliç nál=i·n na·ká·ye·k pé·w wá máhlΩs. Then after a while Flint came back.

H 23E

ino‫މ‬Ȥ ha‫މ‬nză Mä‫ލ‬-djƱm-bă í·n Ωw, “nxánsa·, méhþi mpá.” And he said, “Older brother, I’m back now.”

H 23F

Nall’in 8dƱ l-la-wăl nál=i·n wtΩlá·wal, Then he said to him,

H 23G

mäĶ-tcƱ kmǎ‫މ‬n-nƱ‫ލ‬-lă “méhþi kΩիmaníhla.” “You’re already dead.

H 23H

nƱn-nitc le-a‫ލ‬-Ȥan da-li-u‫ލ‬ nΩ̗n=Ωþ lí·xΩn tá·li·w. That shall be the rule for all time.

H 23I

a-wäñ-djǎñk ma-nƱ‫ލ‬-la-dƱ‫ ލ‬ä-lum-ço-djǎñk awé·n=þ=ank manihlá·te250 alΩ̗msΩw=þ=ank. Whenever anyone dies, they will go away.

H 23J

wak-djuñk Maha a-wän 8nä-wa-wi wăl wá·k=þ=ank má·h=á· awé·n wΩիne·wa·wí·wal. And no one will ever see them.

H 23K

nall’in pǎkw-num-’in yon ‫ ۅ‬ä‫ލ‬-pi-kwǎn nál=i·n pΩ̖kwΩիnΩ̗mΩn yó·n ăpí·kwan. Then he stuck the flute through a hole.

H 24A

8dƱl-la-wul-’in wtΩlá·wal=i·n, And he said to him,

H 24B

yon gwai‫ ލ‬8dƱl-lƱ-lƱғn251 “yó·n kwáy ktΩ̗lΩիlΩn.252 “I now tell you this:

250. /-te/: perhaps [tԥ]. 251. /kt-/ as 8d also in 30C. 252. Apparently differs from Moraviantown ktΩ̗llΩn.

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298

GODDARD

H 24C

yon-netc kdƱl-lİ-‘an İ-lƱ’-at nǎn gİ-gi-nă‫ލ‬ yó·n=Ωþ ktΩ̗li-á·n: é·li-á·t nán kΩ̗kΩիna. This will be the way you go: the way our mother went.

H 24D

yä-lak-İtc ktƱ n-dă o-le‫ލ‬-don nƱn a-nai‫ ލ‬ledj hau däaȤ-hƱn yé·lak=Ωþ ktΩ̗nta-wΩիlíhto·n nΩ̗n á·nay, lí·-=þ -lxawăté·xΩn. Over there you will make that road so that it has a fork in it.

H 24E

nƱn-djİ kdup-pin ktcƱ ap-tcİ dƗ-lí‫ލ‬. nΩ̗n=þi ktápi·n=þi á·pþi tá·li·. There you must stay for ever and ever.

H 24F

İl-gƱ‫ލ‬-gwİ tc ä-lum-çi-ăn kpo-dat-da-min-itc-yon ä‫ލ‬pİ-kwǎn e·lkíhkwi·-=þ -alΩmsΩ̗yan, kpo·tá·tamΩn=Ωþ yó·n ăpí·kwan. At the time you leave, you must blow this flute.

H 24G

ända-djuñk a-wän Ma-nƱ‫ލ‬-la-dä pin-da-min-djuñk254 nƱn k-dǎp-pİkwǎn é·nta·-=þ=ank awé·n -manihlá·te, pΩ̗ntamΩn=þ=ank nΩ̗n ktapí·kwan. And whenever anyone dies, they will hear that flute of yours.

H 24H

wa-ketc nƱn na-nitc-’in lƟ‫ލ‬l-pit wá·k=Ωþ nΩ̗n nán=Ωþ=i·n léhlpi·t.” And with that they will comply willingly.”

H 24I

8dƱl-la-wǎl ‫ۅ‬ wtΩlá·wal, And he said to him,

H 25A

yon-tcƱ-ki wun da-gwİ-ä‫ލ‬255 kdƱl-le’-an “yó·n=þi kí· wΩ̗ntăkwi·w ktΩ̗li-á·n. “This is the direction you must go.

H 25B

wa-ketc go-dal-lo gƗ-ga-nƱ‫ލ‬neg ma-dǎn-do-wăg wá·k=Ωþ ko·talohká·kani ní·k mătan’tó·wak. And the devils shall be your servants.

H 25C

ni-ketc lƟ‫ލ‬-loç wä-djik ní·k=Ωþ lehlo·sΩիwé·þi·k. They will be the ones that burn people.”

253

253. a-min-| < um| < uni| ; |itc < |utc (preceded by added and deleted ni ); ‫ < ލ‬h. 254. dä < de . 255. -ä‫ ލ‬apparently written for -o‫ ލ‬.

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H 25D

tci-pau-wä-nät 256 (þí·pawe·n=e·t.) (Maybe (if it’s) a bad person.)

H 25E

nall’in wun Mă-hă-lƱç ä-lum-cǎ‫ލ‬ nál=i·n wán máhlΩs alΩ̗msΩw. Then Flint left.

H 25F

ma-wƱ-’in lƱmat-dă‫ލ‬pin nƱn ä-lun nƱn dji kduppƱn. máwi-=i·n -lΩիmátăpi·n nΩ̗n é·lΩnt, “nΩ̗n=þi ktápi·n.” And he went and sat down in the place he had been told to stay.

Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

H 25G

nall’in kwu-tce-mo-la-wǎl o‫ލ‬-măl nál=i·n kwΩ̖þi·mo·lá·wal ó·hΩիmal, Then he asked his grandmother,

H 25H

gwä-gw‫ࡅܭ‬n-tchă mă‫ލ‬-dă-gi mim-hwa-wǎt nik o‫މލ‬-pƟ-năk “kwé·kwΩnþ-=ha máh’ta kí· -mi·mhwá·wat ní·k óhpΩիnak?” “How come you never eat those potatoes?”

H 25I

O+. pes-hăĶk nmo‫ލ‬-hƗ-ok nipa‫މ‬-wƱ‫ލ‬ “o·, pí·š=ank nΩիmohá·wak ni·pá·wi.” “Oh, at night I do eat them.”

H 25J

nall’in 8dƱl-li-dä-hon nál=i·n wtΩli·té·ha·n, Then he thought,

H 25K

gwai-yots ǎp‫މ‬-pƱ‫ ލ‬ni-‫ۅ‬pa-wƱ‫ ލ‬kca-ki-hƱl “kwáy=Ωþ ápih ni·pá·wi ksa·kí·hΩl.” “Tonight I’ll watch you.”

H 26A

nall’in 8ksƱñ-gİ-aȤ-hi-nƱn nál=i·n wšΩnki·xí·nΩn. Then he lay there.

H 26B

ma-sin-g‫ލࡅܭ‬-hă-lä257 ga-wİ-u‫ލ‬ má·š=i·n kéhla kawí·w. He pretended that he was really asleep.

256. Added at the top of the page, presumably as an annotation of 25C. 257. lä < lu .

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300

GODDARD

H 26C

ä‫ލ‬-lƱk-kƱ’in gi-să-tǎk-wit yol o‫ލ‬pƟ‫މ‬n-al ehΩիlΩ̗kih-=i·n258 -ki·šătΩ̗pwi·t yó·l óhpΩիnal, At the time she always finished cooking the potatoes,

H 26D

nall’in puksǎm-in nä‫ލ‬-Ȥai‫ ލ‬ä‫ލ‬-gwit gä-wi-dä nál=i·n pΩ̖kwšΩ̗mΩn nΩ̗ xáy éhăkwi·t ke·wí·te. then he cut a hole in the hide he always covered himself with when he slept.

H 26E

nƱn’in 8dƱl-le pnau-wa-nal o‫ލ‬mǎl nΩ̗n=i·n wtΩ̗li-pΩիnawá·nal ó·hΩիmal. Through that he watched his grandmother.

H 26F

nall’in gwo‫ލ‬-pen-na nil 8dă‫މ‬-ho-çăl nál=i·n kwóhpΩիna·n ní·l wtahó·sal. Then she took out her cooking pot.

H 26G

nall’in aus-dä 8dƱl-lƱ-khe-kin näg-ma‫ ލ‬o‫ލ‬-să-gi-no-däĶ nál=i·n á·šte· wtΩli·náxke·n259 né·kΩիma wšaki·nó·te·nk. Then next she reached into her bag.

H 26H

nall’in kdin-num Ȥoăç‫މ‬-kwƱm nál=i·n ktΩ̗nΩm xwáskwi·m. Then she took out some corn.

H 26I

nall’in pau-wƱñ-gwä-min nál=i·n pàwi·nkwé·hΩիmΩn. Then she shelled it.

H 26J

nall’in gwa‫ލ‬-gă-mo-wƱn nál=i·n kwá·xkamwi·n. Then she made parched corn.

H 26K

nall’in ‫ ۅ‬pwăpwăkdä-wăl nál=i·n pwahpwahkté·wal. Then (the kernels) popped.

H 27A

nall’in as-dä tkwă-ha-gan nall’in then again mortar 8sokw-ha-min [8sokw-ha-mƱn-ăl]260 ’in

258. Pheasant pronounces this as [‫ܭ‬hԥࡅlԥk·i‫ݦ‬i·n]. 259. See the discussion in section 4.2. 260. Brackets added.

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nál=i·n á·šte· tăkwahá·kan, nál=i·n wšΩkwhámΩn, wšΩkwhámΩիnal=i·n.261 Then turning to the mortar, she pounded them. H 27B

nall’in w‫ލࡅܭ‬ha-lan nil 8dă-ho-çăl nál=i·n wé·hala·n ní·l wtahó·sal. Then she hung her pot (over the fire).

H 27C

nall’in dă‫ލ‬-dă-kuç-ça-pan’in 8le‫ލ‬-do nál=i·n tahtăkΩsá·pa·n wΩիlíhto·w. Then she made thick mush.

H 27D

năllwak’in asde ’in wă‫ލ‬găn kdƱn-nǎm wƱñ-djİ-nƱ 8-sa-ki-no-däñk nál=wa·k=i·n á·šte·=i·n wáxkan ktΩ̗nΩm wΩ̗nþi ní wšaki·nó·te·nk. Then next she also took a bone from her bag.

H 27E

nall’in gwă-khă-mƱn ne-wa‫ލ‬-gan nál=i·n kwahkhámΩn ní wáxkan. Then she scraped the bone.

H 27F

nİl-lo‫ލ‬-kha-mƱn-Ʊc263 8dƱl‫މ‬-la-hän nƱn-ho‫މ‬-çƱñk ní lohkhámΩիnΩš wtΩlá·he·n nΩ̗n264 hó·ssΩnk. And she put the powder into the pot.

H 27G

the’-in-glop sǎm-map-wä-o‫ ލ‬nƱn dă‫ލ‬dă-kuç-þa-pƗn šá·wΩ=i·n kwΩիlΩ̗p šamá·pΩիwe·w nΩ̗n tahtăkΩsá·pa·n. Right away the thick mush turned greasy.

H 27H

nall’in o‫ލ‬-dƱn-dă ma-‫ۅ‬met-çƱn wun gi-djo‫ލ‬-gwäs nál=i·n wtΩ̗nta-ma·mí·tsi·n wán kihþóxkwe·š. Then the little old lady took her time eating her meal there.

H 28A

nall’in wa Moskim 8dal-le‫މ‬-ga-wİn nál=i·n wá mó·ški·m wtálΩ-kawí·n.265 Then Moshkim fell asleep.

H 28B

262

İ-yup-pa-wİ-u‫ލ‬-’in gİ‫ލ‬-djo‫ލ‬-gwäs ä-lum-çǎ‫ލ‬ ayΩpá·wi·w=i·n kihþóxkwe·š alΩ̗msΩw. Early the next morning the little old lady left.

261. Indicative substituted for subordinative and then bracketed. 262. 8 < o . 263. Ʊc < ish . 264. /nԥғn/ ‘that (inan.)’ for expected nán ‘that (animate)’. Compare, with the short form of the animate demonstrative ná modifying a locative animate noun, ná wΩ̗nþ míhtkwΩnk ‘from the tree’ (Halfmoon 1852:5). 265. /wtálԥ/ (also 4G; see discussion in section 4.2): Pheasant wtálΩիmΩ-.

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302

GODDARD

H 28C

ma-wƱ’-in monhi‫މ‬pƟn-äu mawí-=i·n -mo·nhíhpΩիne·w. She went to dig potatoes.

H 28D

nal-laȤ-’in Moskim no‫ލ‬-dan o‫ލ‬mǎl g‫ࡅܭ‬Ķ-ga-wit nál=ax=i·n mó·ški·m náh wtá·n ó·hΩիmal kéhkawi·t. So then Moshkim went to where his grandmother slept.

H 28E

nall’in o-na-din-a-mǎn nƱn o‫ލ‬-să-kƱ-nǀ-däs o‫ލ‬-mǎl nál=i·n wΩիna·tΩիnΩ̗mΩn nΩ̗n wšaki·nó·te·s ó·hΩիmal. Then he picked up his grandmother’s bag.

H 28F

gwƱt-nu-mƟn266 ’in n‫ࡅܭ‬n Ȥoás-kwƱm267 kwΩ̖tΩիnΩ̗mΩn=i·n nΩ̗n xwáskwi·m. And he took out the corn.

H 28G

nall’in gwă‫ލ‬-ga-mo-wƱn nál=i·n kwá·xkamwi·n. Then he made parched corn.

H 28H

wä-mun-no-mƱn-’in yo-Ȥoaç-kwƱm we·mΩիnΩ̗mΩn=i·n yó xwáskwi·m. He took all of the corn.

H 28I

nall’in İl pwă-pwă-ktäk a-yă‫ލ‬-kwin dǎ‫ލ‬pe ‫ ۅ‬msum-mo‫ލ‬ nál=i·n é·l-pwahpwáhkte·k, á·yaxkw=i·n tóhpi-mšámΩw. Then, as it popped, eventually there was a whole big pile of it.

H 29A

nall’in as-dä268 tǎ‫ލ‬-kwƗ-hƗ‫މ‬-găn. nál=i·n á·šte· tăkwahá·kan. Then next (he took) the mortar.

H 29B

nall’in 8so-khwa‫މ‬-mƱn269 nál=i·n wšΩkwhámΩn. Then he pounded it.

H 29C

wak’in ho‫މ‬-sǎl gwǎt-na-wăl wá·k=i·n hó·ššal kwΩ̖tΩիná·wal. And he took out the little pot.

266. Ʊ < ǎ . 267. Ȥ < M ; moȤoaskwim is written above. See the remarks on H 28F in section 5.3. 268. ä < e . 269. khw < kw .

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H 29D

’in mƱ‫ލ‬tc-ko-sƱs a-wä-hä-o‫ލ‬ í·n mihþkwΩ̗šΩš awé·he·w, And with a little stick

H 29E

papa‫ލ‬ka-ma-wal’in yol ho‫މ‬-sǎl pàpăkamá·wal=i·n yó·l hó·ššal. he repeatedly struck the little pot.

H 29F

a-lum-mi-go-in na-ho-çƱç.270 alΩmí·kΩw=i·n ná hó·sΩs. And the pot grew in size.

H 29G

a-lu-wİ -’in tǎ‫ލ‬-pkil na-ho-çƱç ’in alΩ̗wi·=i·n tóhpki·l ná hó·sΩs. The pot was a lot larger.

H 29H

nall’in wä‫މލ‬-hă-la-wăl nil hoç‫މ‬-çǎl nál=i·n we·halá·wal ní·l hó·ssal. Then he hung the pot (over the fire).

H 29I

nall’in o-le‫ލ‬-don nƱn dă‫ލ‬-da-kǎç-þa-pan nál=i·n o·líhto·n nΩ̗n tahtăkΩsá·pa·n. Then he made that thick mush.

H 29J

wä-mƱ’-in yon wa‫ލ‬kăn na‫ލ‬-8dƱl-le djoç-çka-hƱñ271 wé·mi=i·n yó·n wáxkan náh wtΩ̗li-þo·ská·he·n. And he threw into it all of that bone.

H 29K

thaii-’in gä‫ލ‬-la thƗ-pwä-o‫ލ‬-ne-‫ۅ‬pƟm-i. 272 šá·wΩ=i·n kéhla txá·pΩիwe·w ní pΩիmΩ̗y. Right away there was ever so much of that grease.

H 30A

nall’in o‫ލ‬-da-yƟn-dă mƗmitsin nál=i·n wta·yΩ̗nta-ma·mí·tsi·n.273 Then he took his time eating his meal there.

H 30B

270. 271. 272. 273.

303

nall’in mă‫ލ‬dămiĶkau o‫ލ‬mul pä-o‫ލ‬ nál=i·n máh’ta míhkaw ó·hΩիmal pé·w. Then not long after, his grandmother came back.

çƱç < sus . çka- < ça- . aii < ai : thƗ : th < d . /wta·yԥғnta-/: Pheasant rejects the |Ca·-| reduplication and would say wtΩ̗nta-.

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304

GODDARD

H 30C

gwäk-hă‫ ލ‬8dƱl-l-lo‫ލ‬-gä 274 “kwé·kw=ha ktΩlalóhke?” “What are you doing?”

H 30D

O’in Moskim nuç-çap-çe‫މ‬ Ω̗w=i·n mó·ški·m, “nΩ̖sá·psi.” Moshkim said, “I made mush.”

H 30E

o+, mä‫ލ‬-tce gİĶ-lă‫ ލ‬gƱt-ma gi hƱ‫ލ‬. “o·, méhþi kéhla kΩ̖tΩիma·kí·hi.” “Oh, you truly have made me destitute.”

H 30F

Wǎ‫ލ‬, inoȤ Moskim “wó,” í·n Ω̗w mó·ški·m.275 “Gosh,” said Moskim.

H 30G

dan-hă wƱn-dji-ya-yo yon Ȥoaç-kwƱm “tá·n=ha wΩnþí·yayΩw yó·n xwáskwi·m?” “Where does this corn come from?”

H 30H

ino‫މ‬Ȥ gİ‫ލ‬-djo‫ލ‬-gwäs í·n Ω̗w kihþóxkwe·š, The little old lady said,

H 30I

yo-lok w‫ࡅܭ‬n-dă-gwİ-o‫ލ‬dƱn-da-läl ma-năk nig linƗpä-wak. “yó·lak wΩ̗ntăkwi·w ntΩ̗ntale·lΩիmá·nak ní·k lΩ̖na·pé·wak.” “I think those people are way over in that direction.”

H 30J

H‫ࡅܭ‬ñ, danha‫ ލ‬as-däo‫ ލ‬wƱn-dji-ai-o‫ ލ‬no-wă‫މލ‬găn ‫ۅ‬ “hͅ·, tá·n=ha á·šte·w wΩnþí·yayΩw nΩ̗ wáxkan?”276 “O.K., so then where does the bone come from?”

H 31A

nall’in 8dal-ma—ta-kƱ-’la৆ nál=i·n wtalΩիmahtăkíhla·n. Then he ran off from there.

H 31B

nall’in năpä-ya-te‫ ލ‬o-dä-näñ nál=i·n náh pe·yá·te o·té·ne·nk. Then when he got to a town,

274. ă < o ; for /kt/ as 8d cf. 24B. 275. The transcription of /wó/ is conjectural. 276. The transcription of /hӁ·/ is conjectural.

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H 31C

nall’in 8dƱl-la-wăl ’in yol mǎ-dă‫ލ‬-dǎl nál=i·n wtΩlá·wal=i·n yó·l màtáhtal, then he said to his bow,

H 31D

gil-djƱ’in-ă-to‫ލ‬ “kí·l=þi=i·n ătóhw.” “You must be what will be called a deer,”

H 31E

nallwak’in asdä 8dƱl-la-wul wİpăl nál=wa·k=i·n á·šte· wtΩlá·wal wí·pal. Then he said to his arrows,

H 31F

gi-lo-watc’in wİ-aȤ-tcä-wăk “ki·ló·wa·=þ=i·n wi·xþé·wak. “You must be what will be called wolves.

H 31G

yon tci‫ މ‬ktƱ-sƱ-lau-nä-wă‫ލ‬277 yó·n=þi ktΩšihla·né·wa: And here’s how you must run:

H 31H

pä-aȤ-hot-djİ mǎ-da-la-wǎl nun wİ-aȤ-tcä-o‫ ލ‬nil ă-do‫ލ‬-wăl pé·xo·t=þi màtalá·wal nán wí·xþe·w ní·l ătóhwal.” The wolf must nearly catch up to the deer.”

H 31I

nall’in nä kma dăl-m‫ࡅܭ‬ç-þƱn nál=i·n né·kΩիma wtalΩիmΩ̗si·n. Then for his part he left there.

H 31J

nall’in ne 8dƱn-dă miĶ-los a-wä-ha-çin nál=i·n ní wtΩ̗nta-mihlo·ssawe·há·si·n. Then he pretended to be an old man in that place.

H 31K

nall’in nähä-o‫ ލ‬wƱg-wa-miñg wun ‫ ۅ‬miĶ-lo-sƱs nál=i·n náh é·w wi·kwáhmΩnk wán mihló·sΩs. Then that old man went to a house,

H 32A

in-pen-dji-gä-o‫ލ‬ í·n pi·nþí·ke·w. and he went in.

H 32B

wä-mƱ’-in gañ-zä-lin-dum-mog278 yog linƗpä-wăk wé·mi=i·n ka·nše·lΩ̗ntamo·k yó·k lΩ̖na·pé·wak. All the people were surprised.

277. nä < tcä (?). 278. gañ- < ga- .

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306

GODDARD

H 32C

kmohoçƟn-nă pä-o‫ލ‬ “kΩիmoxo·msΩ̗na pé·w. “Our grandfather has come.

H 32D

hum-mo mƱtc-wa‫މ‬-găn xámo·h mi·þΩիwá·kan.” Give him some food to eat.”

H 32E

na-ne-lƱ‫’ ލ‬in mit-çit ’in pƱn-da-wä-wăk wi-aȤ-tcä-o‫ ލ‬pä-tcƱ nâ-dƱñgät 279 nál né·li-=i·n -mí·tsi·t=i·n, pΩntawé·wak wí·xþe·w pé·þi-nawatΩ̗nke·t. Then while he was eating, they heard a wolf coming barking on the run.

H 32F

äl-o‫ލ‬-gwä‫ލ‬-tit 8nä-wa-wa-wăl ä-gwă‫ލ‬-lat nun ă‫ލ‬-do‫ލ‬w e·lohkwéhti·t, wΩիne·wa·wá·wal e·kwáhla·t nán ătóhw. As they looked, they saw that deer coming running.

H 32G

wa-gwİ-aq-tcä-o‫ ލ‬pä-aȤ-hot ’in mǎ-dǎl-la-wǎl wá·k wí·xþe·w pé·xo·t=i·n màtalá·wal. And the wolf nearly caught up to it.

H 32H

nall’in wämƱ‫ލ‬-awän naȤ sƱ‫ލ‬lä-o‫ލ‬ nál=i·n wé·mi awé·n náh šíhle·w. Then everyone ran there.

H 32I

nall’in nhóqhă’in280 nƱn 8dap-pin ‫ۅ‬ nál=i·n nxó·ha=i·n nΩ̗n wtápi·n. Then he was alone in that place.

H 33A

nall’in dƱl-lak-tcä‫ލ‬-lƱ n Ȥoaç-kwƱm-ăl wä‫ލ‬-lƗ-kil nál=i·n wtΩla·kþéhlΩn xwaskwí·mal wehlá·ki·l. Then he leapt over to where some ears of corn were hanging.

H 33B

nis-gă-gwap-yä ’in naȤ-pe-ktcƱ-lä-o‫ލ‬ ni·šăkahkwá·pΩիye=i·n náxpi-kþíhle·w. And he ran out with two strings of it.

H 33C

nall’in onum-ma la-wa-wal yog281 linƗpäwăk nál=i·n wΩիnama·la·wá·wal yó·k lΩ̖na·pé·wak. Then the people noticed him.

279. â < u . 280. hă’in added. 281. yog added.

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H 33D

pis-hă’-in 8na-walawawal pí·š=há=i·n wΩիna·wala·wá·wal. They did pursue him, (but to no avail).282

H 33E

nall’in nă‫ލ‬păn o’mƱñk nál=i·n náh pá·n ó·hΩիmΩnk. Then he arrived at his grandmother’s.

H 33F

ino‫މ‬q mă‫ ލ‬yon Ȥoaç-kwƱm í·n Ω̗w, “máh yó·n xwáskwi·m. And he said, “Here’s the corn.

H 33G

gwä-yotc-hă çi-kwǎñg-gä kta-gi-hä‫މ‬n a-lind yol kwáy=Ω̗þ=ha si·kwánke ktahkí·he·n a·lΩ̗ntΩ yó·l. Now you must plant some of these in the spring.

H 33H

gwai‫ ލ‬ha’asdäo‫ ލ‬dăl-me‫މ‬ç-þƱ ‘dan ä-pƱ‫ލ‬-tit amo‫މ‬Ȥkwăk beavers kwáy=ha á·šte·w ntalΩիmΩ̗si tá·n e·píhti·t amóxkwak.” And now next I will go to where beavers live.”

H 33I

na‫ލ‬-in-pa-o‫ލ‬ náh=i·n pé·w. And he arrived there.

H 33J

mai-au-ço-wal’in~ nƱ‫ލ‬-lä-o‫ލ‬ maya·wsΩ̗wal=i·n níhle·w. And he killed one.

H 33K

nall’in 8tăl-mi-çƱn nál=i·n wtalΩիmΩ̗si·n. Then he left there.

H 33L

na‫ލ‬-in pä-o‫ ۅ ލ‬o‫ލ‬-mƱñk náh=i·n pé·w ó·hΩիmΩnk. Then he arrived at his grandmother’s.

H 34A

inóq. ma‫ ލ‬gw wun amóȤkw í·n Ω̗w, “máh wán amóxkw.” And he said, “Here’s the beaver.”

307

282. The translation is conjectural, assuming an idiom with pí·š, which is used to assert the opposite of what might be assumed. The Seneca version has ‘verily, they did not at all pursue him’ (Hewitt 1903:251).

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H 34B

GODDARD

nall’in gwǎtc-mƱñk 8dƟ‫މ‬n-dă283 pȤoi-nƗ-wa-wal wal nál=i·n kwáþΩիmΩnk wtΩ̗nta-pxwi·na·wá·wal. Then they skinned it outside.

H 34C

nall’in nä-lƱ‫ ލ‬pȤoİ-ni-gä-tit nál=i·n né·li-pxwi·ni·kéhti·t,284 Then, as they were doing the skinning,

H 34D

nall’in mo‫ލ‬-go’in 8dan-zİ-pă‫ލ‬-don in wun gƱ‫ލ‬-djo‫ލ‬-gwäs nál=i·n móhkw=i·n wtansi·páhto·n=i·n wán kihþóxkwe·š, then that little old lady grabbed a handful of blood,

H 34E

’in 8dƱl-la-hän nƱn 8-ço-ka-nƱñk o‫ލ‬-Ȥoİ-çăl í·n wtΩlá·he·n nΩ̗n wsó·kanΩnk o·xwí·sal. and she threw it at her grandson’s backside.

H 34F

8dƱl-la-wal ’in gniç-gănt-da-ma‫ލ‬ wtΩlá·wal=i·n, “kΩիni·skántama.” And she said to him, “You’re menstruating.”

H 34G

ino‫މ‬q wăg Moskim í·n Ω̗w wá·k mó·ški·m, And Moshkim said,

H 34H

gƱç-çă‫ މ‬mһ-ci-gañk-hă lino‫ ލ‬nƱn o‫ލ‬-dƱn-dƱn “kΩ̖sá·! máši·k=ánk=ha lΩ̗nΩw nΩ̗n wtΩ̗ntΩn.” “For shame! That never happens to a man!”

H 34I

se-gwİn-çäk gwut-ya-lƱñtc an-zİ-num nƱn ‫ ۅ‬moȤkw se-gwİn-çäk 285 nkwΩtΩիyá·lΩnþ ánsΩիnΩm, nΩ̗n móhkw.286 [??] he scooped up a handful, of that blood.287

H 35A

8dƱl-la-wul-’in nil o‫ލ‬mul wtΩlá·wal=i·n ní·l ó·hΩիmal, And he said to his grandmother,

283. 8 < o . 284. Intransitive (with indefinite object); Pheasant preferred the corresponding transitive, né·li-pxwi·náhti·t ‘as they were skinning it’. 285. An unresolved crux. 286. The occurrence of an absolute verb (ánsΩիnΩm ‘he scoops [it, indefinite] up’) with a definite object (nΩ̗n ‘that [inan.]’) is completely anomalous; the commas in the text and translation are to suggest a break in the construction. 287. The Seneca version has here “. . . and cast it between the thighs of his grandmother.”

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H 35B

gi-laq-kwoi kpa-lƱ‫ ލ‬äpƱ‫ލ‬ ҕ “kí·l=ax kwáy kpáli-ăpí.”288 “It’s you who are menstruating.”

H 35C

nall’in nǎn gƱ‫ލ‬-djo‫ލ‬-gwäs lpǎk-’in nál=i·n nán kihþóxkwe·š lpákw=i·n. Then that little old lady wept.

H 35D

8dƱl-la-wal’in o‫ލ‬-hwİ-çăl wtΩlá·wal=i·n o·xwí·sal, And she said to her grandson,

H 35E

da-ne-djañk-hă çă-gi a-wä‫މ‬n nƱn o‫ލ‬-dƱndƱn “tá·n=Ω̗þ=ánk=ha sáhki· awé·n nΩ̗n wtΩ̗ntΩn?” “How long will a person be like that?”

H 35F

ino‫މ‬q Moskim í·n Ω̗w mó·ški·m, And Moshkim said,

H 35G

nungätc än-tȤİ‫ ލ‬çǎp-çit nǎn-ne‫ ލ‬o‫ލ‬-djäñ-gİs “nΩ̗n=ke·=þ é·ntxi-sápsi·t nán ohþé·nkΩš.” “Well, it will be as many as the spots on the fawn.”

H 35H

O+. ino‫މ‬q gi-djo‫ލ‬-gwäs çƗ-mƱ‫ ލ‬kwǎn‫މ‬-i8 “o·,” í·n Ω̗w kihþóxkwe·š, “wsá·mi-kwΩիní·w.” “Oh,” said the little old lady, “It’s too long.”

H 35I

nall’in Moskim 8sƱn nál=i·n mó·ški·m wsí·n, Then Moshkim said,

H 35J

da-nƟnt-hƗ’ “tá nΩ̗n tx=á·?” “How much should it be?”

H 35K

inoq wun gƱ‫ލ‬-djo‫ލ‬-gwäs í·n Ω̗w wán kihþóxkwe·š, And the little old lady said,

309

288. kpáli-ăpí (lit., something like ‘you’re staying apart’), is presumably a euphemism for ‘you’re menstruating’; cf. (with a free particle instead of a preverb) palí· ktápí ‘you’re in a different place’.

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310

GODDARD

H 35L

ningätc änt-Ȥai-ä‫ލ‬-kha-çit nǎn po‫ލ‬-kwa-peç‫ۅ‬ “nΩ̗n=ke·=þ e·ntxe·khá·si·t nán póxkwăpi·s. “As many as the stripes on a chipmunk.”

H 36A

ino‫މ‬q nǎn Moskim í·n Ω̗w nán mó·ški·m, And Moshkim said,

H 36B

yoĶhă, na-lăk-tcİ‫މ‬289 kma-wİ ma-wi‫މ‬-gä “y۲ha, né·lak=þi kΩիmáwi-mawí·ke.” “All right, you must go and camp a ways off.”

H 36C

na-lin-gä‫ލ‬-hă-lä nä-lăk’in gİ-aȤ-khă‫މ‬-gwä o‫ލ‬-dƱ‫މ‬n-dă din-dä-o‫ލ‬-hän nál=i·n kéhla né·lak=i·n ki·xkáhkwe wtΩ̗nta-tΩnté·whe·n. Then, as she had been told to do, she made her fire a ways off by a tree.

H 36D

nall’in ne 8dăp-pin nä-wog-ne‫ލ‬ nál=i·n ní wtápi·n ne·wó·kwΩիni·. Then she stayed there four days.

H 36E

nall’in gwİ-gäĶ. nál=i·n kwí·ke·n. Then she was over it.

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H 36F

in Moskim oq 290 í·n mó·ški·m Ω̗w, And Moshkim said,

H 36G

yo‫މ‬q pemiyo‫ ލ‬wă‫ލ‬-djo-wa-তwä-kƟtc ändă wa-la-ka-mi‫މ‬-gäk “yóh, pΩիmΩ̗y wþΩwpé·kΩþ é·nta-wa·lahkamí·ke·k. “Alright, let it be full of oil in a hollow in the ground.”

H 36H

nall’in wä-ma’-wä-çăl oñ-dji-ma-wăl291 nál=i·n wé·m awe·yayΩ̗sal o·nþi·má·wal. Then he summoned all the animals.

H 36I

wä-mä-’in a-wä-i-săk nă‫ލ‬päl-to-wăk wé·mΩ=i·n awe·yayΩ̗sak náh pe·ltΩ̗wak. And all the animals came there.

289. na- written for nä- . 290. Indented as a new paragraph. 291. dj < g .

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H 36J

nall’in o-no-‫ۅ‬tcİ292 kdji-mo-lan nál=i·n wΩիnó·þi-kwþi·mó·la·n. Then he asked them one after the other,

H 37A

da-netc-ha-gi-kdƱl-nu-mƱn wäĶ-dj‫ࡅܭ‬tc wİdj-mut nǎn lƱnƗpä-o‫ލ‬. “tá·n=Ω̗þ=ha kí· ktΩlnΩ̗mΩn wé·nþ-=Ωþ -wí·þΩիmat nán lΩ̖ná·pe·w?” “What will you do to help the people?”

H 37B

Nall’in măqk O noৢim-wİtc nál=i·n máxkw Ω̗w, “no·ší·mwi·=þ. Then the bear said, “I shall flee.

H 37C

ga-da-wİtc-ksƱ-hă-lă? nkátawi·-=þ -kšíhla.” I’m going to run fast.”

H 37D

Nyo‫ލ‬-inoq Moskim “y۲h,” í·n Ω̗w mó·ški·m. “Alright,”said Moshkim.

H 37E

Nall’in Otc-wă‫ލ‬-don wİ-o-căl nƱn wİ‫ލ‬-gƗ‫މ‬-tƱñk na maqkw nál=i·n o·þΩիwáhto·n wΩիyó·ššal wihká·tΩnk ná máxkw. Then he filled the bear’s legs with pieces of meat.

H 37F

sa-wİ - ’in a-mǎñk-ga-tä-o‫ލ‬293 šá·wΩ=i·n amankká·te·w. Instantly he had big legs.

H 37G

wak’in 8tƱl-la-wǎl wá·k=i·n wtΩlá·wal, And he said to him,

H 37H

il-le-tcoç-kƱl pemi-yƱ‫މ‬ñk “yΩ̗ lí-þó·ski·l pΩիmΩ̗yΩnk.” “Plunge yourself into this oil.”

H 37I

sawİ’in nǎn maqkw ga-zİ’in w‫ࡃܭ‬-çǎ‫މ‬ šá·wΩ=i·n nán máxkw ká·nši-=i·n -wí·sΩw. Instantly the bear was amazingly fat.

292. o-no- < o-nâ- . 293. g < k .

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312

GODDARD

H 37J

nƱn ’in wƱndjİ294 ma-hă ’in gi-se nhä‫މ‬l ‫ ۅ‬ksƱ‫ލ‬-lä-8295 nΩ̗n=i·n wΩ̗nþi má·h=á·=i·n kí·ši- nhé·l -kšíhle·w. That’s how come he cannot run fast at all.

H 38A

nall wak’in asde’in ă-do‫މލ‬-wăl gwǎt-tcİ -mo-la-wăl nál=wa·k=i·n á·šte·=i·n ătóhwal kwΩ̖þi·mo·la·wal, Then next he asked the deer,

H 38B

da-ne’tc-ha-gi 8dƟl-nǎm-mƱn wăñ-djİtc wİdj-mǎt nǎn lƱnƗpä-8296 “tá·n=Ω̗þ=ha kí· wtΩlnΩ̗mΩn wé·nþi·-=þ -wí·þΩիmat nán lΩ̖ná·pe·w?” “What will you do to help the people?”

H 38C

inoq a-toq í·n Ω̗w ătóhw, And the deer said,

H 38D

‫ࡅܭ‬ñ-çă-gă-ma-kİtc297 “nsákama·w=ke·=þ.” “Well, I’ll bite him.”

H 38E

nall’in MoskƱm298 mamaĶgnum-năl atóq wİ-pi-tal nál=i·n mó·ški·m mahmahkΩիnΩ̗mΩիnal ătóhw wi·pí·tal. Then Moshkim pulled out the deer’s teeth.

H 38F

nallwak’in na ka-mok-na nƱllƱ pƟmi‫މ‬y‫ࡅܭ‬ñk nál=wa·k=i·n ná kamΩ̗kwΩիna·w ní lí pΩիmΩ̗yΩnk. Then he was immersed in the oil.

H 38G

sҥ-’in wak-nă wİ‫މ‬-çǎ šá·wΩ=i·n wá·k ná wí·sΩw. Instantly he also was fat.

H 38H

nall’in ne wƱtc wƱñtc wä-mi-yog299 a-wİ‫މ‬-sƱ-săk nál=i·n ní wΩ̗nþ wé·mi yó·k awe·yayΩ̗sak. Then all the animals in that way.

H 38I

nall’in óq nál=i·n Ω̗w, Then he said,

294. 295. 296. 297. 298. 299.

dj < tc . 8 < o‫ ލ‬. -8 < -o . İࡅñ- added. Ʊ < i. y < g.

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Munsee Delaware

H 38J

nall hă wä-mƱ yon tcƱ gwai‫ ލ‬pƟmmƱ‫ލ‬300 a-lam-iñk-tce ă‫ލ‬-kƱñk ă‫ލ‬-tƗ‫ލ‬8 “nál=ha wé·mi yó·n=þi kwáy pΩիmΩy alá·mΩnk=þi áhki·nk áhte·w. “Then all of this oil here shall be under the earth.

H 38K

da-çe-‫ۅ‬djuñk yǎ‫ލ‬-da-hw‫ࡅܭ‬ñtc kdup-p‫ލࡅܭ‬-lä-8 yon pƟmmi‫މ‬301 tá·si·=þ=ank yóh táh wΩ̗nþ ktΩpéhle·w yó·n pΩիmΩ̗y.302 And at times this oil will flow forth from someplace here.

H 39A

kwa-yo-tchƗ-yog303 lƟñapewăk yä-lak ä-pƱ‫ލ‬-tit wä-mƱ‫ލ‬-tcyo-le‫ ލ‬8dƱl304 la-Ȥi-nä-wă ҕ kwáy=Ω̗þ=há=yo·k lΩ̖na·pé·wak yé·lak e·píhti·t wé·m=Ωþ yó lí wtΩli·xi·nΩիné·wa.” And now the people living yonder shall all reside here.” nall’in mă‫ލ‬-mƱ‫ލ‬-káu nall wä-yu-pa-nä-wă305 yo Moskim äpit nál=i·n máh míhkaw nál wé·mi yó pa·né·wa yó mó·ški·m é·pi·t. Then not long after that then they all arrived at the place where Moshkim lived.

H 39B

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313

H 39C

nall’in Moskim o‫ލ‬mul owin nál=i·n mó·ški·m ó·hΩիmal Ω̗w=i·n, Then Moshkim’s grandmother said,

H 39D

mä‫ލ‬-tchƗ-ä kdal-mä-çƱ-nă “méhþ=ha=á· ktalΩիmΩsíhna.306 “Now let us depart.

H 39E

wă‫ލ‬-goñ-gă-ktă-na wáhkonk=a· ktáhna. Let us go to the sky.”

H 39F

owin MoskƱm Ω̗w=i·n mó·ški·m, And Moshkim said,

300. mm < m . 301. mm < mi . 302. /yóh táh/: Pheasant: yΩ̗ tá·. 303. yo- added. 304. Ȥ could be an intended Ȥ with the second, upward stroke attached to the right instead of separate and crossing. 305. wä : start of /we·mi/ but with /-mi/ omitted. 306. Pheasant would use kwáy ‘now, at this time’ instead of méhþ ‘now, by now, already’.

ҕ

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314

H 39G

yo‫ލ‬-gä‫ލ‬-lƗtc “yóh, kéhla·=þ.” “Alright, that will be fine.”

H 39H

nall’in gä‫ލ‬-lă‫ ލ‬wa-păñ-gätc a-yǎp-pa-wİ 307 nál=i·n kéhla wa·pánke·=þ ayΩpá·wi· . . . Then sure enough early the next morning they will . . .

H 39I

nall’in gä‫ލ‬-lä wa-pañ-gä yup‫މ‬-pa-wİ nál=i·n kéhla wa·pánke ayΩpá·wi·, Then sure enough early the next moring,

H 39J

nall’in ‫ ۅ‬dul-mƱç-çin-nä-wa308 le‫ލ‬-a-wa-çă‫ލ‬-kä-mä-8 nál=i·n wtalΩիmΩsi·né·wa lí awasáhkame·w. then they left to go beyond the sky.

H 40A

nall’in dul-mƱ-Ʊç-pƱ-la-nä-wă nál=i·n wtálΩիmi-Ωspihla·né·wa. Then they went flying up.

H 40B

wä-mi-8ҕ-glƱn-a-pä-wăk 8nä-wa-wa-wal äl-mƱ-‫ލ‬lă‫ލ‬-dit le-wă‫ލ‬-goĶk wé·mi yó·k lΩ̖na·pé·wak wΩիne·wa·wá·wal e·lΩիmihláhti·t lí wáhkonk. All the people saw them fly away into the sky.

H 40C

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GODDARD

nal-nƱtkȤİ‫ލ‬.309 nál ní txí. That’s all.310

307. The whole line is a false start for 39I (with an inappropriate future enclitic); a- < ‫ܭ‬- < a- . 308. mƱç < maç . 309. a < e . 310. The remainder of the last page is blank.

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On Editing Bill Leaf’s Meskwaki Texts Lucy Thomason 1. Introduction. Bill Leaf was born in 1886. He was of the War Chief lineage of the Fox Clan, and his Meskwaki name was no·hkawa·ta.1 He was supposedly a Winnebago foundling, but he was raised by an elderly Meskwaki man. As a result, he not only spoke beautiful Meskwaki, but it was beautiful Meskwaki with a sprinkling of wonderfully archaic features for 1911—which was the year the ethnographer Truman Michelson made his way to the Meskwaki Settlement in Tama, Iowa. Michelson quickly discovered that the entire Meskwaki community in 1911 was literate in Meskwaki. He started paying people at a rate of a few pennies a page to fill up notepads with Meskwaki texts. He continued to visit Tama and to collect Meskwaki texts until his untimely death in 1938. Michelson collected some 2,461 pages of writing from Bill Leaf. Bill Leaf’s only serious rivals among Michelson’s authors for sheer quantity of writing are Alfred Kiyana, Jim Peters, Sam Peters, Charley H. Chuck, Jack Bullard, and Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha, who was Bill Leaf’s wife. Of these seven authors, Bill Leaf is by far the most difficult to edit and translate. As a storyteller, Bill Leaf has bursts of real clarity, and of vivid use of language, but he is unreliable. He makes a tremendous number and variety of spelling errors compared to most other authors. Unlike other authors, he frequently breaks off in mid-word or in mid-sentence or even in mid-story. Sometimes in these cases he then has another stab at

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.



1. There are several possible readings of this name, even without considering the fact that names do not always follow normal rules of composition. In his notes Michelson misspells Bill Leaf’s name as no·hkahwa·ta and glosses it as ‘corn meal’ (TM ms. #3110 2O). Bill Leaf’s nickname was the English loan ka·nimi·na ‘cornmeal', and the unattested name no·hkahwa·ta would be parsed as no·hk- ‘soft’ plus -ahw ‘act by tool on an animate object’ plus the detransitivizer -a· plus the ending for a third person singular animate participle; no·hkawa·ta would thus mean ‘animate thing (such as corn) pounded soft’. Bill Leaf’s actual name, no·hkawa·ta, is more likely to mean ‘the one with soft fur’. Fox Clan names ought to pertain to the appearance or behavior of foxes, and by this standard, too, ‘the one with soft fur’ makes better sense than ‘corn meal’. However, since there are several other possible parses of no·hkawa·ta, and since no·hkawa·ta may not even have a straightforward parse, my guess is not much better than Michelson’s.

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THOMASON

starting and finishing the truncated word or sentence or story; in other cases, he heads off in a completely new direction. Even without the stumbling blocks introduced by these hesitations and errors, it is often difficult to follow the logical sequence in his stories, because he skips in and out of the story he is telling to comment on it (unfortunately his comments instead of clarifying often mystify), and because he skips forward and backward within the story as he tells it. He also has a habit of omitting information which is helpful or crucial to interpreting a word or a sentence or a scene. Yet practically every page of Bill Leaf’s writing yields a new word.2 Most of these words are relatively transparent—new combinations of familiar initials, medials and finals—but a few are startlingly new. The problem is that for both the transparently new words and the remarkably new words we need considerable help from the context in order to be sure we are seeing what we think we are seeing. For one thing, the traditional Meskwaki syllabary3 is easy to write but challenging to read. There are eight vowels and thirty-one consonant clusters in Meskwaki (not counting loan words), and because the syllabary omits vowel length and preaspiration it reduces the eight vowels to four and the thirty-one consonant clusters to eighteen. As a result, even native speakers of Meskwaki have to do some puzzle-solving when they read Meskwaki. For nonnative speakers the task is much more difficult.4 In order to successfully decipher words and narrative sequence we need all the help from context that we can get. When we have only a written text to go by, a great deal of what makes a story intelligible has already been stripped away—features such as gesture, facial expression, timing, intonation, and shifts in voice quality are all missing from the written page. Some of the phonemic contrasts of the language have also been stripped away. And the Meskwaki syllabary uses none of the feeble visual substitutes for timing and intonation: there is no paragraphing and there is no punctuation in Meskwaki texts, apart from word



2. In the 116 pages of Bill Leaf’s writing I have edited carefully, there are ninety words that occur nowhere else in the edited Michelson corpus. In addition to these ninety definite new words, there are thirteen unparsed sequences that might contain new words. 3. Strictly speaking, the Meskwaki syllabary is an alphabet. It is written as (s)(C)(G)V syllables, with gaps between one (s)(C)(G)V sequence and the next, but the (s)(C)(G)V sequences can be analyzed into the component consonants and vowels. The Meskwaki syllabary omits vowel length and h. So, for instance, ne·nye·wi is written ‫ۃ‬ne nye wi‫ ۄ‬and ahpemeki is written ‫ۃ‬a be me ki‫ۄ‬. 4. Unfortunately, there may now be no native speakers of the older, formal Meskwaki, which is what Bill Leaf and his contemporaries mainly wrote.

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(used in some cases by some authors) which represent major phonological word boundaries. By being so erratic in his spelling, sentence construction and narrative sequencing, Bill Leaf compounds our problems as readers. When we read or edit or translate a literary master such as Alfred Kiyana, we know that practically every syllable he wrote was carefully chosen, and our job is to try to ascertain as many of the subtleties he packed into those syllables as we can. When we are confronted with an author as wayward as Bill Leaf, we have to continually second-guess his intentions and abilities as well as second-guessing our own. The task of editing Bill Leaf’s texts is sufficiently daunting that to the best of my knowledge only 177 of his 2,461 pages of writing have been thoroughly redacted. Even in that relatively small sample, he has afforded us many words, stories and twists on stories we have not encountered anywhere else. Apart from everything else, because he was raised by an old man he uses some wonderful archaisms: for instance, he has the most archaic demonstrative system of any of Michelson’s authors.5 Examples of Bill Leaf’s style are discussed in the following sections.6 2. Spelling errors, or real variants we dogmatically correct? I will not go into great detail about Bill Leaf’s spelling idiosyncrasies here. The problem they present is, of course, that everything that looks at first glance like a spelling error could prove to be something more significant. Three times on page four of Bill Leaf’s Bungling Host stories (n.d. c), he uses a common particle meaning ‘for the last time’. Everywhere else in Michelson’s corpus—in Bill Leaf’s other texts, as well as his contemporaries’ texts—this particle is spelled me me tti ne i , me me tti ne e or me me tti ski ne i . But on this page Bill Leaf twice writes me me tti ski me i and once writes me me tti me i . It is of course extremely easy to write me for ne , especially when you have just written me twice in the same word. My first instinct was to discount me me tti ski me i as an error. But after I had seen me·meþine·hi/me·meþiškine·hi misspelled in the same way three times in a row, even though it was almost certainly an error repeated three times in rapid succession, I had to stop and think hard about whether the thing I was near-certain was a writing glitch could possibly be a real variant of the particle. The upshot was that I entered me·meþime·hi



5. Ives Goddard (p.c. 2002). 6. The passages of Meskwaki text cited in this chapter have been transcribed, edited, and translated by Lucy Thomason, often with substantial help from Ives Goddard.

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and me·meþiškime·hi into my working lexicon of Meskwaki as possible—though highly dubious—variants of me·meþine·hi/ me·meþine·he/me·meþiškine·hi. Alfred Kiyana’s and other authors’ probable misspellings frequently make their way into the lexicon as possible variants to consider, but I seldom record Bill Leaf’s. There is so much reason to distrust Bill Leaf’s writing style that I almost certainly overedit his texts. It is likely that some of what I attribute to carelessness is conscious and deliberate word play. 3. Grammatical errors, or artistry? Bill Leaf’s texts also exhibit more than their fair share of seeming grammatical errors. The sentence in (1) contains an instance of number discord within a noun phrase.7 (1)

nahiƍ, mani=þa·hi=pihi e·šikiþi manaha maþi·hkiwesa: Well, this is how the eldest brother was constituted: i·na·=’na ma·waþi–a·wasi–taswipepo·nwa·ta, ma·hahi ke·hkya·hani e·h=omeso·ta·niwa·þi. he was the very oldest, they having those old folk for parents. [Leaf n.d. e, lines 1E–F]

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In (1), the obviative plural demonstrative ma·hahi is paired with an obviative singular noun ke·hkya·hani ‘old person’. This is not a totally unheard-of kind of mismatch, but what is odd is that Bill Leaf’s number mismatches go both ways: he sometimes uses a singular obviative demonstrative with a plural obviative noun, and he sometimes, as here, uses a plural obviative demonstrative with a singular obviative noun. Number discord in Meskwaki is occasionally exploited for rhetorical effect. For instance, in one of her texts Bill Leaf’s wife Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha writes the sentence in (2). (2)



“kašiƍ, ke·htena=ma·h=meko wa·panokwe·ni ašawaye=meko,” e·h= ina·þi=’pi·=’nini maneto·wahi=’pi. “Why, see, sure enough, it must have been daytime for some time past!” he told that one of the manitous. [Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha n.d., line 77G]

7. Meskwaki makes a distinction between animate and inanimate nouns. It also makes a distinction between the currently most prominent third person (“proximate”), and currently less prominent third persons (“obviative”). The proximate-obviative distinction is marked on many verbs and on all animate nouns. In the English translations of the examples given in this chapter I indicate proximates by boldface, obviatives by italics, and inanimates by underlining. Boldface plus underlining indicates an inanimate noun coindexed with inanimate proximate inflection on a verb, and italics plus underlining indicates an inanimate noun coindexed with inanimate obviative inflection on a verb.

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In (2), the singular obviative demonstrative i·nini paired with the plural obviative noun maneto·wahi singles out a particular one of the two manitous Loon is reporting to.8 It is hard to see, however, what artistic purpose the number discord in (1) could serve. The passage in (3) contains an instance of animacy discord within a verb phrase. (3)

kaho·ni=’pihi, “nahiƍ, ano·hko, kekye·neni,” e·h=ina·þi. And then, “Well, grandmother, hold it fast!” he told her. “ni·h=nawaþi–ašiha·wa nemehte·ha,” e·h=ina·þi=’pihi. “I need first to make a bow,” he told her. kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=ašiha·þi=’pihi. And then he made it. šewe·na=’pi a·kwi te·pahkwi–ki·šihto·þini, omehte·hani. But he didn’t completely finish it, his bow.

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kaho·ni=’pihi manaha metemo·he·ha omekosi e·h=mehkoþe·naki. And then that old lady groped around and found her awl. [Leaf n.d. c, lines 6H–L]

The discord in (3) is more surprising than the discord in (1). There are very strict rules governing animacy agreement in Meskwaki. The context of (3) is that the hero’s grandmother is trying with all her might to keep hold of a game animal which is struggling to run away. The hero tells her to wait until he has finished making a bow so that he can shoot it for her. The first three sentences of the four are grammatically unremarkable: Bill Leaf uses a transitive animate verb for action on the game animal, a transitive animate verb for action on the bow,9 the same transitive animate verb again for action on the bow—and then suddenly, out of the blue, he uses a transitive inanimate verb for action on the same animate bow that he has been talking about for two sentences. What is happening here is that Bill Leaf has once again stepped out of the story to explain what is going on. The use of a negative verb a·kwi te·pahkwi–ki·šihto·þini ‘he didn’t completely finish making [inanimate]’ rather than the aorist verb with the same meaning (e·h= pwa·wi–te·pahkwi–ki·šihto·þini) indicates that we are no longer in narrative mode. However, this clarifying comment contains a bizarre and distracting error. Perhaps Bill Leaf was planning to insert another ob-



8. The quoted speech in (2) is uttered by the manitous’ pet loon. 9. Bows are animate in Meskwaki—as, of course, are game animals, heroes, and grandmothers.

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ject (say, for instance, ke·ko·hi ‘something, things’, or ašati·hi ‘headed arrow’), and decided at the last minute to return to the bow he had already mentioned. Or perhaps his mind was running ahead to the inanimate awl in the next sentence. In either case, he lets the discord stand, without so much as a temporizing =ne·pehe ‘oops!’ or =ma·hi ‘I mean to say’ thrown in. There are a few artful ways to play with animacy clashes in Meskwaki. People can act on objects such as bows (animate) and arrows (inanimate) at the same time. A buffalo hide (inanimate) can turn into a live buffalo (animate), or a star (animate) can flash across the sky as a streak of fire (inanimate). In these kinds of situations there is plenty of scope for word play. But again, it is hard to see what Bill Leaf might be trying to accomplish with the very bald, very stark animacy discord in (3). If this is word play, I need more context than he provides to understand it. 4. False starts and narrative sequence. The proximate outside the quotation in the first line of (4) is the hero of the story; the proximate of the second line is the hero and his friend; the proximate of the third line is the villain, Eldest Brother. (4)

“omi·mi·he·haki ayo·h=wi·h=ni·šo·pi·hiwaki,” e·h=iþi=’pihi. “Let there be two doves sitting here together!” he said. i·nahi=’pi·=’ni e·h=na·ni·šo·pi·hiwa·þi maneto·mi·mi·he·haki. There were then two mourning doves sitting there together.

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manaha maþi·hkiwesa ki·h–=meko . . . e·h=nawaþi–sahkahamawa·þi. As for Eldest Brother, after . . . he stopped to offer tobacco to them. [Leaf n.d. f, lines 5E–G]

The third line of (4) is a typical Bill Leaf sentence. He launches into one verb and then discards it in favor of another. The phrase ki·h– =meko consists of the short form of the perfective preverb ki·ši followed by the emphatic particle =meko. By itself, this phrase is ungrammatical. It looks like the start of a changed conjunct verb: ‘After doing [verb deleted], Eldest Brother stopped to offer tobacco to them’ (‘them’ being the two mourning doves that Eldest Brother foolishly fails to realize are his transformed brothers-in-law). The context gives no clue at all what the perfective changed conjunct verb might have been if Bill Leaf had completed it. In editing this passage, we are faced with three alternatives: we can smooth out the text by filling in the missing verb (a presumptuous stab in the dark); we can smooth out the text by removing the false start into a note; or we can

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be faithful to what the author wrote while leaving the reader to stumble over the hesitations and false starts. A sample of the first alternative is shown in (4ƍ), and a sample of the second alternative in (4Ǝ). For the third alternative, see (4) above. (4ƍ)

manaha maþi·hkiwesa ki·h–=meko –pakama·ška·þi, e·h=nawaþi– sahkahamawa·þi. As for Eldest Brother, after he arrived there on the run he stopped to offer tobacco to them.

(4Ǝ)

manaha maþi·hkiwesa e·h=nawaþi–sahkahamawa·þi. (deleted false start, ki·h–=meko: |mattikiwesa.kimeko|enawatti. )10 As for Eldest Brother, he stopped to offer tobacco to them.

None of these choices is entirely satisfying. This type of dilemma comes up at least once per page with Bill Leaf. I prefer to leave the hesitations in the text, but it makes for clumsy reading. And once again, there is the nagging possibility that the things I label false starts are at least sometimes rhetorical flourishes I have failed to recognize. While example (4) contains a typical Bill Leaf broken-off verb, (5) contains a typical Bill Leaf broken-off sentence, in the middle of a completely murky narrative sequence.

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(5)

1

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=kehþi–mehponiki. And then it snowed hard.

2

pe·hki=mekoho mehto·þi=mekoho þe·nawe·heki e·h=ahpi·hþi– mehponiki. It really snowed as if it were January.

3

wa·natohka=ke·h=wi·na=mekoho e·h=na·wi–pena·winiki. Yet it was midsummer.

4

i·nina·hi e·h=þa·ko·hkawoþi. That was the time when they were attacked by all the tribes.

5

šewe·na=’pihi a·kwi=’pihi paši=we·te·wi . . . But it wasn’t in the least . . .

6

iše=meko=’pi·=’ni maneto·wani. It’s just that there was a manitou then.

7

kaho·ni=’pi=kapo·twe e·h=kwa·ko·ho·meþi. And then at some point they were shouted to.



10. A pipe (“|”) in my transcription of the manuscript symbolizes the beginning or end of a line. A period (“.”) symbolizes a word divider written by the author.

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8

“a·samahanoki=kohi keta·pwa,” e·h=inekowa·þi nekoti maþi– maneto·wani. “You’re going north,” a certain evil manitou said to them.

9

o·ni=’pihi a·neta=’pi·=’ni e·h=pemi–ki·we·wa·þi. And then some of them turned back.

10

ata·nahka=ke·h=wi·na we·ta·paniki e·h=a·wa·þi. They went back east.

11

i·niki=þa·hi=’pihi ki·wa·þiki, ma·mahka·þi=meko=’pihi þa·kiha·pi=’pihi. As for those who turned back, every single one of them was killed.

12

i·niki=ke·hi=’pi ki·hki·hki na·kwa·þiki, a·kwi=meko=’pi·=’niki= ke·ko·hi išawiwa·þini. But as for those who went on in despite, nothing bad happened to them.’ [Leaf n.d. a, lines 13G–14D]

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The first three lines of (5) are straightforward: ‘And then it snowed hard. It really snowed as if it were January. Yet it was midsummer.’ The meaning here at least is clear. Then comes ‘That was the time when they were attacked by all the tribes’ (line 4). The verb e·h=þa·ko·hkawoþi, which literally means ‘he/she/they (proximate) were attacked by all’, refers to a famous and nearly fatal incident in Meskwaki history. It was such a terrible catastrophe that half the people who wrote for Michelson had something to say about it, which is fortunate for us, because Bill Leaf’s account in (5) leaves us floundering. The Handbook of North American Indians’ description of the event derives from the French accounts (Callender 1978:643–44): Friction [between the Foxes, or Meskwakis, and the French] turned into open warfare in 1712 after a party of Foxes and Mascoutens moved to Detroit. Claiming that they planned to destroy that post, its commander incited a coalition of other tribes to attack the Foxes, who withstood a siege of 19 days, twice attempting to make peace . . . . They escaped under cover of a storm but were pursued and fought another four days. The warriors who surrendered were burned. Those who made their way back to Wisconsin joined the rest of their tribe in disruptive attacks on traders . . . .11



11. For a much fuller account of the siege and its aftermath see Edmunds and Peyser (1993:69–75).

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As Sam Peters and Joe Tesson make clear in their accounts of the time when the Meskwakis were assailed by all the tribes, the sudden snowfall in midsummer is the succoring storm that allows the Meskwakis to escape from the siege by their enemies. Bill Leaf does not mention the siege, or otherwise explain the relevance of the unnatural snowstorm. He merely mentions the startling fact of the snowstorm, and indicates that it concided with the time when the Meskwakis were assailed by all the tribes. Then he continues ‘It wasn’t in the least . . .’—and breaks off in mid-sentence. He gives several negative particles which demand a negative verb (a·kwi, paši, we·te·wi) but leaves out the negative verb. Then he writes, ‘It’s just that there was a manitou then.’ These last two lines are an instance of Bill Leaf stepping outside the narrative to explain where the narrative is heading. As I mentioned earlier, his explanations tend to mystify rather than clarify. In any case, he returns right away to his story (lines 7–12): ‘At some point they were shouted to. “You’re going north,” a certain evil spirit said to them. And then some of them turned back. They went back east. As for those who turned back, every single one of them was killed. But as for those who went on in despite [of what the evil manitou said], nothing bad happened to them.’ Internally, these six sentences make sense. They have a clear narrative sequence. However, their relation to the foregoing information—to the snowstorm, and to the time when the Meskwakis were assailed by all the tribes—is obscure. We know from other accounts that some of the Meskwakis who escaped from the siege were later captured and killed. If we had only Bill Leaf’s account to go by, however, we would have no idea whether the incident with the manitou happened before the snowstorm, during the snowstorm, or after the snowstorm. We also would not know who the travelers were, where they were traveling to, or who their enemies were. We need to be already conversant with the entire story in order to understand Bill Leaf’s version of it. This is a pity, because the encounter with the malign manitou appears in no other version. Example (5), then, consists of three sentences about a miraculous snowstorm, six sentences about an ill-wishing manitou that got some people killed, and three sentences of commentary strung in between. The first of the explanatory sentences cites a well-known historical event. The second breaks off almost before it begins. The third is a startling non sequitur. The whole passage is impossible to interpret without the context provided by other sources.

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5. Repetition: accidental or artful? Bill Leaf repeats sentences, words and pieces of words as often as he omits sentences, words and pieces of words. The question is how much of the repetition is conscious and deliberate. Examples (6)–(10) show quite reasonable and possibly artful instances of repetition. In each case second iteration of the word or phrase or sentence adds new information. In (6) a less specific noun is immediately followed by a more specific noun. The tree is not just any tree, but a log. (6)

keye·hapa=ke·h=wi·na=’pi·=’ni mehtekwi, pemitasakatwi. ‘As it turns out it was a tree, a log.’ [Leaf n.d. c, line 16H]

In (7) the verb is repeated. The first instance is modified by a less specific noun and the second by a more specific noun. The tree is not just any tree, but a broken-off snag. (7)

kaho·ni e·ye·nose·þi, mehtekwi e·h=ne·taki, And then as he was walking along he saw a tree, ki·škanahkatwi e·h=ne·taki. he saw a broken-off snag. [Leaf n.d. c, lines 2ƍP–Q]12

In (8), again, a verb (transitive animate mi·n- ‘give’) is repeated. The first instance has indefinite-on-proximate inflection and is accompanied by an inanimate second object, and the second instance has obviative-on-proximate inflection and is accompanied by an obviative subject. The first modifying clause tells you that the hero was given gunpowder, and the second modifying clause tells you it was Skunk who gave the gunpowder to him.

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(8)

wa·wa·þitiye·šino·ki=þa·hi=’pi e·h=mi·neþi ano·ni, So they lay buttocks to buttocks, and he was given charges of gunpowder, ma·hani šeka·kwani e·h=mi·nekoþi. Skunk giving them to him. [Leaf n.d. c, lines 2ƍK–L]

In (9), the whole sentence is repeated, with a vivid descriptive verb added the second time around. (9)

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=pemotaki i·ni mehtekwi. And then he shot that tree.



12. The prime symbol after a page number indicates that the page is the second of two pages with the same page number in a given manuscript.

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kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–þi·kitiye·šiki wi·h=pemotaki·=’ni mehtekwi. And then he went ahead and got down on his hands and knees and raised his rump in the air in order to shoot that tree. [Leaf n.d. c, lines 3A–B]

In (10), again, the whole sentence is repeated. The second sentence adds information, but the information added is so slight that this is starting to look more like a repair than a rhetorical device. (10)

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi·=’na·hi e·h=pya·þi=’pihi. So then he arrived over there. kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi i·na·hi e·h=pya·þi e·h=owi·kiwa·þi. So then he arrived over there at his family’s house. [Leaf n.d. c, lines 4O–P]

The hero is arriving ‘over there at that known place’ (i·na·hi), which is qualified in the second sentence as ‘over there at that known place, the place where he lived with others’ (i·na·hi e·h=owi·kiwa·þi). Since e·h=owi·kiwa·þi is the default meaning of i·na·hi in this context, the clarification is unnecessary and therefore somewhat awkward. The repetitions in examples (11)–(17) are almost certainly mistakes. In (11), the locative particle ayo·hi ‘here’ could appear either before or after the verb. Instead, it appears in both places.

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(11)

kaho·ni=þa·h=na·hkaþi a·šowi mani ayo·hi a·kwi ke·ko·hi meše– taswi·hi a·totama·nini ayo·hi. And then again here on the other side of this I didn’t tell anything for a considerable ways here. [Leaf n.d. c, line 7K]

This is a very natural speech error, but it presents a problem to the redactor. Without a lot of help from timing and intonation, it reads a little clumsily, and it does not serve a particularly useful purpose that I can detect. The question is, should one of the two ayo·his come out, and if so, which one? I would try to save both instances of ayo·hi, with the help of a comma and a line break, as in (11ƍ). (11ƍ) kaho·ni=þa·h=na·hkaþi a·šowi mani ayo·hi, And then again here on the other side of this, a·kwi ke·ko·hi meše–taswi·hi a·totama·nini ayo·hi. I didn’t tell anything for a considerable ways here.

Again, this may amount to overediting.

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Repetitions of particle phrases, as with kaho·ni=’pihi in (12), tend to occur several times per page in Bill Leaf’s texts. The free particle kaho·ni means ‘and then’, and it almost always marks the start of a new sentence in a narrative. Often it marks not only a new sentence but also a new segment of the narrative. Enclitic =ipi means ‘they say, it is said’. It marks a reported event of which the speaker has no direct personal knowledge. The emphatic shape of =ipi, before a slight pause, is =ipihi. (12)

kaho·ni=’pihi . . . kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=awana·þi. And then . . . and then he took it away with him. [Leaf n.d. d, line 4I]

The sentence in (12), then, reads, “And then, they say . . . and then, they say . . . he took it away with him.” These doubled particle phrases sometimes occur across a page break. Often, though, they occur in the middle of a page. In some cases the sequence of particles varies slightly in the repetition, and in other cases it does not. These doubled particle phrases are pretty obviously errors or restarts. Perhaps at these junctures what happened was that Bill Leaf paused to think about what he was going to say next, and then started all over again. The question for the editor is whether to leave the repetitions in or edit them out. I am disinclined to edit them out. But again, that makes for somewhat awkward reading. The sentence in (13) has a simple repetition of a verb with no new information.

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(13)

kaho·ni=wi·na=’pi·=’na e·h=ma·watenaki . . . e·h=ma·watenaki. And then she gathered them up . . . she gathered them up. [Leaf n.d. c, line 12L]

The repetition straddles a page boundary: the first instance of e·h=ma·watenaki occurs at the bottom of page 12 of the text, and the second occurs at the top of page 13 in the same text. This type of repetition is not nearly as common in Bill Leaf’s writing as his repetition of particle strings, whether a page boundary intervenes or no. It is clearly an artifact of the writing process. I have yet to see an instance where a Meskwaki author repeats an unmodified verb to indicate repeated action. As far as I am aware, it is not possible to use Meskwaki e·h=ma·watenaki, e·h=ma·watenaki to mean ‘she gathered them up and gathered them up’. Meskwaki would instead convey this with reduplication, or with modifying preverbs or other particles, or with repetition of the sentence with new preverbs or other particles.

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Where exact repetitions straddle a page boundary, as in (13), it becomes more tempting to remove the repetition from the body of the text into a note. In example (14), Bill Leaf repeats a sentence with minimal variation, and at the same time repeats a locative within a sentence. (14)

kaho·ni=’pihi i·nah=meko=’pihi e·h=mawi–matana·þi. And then right there he went ahead and overtook it. kaho·ni=’pihi i·nah=e·h=matana·þi i·nahi. And then there he overtook it there. [Leaf n.d. d, lines 4F–G]

The second sentence actually contains less information than the first. I cannot imagine the rhetorical purpose which this type of repetition could serve. And as in example (11), where the locative ayo·hi appears both before and after the verb, here locative i·nahi appears both before and after the verb. I do not know of another Meskwaki author who repeats locatives like this. The second sentence in (14), kaho·ni=’pihi i·nah=e·h=matana·þi i·nahi, is almost certainly an error—most likely a garbled regrouping after a pause for thought or some other interruption to the writing. But I cannot bring myself to cut an entire sentence from the text. Example (15) begins with a false start, and then repeats a sentence with a variation of the verb stem. (15)

kaho·ni=na·hka . . . And then next . . .

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kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–ne·wa·þi. And then he went to see her. kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=mawi–wa·pama·þi. So then he went to have a look at her. [Leaf n.d. c, line 7C–E]

Meskwaki ne·w- means ‘see (an animate object)’; Meskwaki wa·pammeans ‘look at (an animate object)’. What is odd about this is that the sentence kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=mawi–wa·pama·þi does not move the narrative forward at all. But if it is deliberate rhetorical play it is peculiar, because kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pi is a paragraph-starter. These kinds of passages read as if Bill Leaf forgets that he has already embarked on a new segment of the story and begins all over again. The three sentences in (16) present the same problem as the two sentences in (15). The verb stem varies each time, but (16) reads as if i·ni=þa·h=mekoho e·h=we·pose·þi and kaho·ni=’pihi na·hka=mekoho

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e·h=anemehka·þi are false starts. They do not move the narrative forward at all, and yet each begins with paragraph-initial kaho·ni. (16)

i·ni=þa·h=mekoho e·h=we·pose·þi. So he set off walking right away. kaho·ni=’pihi na·hka=mekoho e·h=anemehka·þi. And then he forged onwards once again. kaho·ni=þa·hi e·h=na·kwa·þi. So then he set out. [Leaf n.d. c, lines 3M–O]

The example in (17) has a bizarre repetition of a demonstrative. Emphatic manaha is followed immediately by the nonemphatic version of the same demonstrative, mana.13

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(17)

kaho·ni=’pihi, “nahiƍ, mawi–te·witepe·hwi manaha,” e·h=ineþi nekoti oni·þa·nese·hwa·wani manaha, mana pepo·natesiwihkwe·wa, þaki– mešwe·hani. And then, “All right, go and knock him on the head,” she was told (regarding) one of their children, this Winter Spirit Woman, (about) a rabbit kit. [Leaf n.d. c, line 12D]

The inflection on the quotative verb e·h=ineþi is indefinite-onproximate; manaha and mana pepo·natesiwihkwe·wa both refer to the second-person referent in the quoted speech, the object of e·h=ineþi, and nekoti oni·þa·nese·hwa·wani and þaki–mešwe·hani refer to the third-person referent in the quoted speech, the second object of e·h=ineþi. Meskwaki has a high tolerance for discontinuous constituents, but nonetheless the V O2 O1 O1 O2 order here (where V stands for “verb,” O1 for “first object,” and O2 for “second object”) is startling, and just as the emphatic manaha in the quoted speech suggests that the quote is ending, the emphatic manaha outside the quoted speech suggests that the sentence is ending. But the sentence does not end there. The echo-vowel variants of the more common particles (as, =mekoho for =meko, =ipihi for =ipi, manaha for mana) normally indicate a slight pause. They typically mark the end of a phrase, sentence, or other breath-grouping. In Bill Leaf’s writing they appear all over the place—even, sometimes, before an enclitic. This is probably another indication that Bill Leaf paused frequently as he was writing. In (17), Bill Leaf wrote e·h=ineþi, and then a noun phrase identifying the topic of the quote, and then another noun phrase



13. The proximate singular demonstrative mana is from the series meaning ‘this (close by), this (known to us)’.

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identifying the addressee of the quote. It is as if he decided that he had not supplied enough information about who the child was and who the child’s mother was, and then tacked on two more full noun phrases in an extragrammatical mishmash. And in fact, he still did not supply enough information about who the child was and who the child’s mother was, because this is the only place I know of in the Michelson corpus where we are told that the culture hero’s wife was a winter spirit woman and that their child was a rabbit. These details are tantalizing, but are devoid of a context. 6. Bill Leaf’s use of quotative =ipi.14 The Meskwaki particle =ipi ‘they say, it is said’ is an enclitic which indicates that a narrative is not a personal recollection of the author’s. Of Michelson’s seven most prolific authors, Jim Peters uses =ipi extremely sparingly; Alfred Kiyana and Charley H. Chuck make modest use of =ipi; Sam Peters and Jack Bullard make moderate use of =ipi; and Bill Leaf and Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha make heavy use of =ipi. I tend to translate all instances of =ipi in Jim Peters’s, Kiyana’s, and Chuck’s texts, some instances of =ipi in Sam Peters’s and Bullard’s texts, and few or no instances of =ipi in Bill Leaf’s and Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha’s texts. Even for the authors that use =ipi extremely prolifically, =ipi seems to serve a narrative function. Unfortunately, though, a profuse use of =ipi translates poorly into English. Consider the passage in (18), from one of Bill Leaf’s stories about the culture hero.

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(18)

1

“nahiƍ , ni·h=mawi–=ni·hka –nawaþi–sese·si–nesa·wa neme·sa, nesi·hi,” e·h=ina·þi=’pihi ateška·hani. “Well, by gosh, I’ll just take the time to go and quickly kill a fish, little brother,” he told Kingfisher.

2

kaho=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=mawi–pemi–nowi·þi=’pihi e·h=we·pi– wa·siki·nahaki. Well now, he went out and started sharpening it [a stick].

3

kaho·ni=’pihi ohkiwaneki=’pihi e·h=kokwe·þihto·þi=’pihi. And then he tested it on his nose.

4

kapo·twe=’pi·=’ni e·h=menwiseniki=’pihi. Then at some point it stayed in place.

5

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=na·kwa·þi=’pihi, And then he set out



14. The particle =ipi, =ipihi nearly always occurs as an enclitic and hence, by a regular rule of Meskwaki phonology, appears as =’pi, =’pihi (in syllabary, ‫ۃ‬bi‫ۄ‬, ‫ۃ‬bii‫)ۄ‬.

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6

e·h=mawi–apihapiþi e·h=pemiþitehkone·ya·niki. and went and sat on a branch.

7

kaho·ni=’pihi kapo·twe e·h=ne·wa·þi kehþi–neme·sani. And then at some point he saw a great big fish.

8 9 10

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keye·hapa=ke·h=wi·na=’pi·=’ni mehtekwi, pemitasakatwi. As it turns out, it was a tree, a log. e·h=pehþame·tehe. He had been fooled.

11

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–si·kome·hikanisahoþi. And then he went ahead and sprang in head first.

12

pe·hki=meko=’pi meškowa·po·kihto·wa e·h=katawi–þa·ki– nana·sikome·þiki. He really bloodied the water, having nearly completely torn off his nose.

13

i·ni=þa·hi=’pi e·šawiþi. That’s what he did.

14

keye·hapa=ke·h=wi·na=’pihi . . . And as it turns out . . .

15

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=akwa·pye·na·wa·þi=’pihi. And then they hauled him out of the water. [proximate plural is possibly erroneous]

16

kaho·ni=’pihi natawa·þi=’pihi e·h=mawi–we·pi–natohwa·þi·=’na ateška·ha wi·h=amwa·þini. And then that Kingfisher, making the best of a bad job, went to spear something he could eat.

17

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=nesa·þi=nekoti neme·sani, And then he [Kingfisher] killed a fish,

18



kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawinana·þi. And then he lunged at it.

e·h=waþa·howa·þi=’pihi.15 and they cooked it.

19

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=amwa·þi wi·na ki·šesoniþi. And then he [hero] ate it himself when it was done cooking.

20

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–wi·kama·wa·þi=’pihi.

15. The original of this line reads |.eawattaowattibii .

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And then they went ahead and found it very tasty. [proximate plural is erroneous] 21 22

pe·hki=’yo=ke·h=mekoho e·h=wi·kama·wa·þi, They found it very tasty, [proximate plural is erroneous] e·h=wi·keneniþi=we·na. or it tasted very good, rather.

23

e·h=pwa·wi–=meko=’pi –ne·nawe·nema·þi=’pihi oni·þa·nese·hahi. He [hero] didn’t have any pity on his poor children.

24

meše=meko=’pi·=’nahi mya·šihe·wa=’pihi. Without hesitation he ate up all of their food.

25

“mya·hpokosiwaki=kohi. “They taste bad.

26

ka·t=amwiye·ke·ko,” ine·wa=’pihi oni·þa·nesahi. Don’t eat them,” he told his children.

27

“anohokohke·ko,” ine·wa=þa·hi=’pihi. “You might choke,” he told them.

28

i·ni·=’ni. That’s it. [Leaf n.d. c, lines 15L–17N]

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An alternative translation of (18) with all instances of =ipi rendered in English is shown in (18ƍ). (18ƍ) 1

“Well, by gosh, I’ll just take the time to go and quickly kill a fish, little brother,” he told Kingfisher, they say.

2

Well now, they say, he went out, they say, and started sharpening it.

3

And then, they say, he tested it, they say, on his nose, they say.

4

Then at some point, they say, it stayed in place, they say.

5 6 7 8 9

And then, they say, he set out, they say, and went and sat on a branch. And then, they say, at some point he saw a great big fish. And then, they say, he lunged at it. As it turns out, they say, it was a tree, a log.

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THOMASON

10 11

And then, they say, he went ahead and sprang in head first.

12

They say he really bloodied the water, having nearly completely torn off his nose.

13

They say that’s what he did.

14

And as it turns out, they say, . . .

15

And then, they say, they hauled him out of the water, they say.

16

And then, they say, that Kingfisher, making the best of a bad job, they say, went to spear something he could eat.

17

And then, they say, he killed a fish,

18

and they cooked it, they say.

19

And then, they say, he ate it himself when it was done cooking.

20

And then, they say, they went ahead and found it very tasty, they say.

21

They found it very tasty, by the way,

22

or it tasted very good, rather.

23

He didn’t, they say, have any pity, they say, on his poor children.

24

Without hesitation, they say, he ate up all of their food, they say.

25

“They taste bad.

26

Don’t eat them,” he told his children, they say.

27

“You might choke,” he told them, they say.

28 Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

He had been fooled.

That’s it.

In English, unfortunately, the translation of so many instances of =ipi becomes too obtrusive. Yet in (18), their rhythm appears to affect the pacing of the story. The quoted speech embedded in lines 1, 25–26, and 27 completely lacks =ipi. The narrator’s comments in lines 9–10, 21–22, and 28 lack =ipi apart from one attached to the particle cluster in line 9. No noun or participle in (18) is marked by =ipi, apart from the locative noun modifying a verb in line 3. All particles or particle clusters in (18) are marked by =ipi, with five exceptions apart from those in quotes: the third person singular emphatic pronoun wi·na in line 19, the number nekoti ‘one, a certain’ modifying a noun in line 17, pe·hki=’yo=ke·hi in line 21, =we·na in line 22, and kapo·twe ‘at some point’ in line 7. Of these, wi·na and nekoti are associated with nouns,

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and the particle combination =iyo=ke·hi is an explicit marker of comment on the narrative, as is the particle =we·na. Twelve of the verbs in (18) are accompanied by =ipi, as opposed to fourteen that lack =ipi. All three quotative verbs, in lines 1, 26, and 27, have an =ipi. Apart from this, it is not possible to draw a clear line between the types of verbs that have =ipi and the types of verbs that lack one, although the more colorful and dramatic and violent verbs in (18) tend to lack =ipi, while the more prosaic verbs tend to sport =ipi. If this distinction is real, I do not know whether Bill Leaf was deliberately manipulating the dramatic tempo of the story, or whether the extra instances of =ipi at the story’s less dramatic junctures are an artifact of his own writing tempo. In either case, this is an effect that is difficult to convey in English. 7. Pronoun tracking and narrative tracking in Bill Leaf’s texts. The passage in (18) is fairly easy to follow, but there are a few confusing moments. In line 2, Bill Leaf introduces a new inanimate pronoun without specifying its referent with a noun. We have to infer that the new inanimate is a stick. Everyone familiar with the story already knows that the culture hero is going to insert a sharp stick into his nose, and since the verb stem wa·siki·nah- means ‘make (an inanimate object) sharp-pointed by tool’, a stick is not in any case so great a stretch. Nonetheless, the lack of a noun in this line is a momentary stumbling block. In lines 7–8, Bill Leaf describes the hero pouncing on a prey animal. In lines 9–10 he steps out of the story to explain that what the hero thinks is a prey animal is actually a log. In line 11 he skips back to give a different and more detailed description of the pounce, and in line 12 he vividly describes the result of the collision of hero and log. He omits a description of the collision itself. Bill Leaf here is using what Ives Goddard (2005:323) calls “overlay.” He sketches an event, and then goes back—once only, here—to fill in the details. Overlay is a standard feature of Meskwaki storytelling, and when skilfully used it gives a bird’s-eye view of an event followed by startling or affecting glimpses of the worm’s-eye detail. Bill Leaf, unfortunately, tends to omit so much information from his bird’s-eye views that the worm’s-eye details are difficult to interpret. In lines 7–12 of (18), it is possible to figure out what happened, but, as with the unanchored pronoun in line 2, it takes a bit of effort. In line 14 there is a false start. Line 15 introduces an unexpected proximate plural pronoun. The only two active participants in the story at this point are the hero and Kingfisher, and even if it were physically possible for the hero to work together with Kingfisher to haul himself

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THOMASON

out of the water, it is not grammatically possible for the hero to be proximate and obviative at the same time. (The verb e·h= akwa·pye·na·wa·þi is inflected for proximate plural acting on obviative singular.) So either Bill Leaf intended to say here that Kingfisher and some never-identified helper (the hero’s wife, perhaps?) hauled the hero out of the water, or else this is a mistake, and the verb should be e·h=akwa·pye·na·þi ‘he [Kingfisher] hauled him [culture hero] out of the water’. The proximate pronoun in line 15, whether singular or plural, constitutes a PROXIMATE SHIFT from the hero to Kingfisher. Most authors would insert a proximate noun here, and Bill Leaf does insert a proximate noun phrase, i·na ateška·ha ‘that Kingfisher’, but not until line 16. In line 17 Kingfisher successfully spears a fish, and in line 18 he and a helper cook it. In this line the proximate plural pronoun unambiguously refers to Kingfisher and the hero. No clarifying noun is needed here. However, the verb stem itself is garbled here by a spelling error: Bill Leaf wrote awattao for what is almost certainly the animate intransitive verb stem waþa·ho- ‘cook’. This is a peculiar and rather troubling spelling error, since it is hard to see what motivated it: the extraneous a anticipates part but not all of the following syllable. In line 19 there is a proximate singular pronoun which could refer to either Kingfisher or the hero. Kingfisher was proximate in lines 17– 18, but proximate plurals, as in line 18, are frequently used as steppingstones to proximate shifts, and the hero is the default proximate of the story. Those who are familiar with the story know that it is the hero who eats the fish. Those who are not familiar with the story might have trouble understanding who is doing what here. The lack of a noun phrase accompanying this proximate shift in line 19 is not as surprising as the lack of a noun phrase accompanying the proximate shift in line 15, because shifts to the story’s hero are less likely to be overtly marked. Nonetheless, a noun in line 19 would have helped quite a bit, because what follows is a series of errors. In line 19, Bill Leaf states that proximate singular (the hero) ate obviative (the fish) by himself when obviative was done cooking. In line 20, he states that proximate plural found obviative tasty. This is a mistake, of course, since he has just said that only proximate singular ate the fish. In line 21, he tries to correct the mistake by saying that incidentally (=iyo=ke·hi, signifying a narrator’s clarifying comment), proximate plural really found obviative tasty. In line 22 he again tries to correct the mistake by saying that no, what he meant to say (=we·na) was that obviative was tasty.

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As I said before, Bill Leaf’s attempts to clarify his texts often serve only to further confuse the issue. Of his two “corrections” in lines 21– 22, the first repeats and reinforces the error, and the second restates the part of line 20 that was not in error (the fish was tasty) without correcting the part of that line that was in error (two people ate the fish). In line 23 Bill Leaf returns to the hero in an unmarked proximate shift from that anomalous plural pronoun. Lines 23–26 are pretty straightforward, except that this is the first time we have been told that the hero’s children are on the scene. Line 27 contains an interesting verb. The animate intransitive verb stem anohoko- ‘choke’ is here combined with the second person plural prohibitive mood inflectional ending -hke·ko. The stem anohokoappears nowhere else in the edited Michelson corpus, although it does crop up as an ordinary everyday word for ‘choke’ in Ives Goddard’s notes from his consultation with Meskwaki elders in 1998 (Goddard n.d. a:88). I stumbled badly over this word when I first read it. The animate intransitive final -ahoko covers a great deal of territory—it means ‘be acted on by a mass’, especially ‘float’ or ‘be pressed beneath a fallen weight’. Synchronically in Meskwaki the anw- in anohoko- is difficult or impossible to interpret. It may or may not derive from the noun stem anw- ‘arrow’ (which occurs transparently in other verb stems, such as anohke·- ‘fletch an arrow’); it may or may not occur in several other Meskwaki verb stems of such long standing in the language that the metaphor underpinning them is now obscure. In all in (18) there are three verb stems that appear nowhere else in the known Michelson corpus: meškowa·po·kihto·- and nana·sikome·þinin line 12, and anohoko- in line 27. We are given just enough context to be sure we understand the verbs in line 12, but we do not have nearly enough context to understand the use of anohoko- in line 27. Apart from the hero’s remark in line 27, the passage in (18) is, for one of Bill Leaf’s stories, fairly easy to follow. Nonetheless, interpreting the pronoun references and the narrative sequence in this segment of text is challenging and requires hard work on the part of the reader. 8. Bill Leaf compared to other authors. We are lucky enough to have multiple versions of some of the stories that Bill Leaf told. It is useful to compare an episode from Bill Leaf’s “Red-Leggins” text16



16. The older spelling “leggin(s)” is preferred here to “legging(s)”; the former also corresponds to the spelling or pronunciation used by some residents of the Meskwaki Settlement from the 1800s to recent years (Busby 1986:83, 97, 107, 112, 133; [Anonymous] n.d.; Goddard n.d. b:165).

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with the same episode as told by Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha and Alfred Kiyana. Here is Bill Leaf. As the passage in (19) begins, Red-Leggins has been stranded on an island and left to starve.

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(19)

1 2

pe·hki=mekoho e·h=a·nemapene·þi. He was really famished.

3

e·h=katawi–=meko –pahkihte·pene·þi=’pihi. He was nearly perishing from starvation.

4

ke·keya·hi=’pi e·h=we·pi–wa·nehke·þi ne·kawahki·ki.17 Eventually he started digging in the sand.

5

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–we·pi–tahka·wakišiki, meše–na·hina·hi. And then he went and started to lie in the cold ground, not too deep.

6

“ni·h=pahkihte·pene,” e·h=išite·he·þi=’pihi. “I’ll starve to death,” he thought.

7

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–we·pi–nahi– . . . And then he went and started to make a habit of . . .

8

kapo·twe=’pi·=’ni e·h=we·pi–anemi–pana·tapene·þi=meko·=’ni= ’pihi.18 Then at some point he began to get even weaker from hunger.

9

kapo·twe=meko e·h=mekinekoþi anemo·hani. At some point a dog barked at him.

10



kapo·twe=’pi·=’ni e·h=mawi– . . . Then at some point he went and . . .

e·h=pwa·wi–kehke·nema·þi e·h=tanwe·taminikwe·ni. He didn’t know where the sound of it could be coming from.

11

kaho·ni=’pihi nye·wenwi=’pi e·h=mawi–ki·ma·ha·þi. And then he went and tried to catch it by surprise four times.

12

kaho·ni . . . And then . . .

13

kaho·ni=’pihi taka·wi=mekoho e·h=pa·hkenaki. And then he opened it [a screen?] just a little.

17. In Leaf’s manuscript, we·pi is written webii. 18. In Leaf’s manuscript, =’ni is written .ni .

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i·nah=þi·hi=’pihi e·h=pye·þi–keþisa·niþi nepi·ki anemo·he·hani. There he saw a little dog come running out of the water.

15

kaho·ni=’pihi, “šehehye·c, we·nahi·=’niki wi·h=amwiþiki,” e·h=išite·he·þi=’pihi. And then, “Alas for me! So that’s it, those are the ones that will eat me!” he thought.

16

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–kano·ne·wesiþi. And then he was addressed.

17

kapo·twe=meko·=’nihi e·h=se·kimekoþi.19 At some point they frightened him by speaking to him. [obviative plural is erroneous]

18

“i·ni=mani.” “It’s all up now.” [hero speaking?]

19

kaho·ni=’pihi, “nahic, noši·hi,” e·h=ikoþi=’pihi. And then, “Well, grandson,” it told him.

20

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337

“wana·ki·no,” e·h=ikoþi. “Get up!” it told him.

21

kaho·ni e·h=pwa·wi– owiye·hani –ne·wa·þi. And then he didn’t see anyone.

22

kaho·ni=’pihi ma·mahka·þi=mekoho kapo·twe e·h=ne·wa·þi. And then at some point, inevitably, he saw it.

23

ki·ši–ne·wa·þi aþa·hmeko, i·ni aþa·hmeko, Only then when he saw it, then and only then,

24

ayo·h=þi·hi=’pi kehþi–maneto·wani nepi·ki e·h=sa·kišiniþi. here he beheld a great manitou sticking partly out of the water.

25

nekotiwine·niwani=’pihi. It had one horn. [Leaf n.d. d, lines 7M–9G]

The passage in (19) contains three false starts and one spelling error. In line 4 Bill Leaf tells us that the hero digs a hole in the sand, which is just enough information to motivate the beautiful new animate intransitive stem tahka·wakišin- ‘lie in the cold ground’ in line 5. This stem occurs nowhere else in the edited Michelson corpus.



19. In Leaf’s manuscript, =meko is written .meko .

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We are not told why Red-Leggins would want to lie in a hole he had dug. But at least the next few sentences are easy to follow. He fears he will starve; he gets ever weaker from hunger; then, suddenly, a dog barks at him, and although he hears it, he cannot see it. The two sentences that follow (lines 11 and 13, with a false start in between) are hard to interpret. If we have read or heard other versions of the Red-Leggins story, we know that the dog barks repeatedly at Red-Leggins, and each time he looks for it but fails to catch sight of it. We also know that in some versions Red-Leggins then conceals himself behind a bark screen. Armed with this information, we might make a guess at the meaning of the completely unexpected verb and completely mysterious inanimate pronoun in line 13. When Red-Leggins finally sees the dog, he thinks he has seen one of the scavengers who will eat him when he dies, and he begins to lament. At this point someone speaks to him. And here we need to know that in Meskwaki stories when the hero or heroine is in distress and suddenly hears a strange voice, the voice must belong to a manitou who is offering aid. In line 17, in fact, we are told that several strangers (obviative plural demonstrative i·nihi, without a noun) frighten the hero when they speak to him. Then someone utters an exclamation: there is no verb of quotation in line 18, but the use of enclitic =mani makes i·ni=mani almost certainly quoted speech. Unfortunately, it is is hard to say whether it is the hero or the strangers who utter the exclamation; one could make a case for either. In the sentences that follow, we learn that only one manitou has approached Red-Leggins. That suggests that the i·nihi in line 17 is an error. Most likely it was a writing error of nii. for ni. , as with webii. for webi. in line 4. If ni. rather than nii. was intended, line 17 would read kapo·twe=meko·=’ni e·h=se·kimekoþi, literally ‘then at some point obviative singular or plural frightened proximate singular by speech’. It is worth mentioning here that nii. for ni. is not a type of error that other Meskwaki authors are in the habit of committing. As elsewhere in Bill Leaf’s texts, the context he gives is so slight that we build castles of hypotheses on every crumb of information. It is difficult to adjust when the crumb itself is a mistake. The last few sentences, lines 19–25, are relatively straightforward, although I am not sure exactly what to make of ma·mahka·þi in line 22 and although the repetition of aþa·hmeko in line 23 is an atypical construction in Meskwaki. To my nonnative ears aþa·hmeko i·ni aþa·hmeko sounds as if it might be a false start followed by a repair.

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The passage culminates with two vivid lines of description in lines 24–25. They sufficiently indicate that Red-Leggins has been blessed by a great horned underwater serpent, a monster famous throughout North America. Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha’s version of Red-Leggins’ encounter with a mysterious dog and a mysterious stranger is reproduced in (20). (20)

1 2

e·h=katawi–=meko –pakisapene·þi=’pi·=’ni20 Nearly collapsing from hunger,

3

e·h=we·pi– a·ye·niwe –šekišekišiki=’pihi. he then began to just lie around in one place.

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4



kapo·twe e·h=pahkihte·pene·þi. At some point he was starving to death.

i·ni=’pi kapo·twe e·h=ka·škehtawa·þi=’pi owiye·hani e·h=ketoniþi. Then at some point he heard something make a noise.

5

i·tepi e·h=ihpaho·hiþi, e·h=tetepipahoþi i·ni menesi, He ran in that direction, circling the island at a run,

6

e·h=pa·wi–ne·wa·þi owiye·hani. but he didn’t see anyone.

7

i·ni=’pi e·h=a·þi–kehþi–mayo·þi. Then he cried hard all over again.

8

na·hka=meko wa·paniki, e·h=ka·škehtawa·þi=’pi owiye·hani. The next morning, again, he heard something.

9

“’šina·kwa, pye·toke·hiki me·mehteko·ši·haki,” e·h=išite·he·þi. “Gosh, I guess some Frenchmen have arrived!” he thought.

10

e·h=tetepipahoþi. And he ran the whole circuit.

11

e·h=pa·wi–=þi·h=meko owiye·hani –ne·wa·þi. But he found no one to be seen.

12

“wa·pake·=’ni wi·h=ne·waki ke·toketokwe·na,” e·h=išite·he·þi=’pi. “Tomorrow I’ll see whoever it is who keeps making noises,” he thought.

13

wa·paniki=’pi, ma·maya anake·hko·hahi ma·hi e·h=kepišima·þi.

20. In Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha’s manuscript, =’ni is written .ni .

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Early the next morning he set up a screen of bark sheets over there. 14 15

kapo·twe e·h=ketoniþi wi·sakiti·he·hani, nepi·ki e·h=oþi– keþisa·hiniþi. At some point a little terrier made a noise, and ran out of the water.

16

e·h=ne·wokoþi=’pi·=’ni e·h=anemi–nehka·ška·niþi, Then, seeing him, it plunged out of sight,

17

i·nahi nepi·ki e·h=iši–þapo·kisahoniþi=’pihi. jumping into the water.

18

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i·nahi=’pi·=’ni e·h=kesakesa·piþi. Then he kept peeping out from behind them.

i·ni=’pihi pe·hki e·h=ki·ša·koþite·he·þi=’pi. Then he really felt stricken.

19

“ma·haki=’h=we·na wi·h=nešiþiki, “These are the ones that will kill me, aren’t they,

20

wi·h=amwiþiki nepo·hiya·ne,” e·h=išite·he·þi=’pihi. the ones that will eat me when I die!” he thought.

21

kapo·twe ki·ši–po·ni–kaškihto·þi wi·h=pasekwi·þi=’pi·=’ni, At some point, when he was no longer able to get up,

22

i·ni=’pi e·h=kano·nekoþi nekoti maneto·wani. a certain manitou spoke to him.

23

“nahic, noši·hi, keketemino·ne. “All right, grandson, I bless you.

24

pasekwi·no,” e·h=ikoþi. Get up!'” it told him. [Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha n.d., lines 7C–8G]

The pronoun reference and the logical sequence is clear as day in Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha’s version. There are no mistakes in her version at all, apart from one extraneous word divider, and she identifies the bark sheets, the dog, and the manitou by noun phrases as they make their debut in the story. As to logical sequence, Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha, unlike Bill Leaf, explains Red-Leggins’ intense interest in the source of the strange sounds: he does not realize at first that the sounds are made by a dog, and he is hoping for a rescue. Twice he hears the sounds, and twice he scours the whole island to no avail. Then he conceals himself behind some sheets of bark, and from this cover he sees the dog.

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Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha, unlike Bill Leaf, explains why Red-Leggins was unable to see the dog when he first went looking for it: it lives not on the island but under the water surrounding the island, and so must be a manitou’s pet. As in Bill Leaf’s version, Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha’s Red-Leggins is distraught when he finally sees the dog, and predicts that it and its fellows will eat him. In her version, though, it makes sense that he laments when he sees it, because until he sees it he thinks the noises he has heard must have been made by humans with boats. In Bill Leaf’s version, Red-Leggins hears a dog barking and nonetheless goes to considerable trouble to catch a glimpse of it, and then, when he sees it, he cries that it and its friends will eat him. Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha gives much shorter shrift than Bill Leaf to the initial encounter with the manitou, and her version never describes the manitou at all—not its size, nor its horns, nor the fact that it emerges partway out of the water. Alfred Kiyana’s version of the same incident is presented in (21).

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(21)

1

e·škami=meko e·h=wi·ša·pene·þi. Gradually he grew hungry.

2

ke·keya·h=meko=pe·hki e·h=wi·ša·pene·þi. Eventually he grew very hungry.

3

e·taswi–wa·panikini, a·wasi·me·h=meko e·h=iši–wi·ša·pene·þi. With every passing day he grew even hungrier.

4

ke·keya·h=meko e·h=po·ni–=nekotahi –kaški–iha·þi. Eventually he was no longer able to go anywhere.

5

“nahic, a·kwi wi·h=amwiwa·þini ka·ka·kiwaki,” e·h=išite·he·þi. “Well, the crows won’t eat me,” he thought.

6 7 8 9 10

ne·kawahki·ki e·h=a·þi. He went out on the sandbar. i·ya·h=pye·ya·þi, e·h=pi·tahotisoþi. When he got there, he buried himself. še·ški e·h=sa·ki·kwe·šiki. Only his head stuck out. kapo·twe anemo·he·hani e·h=taši–mekinekoþi, At some point a little dog was barking at him, e·h=þi·keškwe·sa·þi. and he jerked up his head.

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11

e·h=pwa·wi–=na·hka –ka·škehtawa·þi. But he didn’t hear it again.

12

“o·hwa·c, i·ni=ye·toke e·h=we·pi–wa·wa·wane·netama·ni,” e·h=išite·he·þi. “Ai me, my senses are beginning to fail now!” he thought.

13

mani=meko=na·hka e·ši–kepoška·naki·kwe·þi, e·h=we·pi– mekinekoþi. As soon as he closed his eyes again, it started barking at him.

14

e·h=pwa·wi–=meko ašitahi –ame·þi wi·h=wa·pama·þi. For a long time he didn’t make any move to look at it.

15

e·h=kehþi–mekinekoþi. And it barked loudly at him.

16

“meše·=’nah=meko ni·h=nesekwa,” e·h=išite·he·þi. “Perhaps it’s going to kill me,” he thought.

17

o·ni kapo·twe e·h=wa·pama·þi. And then at some point he looked at it.

18

kwi·yena=meko e·h=anemi–nehkisa·niþi anemo·he·hani. Exactly then the little dog vanished from sight.

19

“o·c, we·nahi·=’ni=ye·toke wi·h=nepeya·ni,” e·h=išite·he·þi. “Oh, so that’s it, now I’ll die!” he thought.

20

“e·h=we·pi–ma·mayaka·piya·ni. “I’m beginning to see strange sights.

21

aše=ke·h=meko netenahina·pipetoke,” e·h=išite·he·þi, I must just have been seeing things,” he thought,

22

e·h=iþi=we·=meko. or he said aloud, rather.

23

mani=meko=na·hkaþi e·ši–kepoška·naki·kwe·þi, e·h=kehþi– mekinekoþi. As soon as he closed his eyes again, it barked loudly at him.

24

e·h=pwa·wi–=meko –ame·þi, He didn’t react,

25

meše=meko e·h=tahitanwe·taminiþi. and it carried on making a racket.

26

aškaþi=meko i·tepi e·h=ina·piþi.

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After a considerable time he looked that way. 27

28

kenwe·ši=meko e·h=taši–wa·pawa·pama·þi. He stayed gazing at it for a long while.

29

ke·keya·h=meko þi·kepye·ki e·h=pe·pye·hpahoniþi. Finally it came running ashore.

30

aškaþi=meko e·h=pye·þi–keþi·niþi meši–maneto·wani. After a considerable time a big manitou came out.

31

e·h=owi·wi·niniþi, e·h=aškihaškipaka·hkwiwine·niþi. It had horns, horns of solid green.

32

wa·wi·tawiwine e·h=ne·nye·wo·pite·niki pa·kwahikanani. Four drumsticks were tied about either horn.

33

anemo·he·hani e·h=otayiniþi. The little dog was its pet.

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i·nah=þi·hi e·h=taši–mekinekoþi, ahkwitepye·ki e·h=ki·wi– nemaso·hiniþi. There he saw it barking at him, standing around a bit here and there on the water.

e·h=pwa·wi–=meko –ame·þi.21 And he didn’t react. e·h=a·nawihto·þi=meko wi·h=we·pa·moþi. He was unable to flee. e·h=pye·þi–nana·hapiniþi e·h=tanehkwe·hiþi, It came and sat down at his head e·h=kano·nekoþi. and spoke to him. [Kiyana n.d., lines 11B–13H]

In Kiyana’s version, as in Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha’s, the pronoun reference and the logical sequence is completely lucid. Kiyana devotes thirty-seven lines to the events that Bill Leaf disposes of in twenty-five lines, and Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha in twenty-four. In his thirty-seven lines Kiyana makes one spelling mistake, leaving out the second syllable of the preverb pwa·wi in line 34. In line 22 he corrects himself, replacing the verb e·h=išite·he·þi ‘proximate singular thought X’ with the verb e·h=iþi ‘proximate singular said X’. There is not a single instance of =ipi in Kiyana’s version.



21. In Kiyana’s manuscript, pwa·wi: is written bwa .

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344

THOMASON

Note the deliberate of repetition of a verb in line 2 of (21), and again in line 3. Line 2 adds new information to line 1, and line 3 adds new information to line 2. In Kiyana’s story Red-Leggins laments the appearance of the dog because he thinks his mind is going, rather than because he fears it will eat him. He is worried instead about being eaten by crows. To prevent them from getting at him, he buries himself in the sand. The first time the dog comes out of the water to bark at RedLeggins in Kiyana’s version, he does not see it at all. He imagines he is hearing things. The second time he at first refuses to look at it. When he does look, he just barely glimpses it, and thinks he is seeing things. The third time he averts his eyes for an even longer time, and when he finally does look, the dog remains in sight. Remarkably enough, it is standing on the water. Again, this indicates to us that it must be a manitou’s dog, and therefore a manitou’s pet. The manitou arrives a few lines later and is explicitly identified as the owner of the dog. Kiyana describes the manitou in greater detail than Bill Leaf does: it has two green horns, instead of a single horn, and four drumsticks are tied to each horn. The drumsticks are significant later in the story. Kiyana’s version is knitted together by by an even denser web of logical connections than Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha’s. Red-Leggins has a reason for burying himself in the sand; he reacts rationally to the waterdog’s appearances; the water-dog’s appearances progress neatly from “heard but not seen” to “barely glimpsed” to “seen in plain view doing something remarkable”; the water-dog’s connection with the waterserpent is explained. It may be that Kiyana never heard a version of this story that mentioned a bark screen, and it may be that Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha never heard a version of this story in which Red-Leggins buries himself to the neck in the sand. It could also be, though, that Kiyana and Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha deliberately suppressed mention of the bark screen and the sand-burial, respectively, for the sake of telling a coherent story. In his version of the tale of the apaya·ši·haki (the Meskwaki name for LodgeBoy and Thrown-Away), Kiyana substitutes beaver tails for the traditional deer tails the boys eat while their father is out hunting.22 Beaver tails make sense: they were a highly prized food item, whereas no one but a myth character has ever been known to eat deer tails. The fact that Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha and Kiyana are so adept at telling stories that hang together logically makes their stories a pleasure to read. As with most good storytellers, though, they are subject to the



22. Ives Goddard first made this observation (p.c. 1996, 2003, 2005).

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temptation to add and subtract things from the material they learned in order to craft from it a coherent and polished tale. Bill Leaf’s apparent lack of a similar impulse would make him an invaluable mine of information if only he wrote down more detail. In lines 4–5 and 13 of (19), he gives a brief version of the sand-burial motif, and then an even briefer, tantalizing hint of the bark screen motif. Neither motif is motivated in his story, and neither seems to make much sense. But at least we can infer that Bill Leaf heard both motifs mentioned in connection with Red-Leggins’ sojourn on the island. In short, Bill Leaf has a tremendous amount to offer as a writer. I owe him a great deal, but no editor who works on his texts can ever feel entirely satisfied with him or with herself.

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Abbreviations and conventions Abbreviations. Grammatical abbreviations used here are: 12 inclusive person inflection; 1 first person inflection; 2 second person inflection; 3 animate proximate third person inflection; 3ƍ animate primary obviative third person inflection; 3Ǝ animate secondary obviative third person inflection; 0 inanimate proximate third person inflection; 0ƍ inanimate obviative third person inflection; 1RED one-syllable reduplication; 2RED two-syllable reduplication; AI animate intransitive verb (intransitive verb taking an animate subject); AI+O animate intransitive verb taking a second object; AOR proclitic marking the aorist mood; CC changed conjunct mood; CONJ aorist conjunct mood (with aorist proclitic) or future conjunct mood (with future proclitic); DIM diminutive; EMPH emphatic; EVID evidential enclitic (meaning ‘apparently’); EXOC exocentric nominal inflection; FUT proclitic marking the future moods; HRSY evidential enclitic meaning ‘they say, it is said’; IMP imperative mood; II inanimate intransitive verb (intransitive verb taking an inanimate subject); IN inanimate third person inflection of a noun or participle; IND independent indicative mood or future indicative mood (with future proclitic); INDEF indefinite; INT interrogative mood; INT.PPL interrogative participial mood; ITER iterative mood; LOC locative inflection; NEG negative mood; OBV animate obviative third person inflection of a noun or participle; P, PL plural; PERF perfective preverb; POSS alienable possession marker; POT potential mood; POV enclitic marking direct sensory point of view; PPL conjunct participial mood; PROH prohibitive mood; PRX animate proximate third person person inflection of a noun or participle; PST past mood; PST.PPL past participial mood; PST.SUBJ past subjunctive mood; S, SG singular; SUBJ subjunctive mood; TA transitive animateverb (transitive verb taking an animate object); TA+O ditransitive verb (transitive animate verb taking both an object and a second object); TI transitive inanimate verb (transitive verb taking an inanimate object); TI-O transitive inanimate verb minus an object; VOC vocative inflection; X indefinite person inflection.

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In glosses of inflectional suffixes of verbs, subject and object agreement features are separated from mode features by “/”, and for transitive verbs, subject features are separated from object features by by “>”: e.g., “2>1P/IND” indicates a second person subject acting upon a first person plural object in the (independent or future) indicative mode. Person features enclosed in brackets in the glosses (“[1],” “[2],” “[12]”) are not specified, or not fully specified, by the verb’s suffixal inflection, but are supplied from a pronominal prefix (which may be on the verb itself, or on a preverb possibly separated from the verb); thus, for example, the suffix -a·wa is glossed either “-[1]S>3S/IND” or “-[2]S>3S/IND” depending on whether the first person prefix ne- or the second person prefix ke- is present. Additional inflectional information for participles (relating to the head of the relative clause) is indicated in parentheses: e.g., 3ƍ/INT.PPL(LOC.SG) for an interrogative participle with obviative third person subject and a locative singular head of the relative clause. Conventions and symbols. The text presented below is divided into numbered lines. Numbers (1, 2, etc.) correspond to pages of the original manuscript; roughly clause-level units are identified by letters (1A, 1B, etc.). Vowel length, h, paragraphing, and punctuation have been added; none of these is present in Bill Leaf’s original. Grouping of clauses into paragraphs is indicated by extra indentation of noninitial lines of paragraphs. In the Meskwaki and gloss lines, boundaries are indicated for affixes (the ordinary hyphen -), for clitics (the equals sign =), and for preverbs, prenouns, and preparticles (the dash –). In the free translations, boldface marks proximate third persons, italics mark obviative third persons, and underline marks inanimate third persons. Inanimate nouns in Meskwaki are specified for number but not proximacy; inanimate objects of verbs are specified for neither number nor proximacy. In the morpheme-by-morpheme glosses and in the English translations of the Meskwaki lines, I have marked the inanimate objects of verbs as obviative (with underlining plus italics in translations) when they are the object of a verb whose subject is third person (this is required by the rules of Meskwaki grammar), and proximate (with underlining plus boldface in translations) when they are the object of a verb whose subject is inclusive, first, second, or indefinite person (this is not required, but is the prevailing pattern). Angled brackets ( ) mark textual glosses, which reproduce Bill Leaf’s original spelling. My transcription of Bill Leaf’s handwriting takes many liberties: on page 36, for instance, where he writes something like x a se nya ki ba ko| di me ko x me sga no sa wa| x ma ni na ka tti x , I transcribe .asenyakipako|šimeko.meškwanosawa|.maninakaþi. . In these glosses, a period (.) represents a word divider and a pipe (|) represents the end of a line. In the edited Meskwaki lines and in the textual glosses, a double pipe (||) represents the end of a page.

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References [Anonymous] n.d. me me dgi ma te te| a te so ka ka na|. MS 2985, National Anthropological Archives. Collected by Truman Michelson. Busby, Allie B. 1886 Two Summers among the Musquakies, Relating to the Early History of the Sac and Fox Tribe, Incidents of their Noted Chiefs, location of the Foxes, or Musquakies, in Iowa, with a Full Account of Their Traditions, Rites and Ceremonies, And the personal experience of the writer for two and a half years among them. Vinton, Iowa: Herald Book and Job Rooms. Callender, Charles 1978 Fox. In Handbook of North American Indians. Vol. 15: Northeast, edited by Bruce G. Trigger, 635–48. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution. Edmunds, R. David, and Joseph L. Peyser 1993 The Fox Wars: The Mesquakie Challenge to New France. Norman and London: University of Oklahoma Press. Goddard, Ives 2003 Reconstructing the History of the Demonstrative Pronouns of Algonquian. In Essays in Algonquian, Catawban, and Siouan Linguistics in Memory of Frank T. Siebert, Jr., edited by Blair A. Rudes and David J. Costa, 41–113. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba. 2005 Winter Stories. In Algonquian Spirit: Contemporary Translations of the Algonquian Literatures of North America, edited by Brian Swann, 320–67. Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press. n.d. a Field Notebook 98-1. MS. n.d. b Field Notebook 04. MS. Kiyana, Alfred n.d. me me sgi ma te te [Red Leggins]. MS 2764.4, National Anthropological Archives. Collected by Truman Michelson. Kiyana, Alfred, and Truman Michelson n.d. [Untitled.] MS 3110, National Anthropological Archives. Collected by Truman Michelson. Edited by Ives Goddard. Leaf, Bill n.d. a [Untitled.] MS 1879.1, National Anthropological Archives. Collected by Truman Michelson. n.d. b [Untitled.] MS 2794.56, National Anthropological Archives. Collected by Truman Michelson. n.d. c [Untitled.] MS 2794.61, National Anthropological Archives. Collected by Truman Michelson. n.d. d ma ni . me me sgi ma te te a [This is (the story of) Red-Leggins]. MS 2794.68a, National Anthropological Archives. Collected by Truman Michelson.

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[Untitled.] MS 2794.69, National Anthropological Archives. Collected by Truman Michelson. n.d. f we ta ni bi me a . o ka ke ki . ne ma te ni ka . a ni bi [Has-an-Elm, the one with an elm tree in his chest]. MS 2794.79, National Anthropological Archives. Collected by Truman Michelson. Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha n.d. me me dgi ma te te a [Red-Leggins]. MS 1861, National Anthropological Archives. Collected by Truman Michelson.

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n.d. e

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki text Bill Leaf’s Story of Red-Leggins National Anthropological Archives manuscripts 2794.68a and 2794.56. (Bill Leaf’s Red-Leggins text was originally found bundled into two separate manuscript numbers: pages 1–30 in 2794.68a [Bill Leaf n.d. d] and pages 31– 56 in 2794.56 [Bill Leaf n.d. b].)

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1A

mani me·meškwimatete·h-a.1 this.IN.SG Red.Leggins-PRX.SG This is about Red-Leggins.

1B

þo·na·y-a 25, 1912. July-PRX.SG 25 1912 July 25, 1912.

1C

se·šti·hi-wi·=’noki.2 be.Thursday-0S/IND=today It’s Thursday today.

1D

manihi=þa·h=e·na·þim-eþi:3 this.IN.SG=so=tell.of.so-X>3/PPL(IN.SG) This is what is said about him:

1E

kapo·twe=’pihi ma·wa·sen-wi. at.some.point=HRSY be.a.village-0S/IND At some point there was a village.

1F

kaho·ni=’pihi i·nahi=’pi neniw-a, okima·wi–neniw-a, and.then=HRSY there=HRSY man-PRX.SG chiefly–man-PRX.SG



1. Bill Leaf is the only Meskwaki author I know of who uses the inanimate singular demonstrative mani with animate nouns or participles in his story titles. The story of Red-Leggins is a winter story (animate a·teso·hka·kana) rather than an everyday story (inanimate a·þimo·ni). But perhaps he means ‘this sheet of paper [inanimate mesenahikani] is about Red-Leggins’, or ‘this writing [inanimate anepye·hikani] is about Red-Leggins’. 2. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before the enclitic: .noki. . 3. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before the enclitic: .þa . Normally the demonstrative mani would be manihi only before a pause. The particle =þa·hi can only be an enclitic, and I have seen echo vowels used before enclitics only in Bill Leaf’s texts. Note, though, that Bill Leaf also wrote a word divider before =þa·hi.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

350

THOMASON

meta·swih-e·wa=’pi nekoti·=’nahi o-kwis-ahi.4 have.ten.of-3S>3ƍ/IND one=and 3-son-OBV.PL And a man there, a chiefly man, had ten sons and one.

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1G

na·hka=meko=’pi ota·nesi-wa. and=EMPH=HRSY have(as)a.daughter-3S/IND He also had daughters.

1H

kaho·ni=’pihi ma·hani nekoti o-kwis-ani and.then=HRSY this.OBV.SG one 3-son-OBV.SG 5 e·h=ma·wa·ši-niþi. AOR=attract.crowds-3ƍ/CONJ And one of his sons had crowds of visitors.

1I

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–mi·na·we·nem-a·þi.6 and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–think.seriously.of-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he began to have serious thoughts about him.

1J

pe·hki=mekoho i·na ahpene·þi=meko really=EMPH that.PRX.SG always=EMPH e·h=pye·notaw-oþi=’pihi.7 AOR=come.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY That [young man] was always very much sought after.

1K

kaho·ni=’pihi, “kašina·kwa, pe·hki=ni·hka=meko and.then=HRSY why! really=(expletive)=EMPH pye·þi–taši–ma·wa·šin-wa,” manaha this.PRX.SG hither–there–attract.crowds-3S/IND e·h=ine·nem-a·þi. AOR=think.so.of-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he thought about him, “By gosh, he’s really in the habit of coming home with crowds of guests.



4. Bill Leaf wrote .okiwa|wi. for what I presume is okima·wi. 5. It is unusual to introduce a new character with a demonstrative from the mana series (‘this one right here, this one we all know about’). In general, Bill Leaf uses the mana demonstratives quite differently from his contemporaries. 6. Bill Leaf frequently uses the preverb mawi ‘go and do X’ to mean ‘begin to do X’. I do not know of another author who does this. Sometimes Bill Leaf’s inceptive mawi co-occurs with the preverb we·pi, which is the standard Meskwaki preverb for ‘begin to do X’. I have not discovered a pattern to explain a difference in meaning between the cases where he uses only mawi and the cases where he uses only we·pi and the cases where he uses both together. 7. This is a surprising proximate shift.

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Meskwaki

1L

“ma·haki=ke·h=wi·na, nekotah=mekoho,” this.PRX.PL=moreover=but in.some.place-EMPH e·h=išite·he·-þi.8 AOR=think.so-3S/CONJ And as for the others, nothing doing,” he thought.

1M

(nahpen-e·wa=’yo=ke·hi=’pi ma·hani have.as.a.stepchild-3S>3ƍ/IND=for=moreover=HRSY this.OBV.SG kwi·yena ma·wa·ši-niþini.) exactly attract.crowds-3ƍ/PPL(OBV.SG) (Now, it so happens that this exact same [son] who had the crowds of visitors was his stepson.)

1N

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi and.then=so=HRSY e·h=mawi–we·pi–na·na·natawe·net-aki AOR=go.and–begin–1RED.1RED.want-3S>0ƍ/CONJ wi·h=ina·hpenan-a·kwe·ni.9 FUT=treat.so-3S>3ƍ/INT.PPL(IN.SG) And then he started casting about for a way to get rid of him.

1O

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351

ke·ke·keya·h=meko e·h=we·pi–ki·ki·yose·-þi=’pihi. 1RED.finally=EMPH AOR=begin–1RED.walk.about-3S/CONJ=HRSY Eventually he began to walk about in various places.

1P

kapo·twe·=’nahi=’pi·=’ni at.some.point=now=HRSY=then e·h=mawi–mehkwe·nem-a·þi.10 AOR=go.and–remember-3S>3ƍ/CONJ Then at some point he remembered about it.

2A

kapo·twe=’pi·=’ni e·h=ne·w-a·þi o-taye·-ni. at.some.point=HRSY=then AOR=see-3S>3ƍ/CONJ 3-pet-OBV.SG At some point he saw his pet.



8. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic ( .ke ) and wrote .eišiteþi. for what I presume is e·h=išite·he·þi. This sentence is difficult to interpret. With a negative particle, nekotahi means ‘(not) at all’, but there is no negative particle here. 9. Note the double reduplication. This is typical of Bill Leaf’s style, though rare for other authors. It is not clear whether this is a writing artifact or whether he would have talked this way, too. 10. Obviative here refers to the pet mentioned in the next line. As all Meskwaki audiences would know, the old man tries to kill his son by means of one magical creature after another. The old man starts by resorting to a creature who is already under his command. As Bill Leaf tells us a few sentences later, this is a fisher, a large weasel native to North America. Page break: ma||þi .

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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352

THOMASON

2B

“nahiƍ, k-i·h=awaþipaho·n-a·wa11 manahka well 2-FUT=run.away.with-[2]S>3S/IND over.yonder e·h=ki·ška·hkiwi-ki,” AOR=be.a.steep.hill-0/PPL(LOC.SG) e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY “Now, you must lead him away at a run to that cliff over there,” he told it.

2C

mani: this.IN.SG And this:

2D

oþe·k-ani o-taye·-ni·=’na.12 fisher-OBV.SG 3-pet-OBV.SG=that.PRX.SG his pet was a fisher.

2E

i·ni=þa·hi e·na·þim-eþi. that.IN.SG=so tell.of.so-X>3/PPL(IN.SG) That’s what is said about him.

2F

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=ma·mawi– ... and.then=HRSY AOR=1RED.go.and– And then he went and . . .

2G

nahi·=’ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–na·kwa·-þi manaha.13 well=then=HRSY AOR=go.and–depart-3S/CONJ this.PRX.SG Well, then he headed home.

2H

kaho·ni=’pi i·na·hi e·h=pya·-þi. and.then=HRSY over.there AOR=come-3S/CONJ And then he arrived there.

2I

kaho·ni=þa·hi e·h=a·þimoh-a·þi.14 and.then=so AOR=inform-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he gave them some instructions.



11. Bill Leaf wrote .ki of ki·h=awaþipaho·na·wa over an erased syllable. Both the word divider and ki are written slightly oddly. 12. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before cliticized i·na: .|na . 13. Note that Bill Leaf wrote mawawi|. for what I presume is mawi. This error, if that is what it is, occurs six times in this text. 14. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before the enclitic: .þai . The obviative here refers to the old man’s sons.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

2J

2K

2L

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2M

353

kaho·ni·=’ni=’pihi mani=’pihi and.then=that.IN.SG?=HRSY this.IN.SG=HRSY e·n-a·þi: say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/PPL(IN.SG) And this is what he told them: “nahiƍ, mani asen-i k-i·h=pakam-ipwa, well this.IN.SG rock-IN.SG 2-FUT=hit(at)-2P>1S/IND ke·ko·h-i=’ši–omatekwaši-ya·ne,” something-IN.SG=so–have.a.nightmare-1S/SUBJ e·h=išiwe·-þi. AOR=declare-3S/CONJ “Now, you must hit me with this rock if I have any kind of nightmare,” he declared. kaho·ni=’pi pe·hkote·-niki=mekoho, and.then=HRSY be.night-0ƍ/CC=EMPH e·h=mato·teša·-wa·þi=’pihi.15 AOR=take.a.sweatbath-3P/CONJ=HRSY And then that night they took a sweatbath. e·h=koþim-a·þi i·nihi o-kwis-ahi AOR=try.by.speech-3S>3ƍ/CONJ that.OBV.PL 3-son-OBV.PL ke·ko·h-i wi·h=ina·hpenan-a·wa·þi=’pihi. something-IN.SG FUT=treat.so-3P>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY He tried to persuade his sons to get rid of him somehow.

2N

kaho·ni=’pihi nekoti e·h=kotowe·-þi=’pihi.16 and.then=HRSY one AOR=make.a.suggestion-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then one of them [demurred?].

2O

kaho·ni=’pihi nekoti e·h=anemi–nowo·te·sa·-þi,17 and.then=HRSY one AOR=continue–crawl.out.rapidly-3S/CONJ And then one of them scrambled out [of the sweatlodge] on his hands and knees,



15. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before the enclitic: .mekoo. . The proximate here appears to refer to the old man and all of his sons except Red-Leggins. 16. This is a somewhat odd use of AI kotowe·-. Note that AI+O otowe·- means ‘stand up for someone, take someone’s side, forbid, refuse’, which would seem to suit the context here a little better than kotowe·-. Nonetheless, Bill Leaf wrote kotowe . He uses the same stem below in another unexpected context, in 49C. 17. This is to date our only attestation of the AI stem nowo·te·sa·-.

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354

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2P

THOMASON

e·h=ša·kwe·nemo-þi ta·taki. AOR=be.unwilling-3S/CONJ as.it.were because he was unwilling, basically.

2Q

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=anwa·þi·-wa·þi ma·haki, and.then=HRSY AOR=consent-3P/CONJ this.PRX.PL a·neta=’pihi.18 || some(of.them)=HRSY And then they agreed [to it], some of them.

3A

pašito·h-a nahi·=’ni=’pihi manaha well=then=HRSY this.PRX.SG old.man-PRX.SG pe·hkote·hi-niki. e·h=omatekwaši-þi, AOR=have.a.nightmare-3S/CONJ be.night.DIM-0ƍ/CC Well, then the old man had a nightmare early that night.

3B

kaho·ni=’pihi manaha ma·waþi–ahkoweþi·h-a and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG among.all–youngest.brother-PRX.SG e·h=mawi–pemi–pasekwi·þisa·-þi, AOR=go.and–along–jump.to.feet-3S/CONJ And then the youngest one of all jumped up

3C

ow-i·š-eki e·h=pakitamaw-a·þi i·ni 3-head-LOC AOR=throw.down.for-3S>3ƍ/CONJ that.IN.SG asen-i. rock-IN.SG and threw the rock at his head.

3D

o·ni=’pihi e·h=to·hki·-niþi. and.then=HRSY AOR=wake.up-3ƍ/CONJ And then he woke up.

3E

3F



“nahiƍ, ne-kwis-etike, a·kwi=koh=wi·na well 1-son-VOC.PL not=certainly=but mya·na·hpawa·-ya·nini. have.a.bad.dream-1S/NEG “Well, sons, I didn’t have a bad dream. še·ški wi·h=na·taw-iye·kwe oþe·k-a just FUT=go.after.for-2P>1S/CONJ fisher-PRX.SG

18. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .pii.|| .

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Meskwaki

355

wa·peškesi-ta,” e·h=išiwe·-þi=’pihi.19 be.white-3S/PPL(PRX.SG) AOR=declare-3S/CONJ=HRSY It’s just that you have to go to get a white fisher for me,” he declared. 3G

3H

3I

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3J

kaho·ni=’pi, “mani,” e·h=in-a·þi. and.then=HRSY this.IN.SG AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he said to them, “And this: “‘ne-kwis-a,’ n-i·h=išite·he, 1-son-PRX.SG 1-FUT=think.so.[1]S/IND pye·n-a·kwe·na,” e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi.20 bring-3S>3ƍ/INT.PPL(PRX.SG) AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY ‘[He’s] my son,’ I will think, about whoever brings it,” he told them. kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=maw–a·yahkwa·þimoh-a·þi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–1RED.stop.telling-3S>3ƍ/CONJ o-taye·-ni. 3-pet-OBV.SG And then he went and finished giving his pet its instructions. “nahiƍ, pe·hki=mekoho k-i·h=aniwisa,” well really=EMPH 2-FUT=run.fast.[2]S/IND e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY “Now, you must really run fast,” he told it.

3K

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–we·pi–natone·hw-a·wa·þi i·nahi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–begin–seek-3P>3ƍ/CONJ that.LOC maškote·-ki.21 prairie-LOC And then they began to search for it there in the prairie.

3L

wa·pa-niki, ma·waþi–mehtami=meko maþi·hkiwes-a be.morning-0ƍ/CC first.of.all=EMPH eldest.brother-PRX.SG e·h=pemi–ki·we·-þi.22 || AOR=turn.back-3S/CONJ In the morning, Eldest-Brother was the first one of all to turn back.



19. The proximate here refers to Red-Leggins’ father. 20. Bill Leaf wrote .niišiteee. for what I presume is ni·h=išite·he. 21. The proximate here refers to Red-Leggins and his brothers. 22. Eldest-Brother and Eldest-Sister are stock villains in Meskwaki winter stories, the butts of much mockery.

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356

THOMASON

4A

“ši·ƍ, ke·ko·h-i=wi·na iši–mya·nahkamika[t-wi],” (surprise) something-IN.SG=but so–be.a.bad.situation-0S/IND e·h=i-þi=’pihi.23 AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “Say, something is wrong with this set-up,” he said.

4B

o·ni=’pihi ke·keya·h=meko e·h=þa·ki–ki·we·-wa·þi. and.then=HRSY finally=EMPH AOR=all–turn.back-3P/CONJ And then eventually all of them turned back.

4C

manaha kaho·ni ke·ke·wa·þi=meko=’pihi and.then the.last.one(s)=EMPH=HRSY this.PRX.SG ahkoweþi·h-a e·h=anematone·hw-a·þi.24 youngest.brother-PRX.SG AOR=go.along.seeking-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then the youngest brother went on chasing it all by himself.

4D

kaho·ni=’pihi kapo·twe and.then=HRSY at.some.point e·h=mawi–pemi–we·pipaho-niþi. AOR=go.and–along–start.running-3ƍ/CONJ And then at some point it took off running.

4E

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawinan-a·þi wa·peškesi-niþini and.then=HRSY AOR=attack-3S>3ƍ/CONJ be.white-3ƍ/PPL(OBV.SG) oþe·k-ani.25 fisher-OBV.SG And then he ran at the white fisher.

4F

kaho·ni=’pihi i·nah=meko=’pihi and.then=HRSY there=EMPH=HRSY e·h=mawi–matan-a·þi. AOR=go.and–overtake-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he overtook it right there.



23. Bill Leaf wrote ka.eišipii.| for what I presume is katwi,” e·h=iþi=’pihi. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the II stem mya·nahkamikat-. Unfortunately, the word it appears in here contains a serious spelling error. 24. The proximate here refers to Red-Leggins. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the TA stem anematone·hw-. 25. Bill Leaf wrote ni|þi. for what I presume is niþini. It is only one missing syllable, but it means the difference between an inanimate participle and an animate obviative participle. My revision here should be considered fairly drastic.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Meskwaki

4G

kaho·ni=’pihi i·nah=e·h=matan-a·þi i·nahi.26 and.then=HRSY there=AOR=overtake-3S>3ƍ/CONJ there And then he overtook it there.

4H

kaho·ni=’pihi aya·pami and.then=HRSY back e·h=pa·keþe·šim-a·þi.27 AOR=make.fall.on.the.belly?-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he flung it backwards to land face down.

4I

kaho·ni=’pihi . . . and.then=HRSY And then . . .

4J

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=awan-a·þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=take.away.with-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he took it home with him.

4K

kaho·ni, “manaha,” e·h=in-a·þi. and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he told him, “Here it is.”

4L

kaho·ni=þa·hi i·na·hi aya·pami e·h=pye·taw-a·þi.28 and.then=so over.there back AOR=bring.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ So then he brought it back to him there.

4M

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi . . . and.then=so=HRSY So then . . .

4N

kaho·ni=þa·hi, “nahiƍ, manihi,” and.then=so well this.IN.SG e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY So then he told him, “Well, here you go.”

4O

i·ni=þa·hi, “i·nah=aš-i,” e·h=ikoþi. then=so there=place-2S>3/IMP AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ So then he told him, “Put it there!”



357

26. This rephrasing of 4F seems unnecessary. The repetition of i·nahi is particularly jarring. 27. Bill Leaf crossed out a syllable ( ko ?) that originally appeared between pii and a . 28. The rephrasing of 4I–K in 4L–N seems unnecessary.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

358

4P

kaho·ni=’pihi pa·pekwa=meko na·hkaþi and.then=HRSY immediately=EMPH and e·h=ki·ši–mehkwe·nem-a·þi=’pihi.29 || AOR=PERF–remember-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY Then right away again he remembered it.

5A

“nahiƍ, manahka=’yo·we menes-eki ne-ne·w-a·waki well over.yonder=formerly island-LOC 1-see-[1]S>3P/IND pene·w-aki. turkey-PRX.PL “Now, on an island over there I once saw turkeys.

5B

nekoti=þa·hi=’yo·we wa·peškesi-wa. one=so=formerly be.white-3S/IND One of them was white.

5C

i·nini=þa·h=wi·h=na·n-a·wa·þini. that.OBV.SG=so=FUT=go.after-3P>3ƍ/PPL(OBV.SG) So that is the one they’ll go to get.

5D

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THOMASON

“kaho·ni=’pi i·h=we·pinehkaw-a·wa·þi. and.then=HRSY FUT=start.chasing-3P>3ƍ/CONJ “And then they’ll start chasing it.

5E

o·ni ma·haki wi·h=we·pi–pye·þi–we·paho-wa·þi. and.then this.PRX.PL FUT=begin–hither–start.paddling-3P/CONJ And then the others will start paddling back this way.

5F

mana·=’ni wi·h=nakan-eþi ne-kwis-a.” this.PRX.SG=then FUT=leave-X>3/CONJ 1-son-PRX.SG Then my one son will be stranded.”

5G

kaho·ni=’pihi na·hka=meko·=’ni e·h=ina·hpawa·-þi.30 and.then=HRSY and=EMPH=that.IN.SG AOR=dream.so-3S/CONJ And then he had that kind of dream again.

5H

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=na·kwa·-wa·þi.31 and.then=so=HRSY AOR=depart-3P/CONJ So then they set out.



29. The proximate here refers to Red-Leggins’ father. The obviative refers to the creature Bill Leaf is about to describe. 30. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .pii. . 31. The proximate here refers to Red-Leggins and his brothers.

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Meskwaki

359

5I

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–na·kwa·-wa·þi.32 and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–depart-3P/CONJ And then they went and set out.

5J

i·nahi menes-eki. kaho·ni e·h=mawi–pya·-wa·þi and.then AOR=go.and–come-3P/CONJ that.LOC island-LOC And then they arrived at that island.

5K

kaho·ni=þa·hi . . . and.then=so So then . . .

5L

kaho·ni=’pihi i·na·hi=’pihi pye·ya·-wa·þi=’pihi, and.then=HRSY over.there=HRSY come-3P/CC=HRSY e·h=mawi–we·pi–pemipeno-wa·þi. AOR=go.and–begin–speed.off-3P/CONJ And then when they got there, they set off at a run.

5M

(i·nahi=’yo=ke·h=meko=’pihi ne·w-e·wa i·nini there=for=moreover=EMPH=HRSY see-3S>3ƍ/IND that.OBV.SG wa·pi–pene·w-ani.)33 white–turkey-OBV.SG (Incidentally, he saw the white turkey there.)

5N

kaho·ni=’pihi ma·haki e·h=þa·ki–mešeneti·-wa·þi, and.then=HRSY this.PRX.PL AOR=all–catch.each.other-3P/CONJ aya·pami e·h=po·þisa·-wa·þi.34 back AOR=speed.into.a.volumar.container-3P/CONJ And then the others all grabbed hold of each other and tumbled back into the canoe.

5O

i·niya·=’ni e·h=nakan-eþi.35 that.previous-PRX.SG=then AOR=leave-X>3/CONJ Then he was stranded.

5P

kaho·ni kapo·twe=wi·na manaha e·h=ka·škehtaw-a·þi and.then at.some.point=but this.PRX.SG AOR=hear-3S>3ƍ/CONJ



32. This rephrasing of 5H seems unnecessary. 33. The proximate here probably refers to Red-Leggins. 34. Judging by other authors’ version of this story, what this means is that the complicit brothers are grabbing hold of the one who refused to join the plot against Red-Leggins, pinioning him and forcing him into the canoe. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem mešeneti·-. 35. The proximate here refers to Red-Leggins.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

360

THOMASON

mehto·þi.||36 as.it.were And then at some point it was as if he heard him.

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6A

nahiƍ, kapo·twe=’pihi e·h=ka·škehtaw-a·þi well at.some.point=HRSY AOR=hear-3S>3ƍ/CONJ owiye·h-ani. someone-OBV.SG Now, at some point he heard someone.

6B

mehto·þi=mekoho, “ke-na·hkataho·n-enepena,” as.it.were=EMPH 2-leave.behind.from.canoe-1P>2/IND e·h=i-niþi mehto·þi.37 AOR=say.so-3ƍ/CONJ as.it.were It was as if he was saying, “We’ve left you behind!”

6C

kaho·ni=þa·hi·=’nahi·=’nini e·h=ki·ši–matan-a·þi and.then=so=there=that.OBV.SG AOR=PERF–overtake-3S>3ƍ/CONJ pene·w-ani.38 turkey-OBV.SG So then he had caught up with the turkey there.

6D

kaho·ni=þa·hi e·h=mawi–ka·škehtaw-a·þi i·nini and.then=so AOR=go.and–hear-3S>3ƍ/CONJ that.OBV.SG kwa·ko·ho·m-ekoþini.39 shout.to-3ƍ>3S/PPL(OBV.SG) So then he started hearing the shouter.

6E

kaho·ni=þa·hi . . . and.then=so So then . . .

6F

kaho·ni=þa·hi e·h=mawi–ne·ya·pi–ihpaho-þi. and.then=so AOR=go.and–go.and–back(to.former.state)-3S/CONJ So then he went running back.

6G

kaho·ni i·nahi ke·þisa·-þi, and.then there run.out(into.the.open)-3S/CC And then when he ran out to where he could see,



36. 37. 38. 39.

The obviative here refers to Red-Leggins’ non-fratricidal brother. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before the enclitic: |.mekoo. . Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before two of the enclitics: .nai.ni|ni . Bill Leaf wrote kakaoni for what I presume is kaho·ni.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

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6H

361

wa·natohka=þi·h=meko unconcernedly=POV=EMPH e·h=katawi–anemi–nehka·pata·ni-niþi.40 AOR=nearly–continue–be.seen.moving.out.of.sight-3ƍ/CONJ why, as if nothing were strange about it, they were nearly lost to view.

6I

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=þe·þe·ke-ki. and.then=HRSY AOR=cry.out-3S/CONJ And then he cried out.

6J

kaho·ni=’pihi kapo·twe e·h=a·hkwe·htaw-a·þi and.then=HRSY at.some.point AOR=be.angry.at-3S>3ƍ/CONJ ma·hahi pene·w-ahi, this.OBV.PL turkey-OBV.PL And then at some point he got angry at the turkeys

6K

na·hkaþi natawa·þi and with.intent.or.resolve e·h=mawi–þa·ki–ki·ki·watahw-a·þi. AOR=go.and–all–1RED.go.around.hitting.with.a.stick-3S>3ƍ/CONJ and set out to go around clubbing them all to death.

6L

e·yi·ki=meko e·h=þa·ki–ni·sinehkaw-a·þi mehtek-oki also=EMPH AOR=all–chase.down-3S>3ƍ/CONJ tree-LOC pe·kiši-niþihi.41 alight-3ƍ/PPL(OBV.PL) He also chased down all the ones that landed in trees.

6M

kaho·ni=’pihi and.then=HRSY e·h=þa·ki–ki·ki·watahw-a·þi. AOR=all–1RED.go.around.hitting.with.a.stick-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he clubbed them all to death.

6N

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–ne·kwa·hkwišim-a·þi,42 and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–slip.into.place.between-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he started tucking them in



40. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .meko. . The obviative here refers to Red-Leggins’ brothers. 41. Bill Leaf wrote the |.me of |.metekoki. over an erased syllable, ki . 42. It is not clear to me what this means.

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362

6O

7A

7B

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7C

THOMASON

e·h=we·pi–ki·wi||–te·tetepwe·kesi-þi manihi AOR=begin–around–1RED.wail.circling-3S/CONJ this.IN.SG menes-i e·nekihkwa·-niki. island-IN.SG be.so.big-0ƍ/PPL(IN.SG) and began to circle the whole extent of the island, wailing. (þaka·heno·hi-niwi=’yo=ke·hi=’pi.43 be.small-0ƍS/IND=for=moreover=HRSY (Incidentally, it was small. še·ški=meko pene·w-ahi ma·ne·-niwahi.) just=EMPH turkey-OBV.PL be.numerous-3ƍP/IND There were just large numbers of turkeys [there]). ta·ni=’h=we·=ke·hi wi·h=išawi-þi. how-IN.SG=NEG=or.rather=moreover FUT=do.so-3S/PPL(IN.SG) But what could he do?

7D

a·kwi–=ke·hi –kana·kwa wi·h=a·šowiþime·-þi. not–=moreover –it.is/was.impossible FUT=swim.across-3S/CONJ It was impossible for him to swim across.

7E

a·kwi=’pihi te·pa·pata·ni-nikini not=HRSY be.visible.in.the.distance-0ƍ/NEG aka·me·h-i. opposite.shore-IN.SG The far shore couldn’t be seen.

7F

še·ški=meko nep-ihi, aka·me·heki just=EMPH=then water-IN.SG on.the.opposite.shore e·na·pi-þini. look.thither-3S/ITER There was nothing but water, whenever he looked at the far shore.

7G

7H



na·hk=e·yi·ki a·kwi–kana·kwa ke·ko·h-i and=also not–it.is/was.impossible something-IN.SG wi·h=pehtawe·-þi, FUT=make.a.fire-3S/CONJ And also it was impossible for him to make any kind of a fire. koþi·h=ma·ne·te-niwi mena·škono·n-i. although=be.numerous-0ƍS/IND fresh.meat-IN.SG Although there was a great deal of fresh meat. 43. The inanimate here refers to the island.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

7I

šewe·na a·kwi–kana·kwa=mekoho wi·h=kaški– . . . but not–it.is/was.impossible=EMPH FUT=able– But it was impossible to manage . . .

7J

o·ni=þa·hi še·ški=mekoho kwayahkwi and.then=so just=EMPH properly e·h=mayomayo·-þi. AOR=2RED.weep-3S/CONJ And then there was nothing he could do but cry and cry.

7K

kaho·ni=’pihi i·nahi pahkihte·wi aškaþi and.then=HRSY there die.of after.a.while e·h=mawi–a·nwipaho-þi, AOR=go.and–be.unable.to.run-3S/CONJ And then he began to be unable to run for fainting there after a while,

7L

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363

e·h=tetepipaho-þi i·ni menese·h-i. AOR=run.in.a.circle-3S/CONJ that.IN.SG island.DIM-IN.SG when he circled the island at a run.

7M

kapo·twe=’pi·=’ni e·h=mawi– . . . at.some.point=HRSY=then AOR=go.and– Then at some point he went and . . .

7N

pe·hki=mekoho e·h=a·nemapene·-þi. really=EMPH AOR=starve-3S/CONJ He was really famished.

7O

e·h=katawi–=meko –pahkihte·pene·-þi=’pihi. || –starve.to.death-3S/CONJ=HRSY He was nearly perishing from starvation. AOR=nearly–=EMPH

8A

ke·keya·hi=’pi e·h=we·pi–wa·nehke·-þi ne·kawahki·-ki.44 finally=HRSY AOR=begin–dig-3S/CONJ sandbar-LOC Eventually he started digging in the sand.

8B

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–we·pi–tahka·wakiši-ki and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–begin–lie.in.the.cold.ground-3S/CONJ mešena·hina·hi.45 some.ways.off And then he went and started to lie in the cold ground, not too deep.



44. Bill Leaf wrote wepii. for what I presume is we·pi and .nekewakiki. for what I presume is ne·kawahki·ki. 45. This is to date our only attestation of the AI stem tahka·wakišin-.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

364

8C

“n-i·h=pahkihte·pene,” e·h=išite·he·-þi=’pihi. 1-FUT=starve.to.death.[1]S/IND AOR=think.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “I’ll starve to death,” he thought.

8D

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–we·pi–nahi– ... and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–begin–know.how.to– And then he went and started to make a habit of . . .

8E

kapo·twe=’pi·=’ni at.some.point=HRSY=then e·h=we·pi–anemi–pana·tapene·-þi=meko·=’ni AOR=begin–continue–be.ruined.by.hunger-3S/CONJ=EMPH=then =’pihi.46 =HRSY Then at some point he began to get even weaker from hunger.

8F

kapo·twe=meko e·h=mekin-ekoþi anemo·h-ani. at.some.point=EMPH AOR=bark.at-3ƍ>3S/CONJ dog-OBV.SG At some point a dog barked at him.

8G

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THOMASON

e·h=pwa·wi–kehke·nem-a·þi AOR=not–know-3S>3ƍ/CONJ e·h=tanwe·t-aminikwe·ni. AOR=be.making.voice.sound-3ƍ/INT.PPL(LOC.SG) He didn’t know where the sound of it could be coming from.

8H

kaho·ni=’pihi nye·wenwi=’pi and.then=HRSY four.times=HRSY e·h=mawi–ki·ma·h-a·þi. AOR=go.and–approach.unobserved-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he went and tried to catch it by surprise four times.

8I

kaho·ni . . . and.then And then . . .

8J

kaho·ni=’pihi taka·wi=mekoho e·h=pa·hken-aki.47 and.then=HRSY a.little=EMPH AOR=open-3S>0ƍ/CONJ And then he opened it just a little.



46. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .nipii. . This is to date our only attestation of the AI stem pana·tapene·-. 47. The inanimate here possibly refers to a bark screen that is mentioned in some versions of the story.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

8K

i·nah=þi·hi=’pihi e·h=pye·þi–keþisa·-niþi there=POV=HRSY AOR=hither–run.out(into.the.open)-3ƍ/CONJ nepi·-ki anemo·he·h-ani. water-LOC dog.DIM-OBV.SG Why, there he saw a little dog come running out of the water.

8L

kaho·ni=’pihi, “šehehye·ƍ, we·nahi·=’niki and.then=HRSY oh.dear! (this)is.it=that.PRX.PL wi·h=amw-iþiki,” e·h=išite·he·-þi=’pihi. FUT=eat-3S>1S/PPL(PRX.PL) AOR=think.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then he thought, “Alas for me! So that’s it, those are the ones that will eat me!”

8M

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–kano·ne·wesi-þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–be.spoken.to-3S/CONJ And then he was addressed.

8N

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365

kapo·twe=meko·=’nihi at.some.point=EMPH=that.OBV.PL e·h=se·kim-ekoþi.48 AOR=frighten.by.speech-3ƍ>3S/CONJ At some point they frightened him by speaking to him.

8O

“i·ni=mani.”||49 that.IN.SG=as.it.is.now “It’s all up now.”

9A

kaho·ni=’pihi, “nahiƍ, n-oši·hi,” and.then=HRSY well 1-grandchild.VOC.SG e·h=ikoþi=’pihi.50 AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ=HRSY And then he told him, “Well, grandson!

9B

“wana·ki·-no,” e·h=ikoþi. arise.from.bed-2S/IMP AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ Get up!” he told him.

9C

kaho·ni e·h=pwa·wi– owiye·h-ani –ne·w-a·þi. and.then AOR=not– someone-OBV.SG –see-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he didn’t see anyone.



48. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .me|ko . The obviative here should refer to Red-Leggins’ new manitou benefactor. The plural obviative demonstrative is perhaps an error. 49. The speaker here is Red-Leggins. 50. Obviative here refers to Red-Leggins’ manitou benefactor.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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366

THOMASON

9D

kaho·ni=’pihi ma·mahka·þi=mekoho kapo·twe and.then=HRSY necessarily=EMPH at.some.point e·h=ne·w-a·þi. AOR=see-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then at some point, inevitably, he saw him.

9E

ki·ši–ne·w-a·þi aþa·hmeko, i·ni aþa·hmeko, PERF–see-3S>3ƍ/CC only.then then only.then Only then when he saw him, then and only then,

9F

ayo·h=þi·hi=’pi kehþi–maneto·w-ani nepi·-ki here=POV=HRSY great–manitou-OBV.SG water-LOC e·h=sa·kiši-niþi. AOR=be.showing-3ƍ/CONJ why, here he beheld a great manitou sticking partly out of the water.

9G

nekotiwine·-niwani=’pihi.51 have.a.single.horn-3ƍS/IND=HRSY He had one horn.

9H

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=me·me·ši·kwe·n-ekoþi=’pihi. and.then=HRSY AOR=1RED.touch.the.face.of-3ƍ>3S/CONJ=HRSY And then he touched his face several times.

9I

“nahiƍ, n-oši·hi, ke-ketemino·-ne,” well 1-grandchild.VOC.SG 2-bless-1S>2S/IND e·h=in-eþi i·na oškinawe·h-a. AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ that.PRX.SG young.man-PRX.SG “Well, grandson, I bless you,” the young man was told.

9J

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=pemi–pasekwi·-þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=along–arise-3S/CONJ And then he got up.

9K

“nahiƍ,” e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi.52 well AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY “All right,” he told him.

9L

“n-oši·hi, manaha ke-pene·-m-a 1-grandchild.voc.sg this.PRX.SG 2-turkey-POSS-PRX.SG



51. From the brief description in 9F–G we know that the manitou that has blessed Red-Leggins is a very powerful and dangerous type of underwater manitou. In Meskwaki drawings, it has both snakelike and bearlike aspects. 52. The proximate probably still refers to Red-Leggins here.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

367

na·š-i,” e·h=in-eþi. go.after-2S>3/IMP AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ “Grandson, go get your turkey!” he was told.

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9M

e·h=in-eþi. “k-i·h=awan-a·wa,” 2-FUT=take.away.with-[2]S>3S/IND AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ “You must take it home with you,” he was told.

9N

i·nahi=’pihi nye·wi akwa·hkwapite·-niwani ma·hani there=HRSY four be.tied.up.against-0ƍP/IND this.IN.PL mehteko·-ni. stick-IN.PL Four sticks were tied there.

9O

kaho·ni=’pihi || ni·šwi=’pihi.53 and.then=HRSY two=HRSY And then two.

10A

kaho·ni=’pihi, “nahiƍ, . . . and.then=HRSY well And then, “Now, . . .”

10B

i·ni=’pihi i·nini e·h=awato·-þi then=HRSY that.IN.PL AOR=take.away.with-3S>0ƍ/CONJ mehteko·-ni, e·h=a·pinah-aki. stick-IN.PL AOR=untie-3S>0ƍ/CONJ Then he took the sticks with him, untying them.

10C

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=pakam-a·þi, na·hina·hi and.then=HRSY AOR=hit(at)-3S>3ƍ/CONJ at.the.time na·kwa·-wa·þi.54 depart-3P/CC And then he hit him when they set off.

10D

nahiƍ, mani=ne·peh=wi·na e·-koþi well this.IN.SG=or.rather=but say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/PPL(IN.SG)



53. In other versions of this story, drumsticks are tied to the water manitou’s horn(s). In Kiyana’s version, four drumsticks are tied to each of the manitou’s two horns. Perhaps what Bill Leaf intends by these last two sentences is that four drumsticks are tied to the water manitou’s single horn, two on either side of the horn. 54. Bill Leaf wrote .epakanaþi| for what I presume is e·h=pakama·þi. In other versions of the story, the water manitou explains to Red-Leggins that Red-Leggins must hit him with the drumsticks whenever he wants to go fast.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

368

THOMASON

ma·hani maneto·w-ani: this.OBV.SG manitou-OBV.SG Well, I forgot to mention, this is what the manitou told him: 10E

10F

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10G

“nahiƍ, ka·ta=wi·na well don’t=but paši–pepye·wi–kya·tamaw-ihkani.” at.all–the.least.bit–keep.a.secret.from-2S>1S/PROH “Now, don’t in any way keep secrets from me, even a little bit.” kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=ikoþi,55 and.then=so=HRSY AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ So then he told him, “mo·hþi=mekoho þaka·heno·hi-ke.”56 even=EMPH be.small-0/SUBJ “Even if it’s small.”

10H

kaho·ni=’pihi, “hawo,” e·h=in-a·þi.57 and.then=HRSY all.right AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he told him, “All right.”

10I

kapo·twe=meko=’pi·=’ni e·h=we·pa·ška·-wa·þi=’pihi, at.some.point=EMPH=HRSY=THEN AOR=move.fast-3P/CONJ=HRSY ki·ši–kakano·neti·-wa·þi.58 PERF–converse(with)-3P/CC At some point they sped off, after they had talked.

10J

kapo·twe=meko=’pihi e·h=anema·ška·-wa·þi i·ni at.some.point=EMPH=HRSY AOR=fly.on-3P/CONJ then? na·waka·me. in.the.middle.of.the.lake Then at some point they went rushing into the middle of the lake.



55. This is very strange: it is English rather than Meskwaki word order. I do not know of another instance in a Meskwaki text where the verb of quotation precedes the quotation. 56. Bill Leaf crossed out two syllables ( ei. ) after .þakaenoike. . The inanimate here refers to a cloud. This very ill-motivated sentence makes sense if you have encountered other versions of Red-Leggins’ story. The water manitou is afraid of being hunted by the thunderers, who are his natural enemies and who feed on his kind. In other versions of the story, he enjoins Red-Leggins to tell him if he sees even a tiny hint of a cloud. Red-Leggins promises to do so, but then breaks his word. 57. Bill Leaf wrote .kaopi|i for what I presume is kaho·ni=’pihi. 58. Bill Leaf wrote .eewepaškawaþipiii. for what I presume is e·h= we·pa·ška·wa·þi=’pihi.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

10K

10L

369

i·ni=’pihi e·h=ne·t-aki59 þaki–ne·kwa·nahkwato·he·h-i.60 then=HRSY AOR=see-3S>0ƍ/CONJ small–cloud.DIM.DIM-IN.SG Then he saw a small cloud. kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=pwa·wi–a·þimo-þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=not–narrate-3S/CONJ And then he didn’t tell about it.

10M kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=pakam-emeþi. and.then=HRSY AOR=hit(at)-X>3ƍ/CONJ And then he was struck. 10N

kapo·twe o-mešo·h-ani, || “kašina·hi, at.some.point 3-grandfather.DIM-OBV.SG why! n-oši·hi, ke-ketema·kih-i,” 1-grandchild.VOC.SG 2-ill.treat-2S>1S/IND e·h=ikoþi. AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ At some point his grandfather said to him, “Why, grandson, you’ve ruined me!”

11A

kaho·ni=þa·hi e·h=mawi–we·pisah-eþi and.then=so AOR=go.and–cause.to.fall-X>3/CONJ ahkwita·hki·ki.61 on.top.of.a.bank So then he was thrown onto the bank.

11B

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11C

e·h=pakiši-ki=wi·na neniw-a. AOR=fall-3S/CONJ=3SG.EMPH man-PRX.SG The man alone landed [there]. kapo·twe e·h=kehke·net-aki, at.some.point AOR=have.senses-3S/CONJ At some point he came to his senses,



59. Bill Leaf wrote .enewaþi. for e·h=ne·taki. After the þi. he wrote a k with a raised x . By this he probably intended to correct .enewaþi. to .enetaki. . The verb .enewaþi. is inappropriate here, since it parses as e·h=ne·wa·þi ‘animate proximate singular saw animate obviative’. 60. Note the double diminutive. One diminutive is required by the preverb þaki, but two seems excessive. Or perhaps this noun should be translated ‘a small wisp of cloud’. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the inanimate noun stem ne·kwa·nahkwatw-. 61. Bill Leaf wrote nawi. for what I presume is mawi.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

370

THOMASON

11D

e·h=a·htaha·htawa·ši-ki ahkwita·hki·ki. AOR=2RED.lie.on.back-3S/CONJ on.top.of.a.bank lying on his back on the shore.

11E

kaho·ni=þa·hi . . . and.then=so So then . . .

11F

kaho·ni e·h=mawi–we·piwen-emeþi ma·hani and.then AOR=go.and–start.conveying-X>3ƍ/CONJ this.OBV.SG o-mešo·h-ani. 3-grandfather.DIM-OBV.SG And then his grandfather began to be carried away.

11G

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi– na·hka –koþim-ekoþi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and– and –try.by.speech-3ƍ>3S/CONJ

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o-mešo·h-ani wi·h=asemih-a·þi. 3-grandfather.DIM-OBV.SG FUT=help-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then his grandfather tried again to persuade him to help him. 11H

kaho·ni, “ka·ta,” e·h=ikoþi ma·hahi and.then don’t AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ this.OBV.PL nenemehkiw-ahi. thunderer-OBV.PL And then the thunderers told him, “Don’t!”

11I

“nahiƍ, ne-mešo·h-a=we·=me·kwe·he·=’n= well 1-grandfather.DIM-PRX.SG=or.rather=I.believe=then= e·h=nešiwih-eþi,” e·h=išite·he·-þi manaha.62 AOR=overpower-X>3/CONJ AOR=think.so-3S/CONJ this.PRX.SG “Well, I believe my grandfather has been overpowered now in any case,” he thought.

11J

kaho·ni=’pihi, “i·ni=kohi,” e·h=ikoþi and.then=HRSY that.IN.SG=certainly AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ ma·hani nenemehkiw-ahi. this.OBV.SG thunderer-OBV.PL And then a certain one of the thunderers told him, “Excellent!”

11K

kaho·ni=þa·hi, “ke-te·pih-ipena,” e·h=ikoþi. and.then=so 2-please-2>1P/IND AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ And then he told him, “You’ve pleased us.”



62. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .ne for =’n=e·h=.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

11L

11M

kaho·ni, “ka·ta,” e·h=in-a·þi i·nini. and.then don’t AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ that.OBV.SG And then he told him, “Don’t! “ka·ta ket-asemih-a·wa.” || don’t 2-help-[2]S>3S/IND Don’t help him.”

12A

nahiƍ, i·ni=mekoho e·h=mawi–nes-emeþi i·nini well then=EMPH AOR=go.and–kill-X>3ƍ/CONJ that.OBV.SG maþi–maneto·h-ani.63 evil–manitou-OBV.SG Well, then that evil manitou was killed.

12B

o·ni=’pi=wi·na e·h=na·kwa·-þi. and.then=HRSY=but AOR=depart-3S/CONJ And then he went home.

12C

pye·ya·-þi, i·na·hi over.there come-3S/CC When he got there,

12D

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371

wa·natohka=þi·h=mekoho maþi·hkiwes-ani unconcernedly=POV=EMPH eldest.brother-OBV.SG e·h=tahitanwe·we·hike·-niþi=’pihi.64 AOR=be.drumming-3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY why, he saw Eldest-Brother blithely drumming.

12E

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi kapo·twe and.then=so=HRSY at.some.point e·h=we·pi–pe·pya·-niþi.65 AOR=begin–1RED.come-3ƍ/CONJ So then at some point they started arriving.

12F

i·ni=þa·h=še·ški e·h=pye·taw-a·þi ma·hani then=so=just AOR=bring.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ this.OBV.SG pašito·h-ani wa·pi–pene·w-ani.66 old.man-OBV.SG white–turkey-OBV.SG So then all he did was bring the old man the white turkey.



63. “Evil manitou”: water manitous are often inimical to humans. 64. Bill Leaf wrote taitanwe|ike for what I presume is tahitanwe·we·hike·-. Eldest-Brother is providing the drum music for a dance, but no one wants to come to his dance. 65. The obviative here refers to the crowds of visitors Red-Leggins always attracts. 66. Bill Leaf wrote the ani of ma·hani over two illegible erased syllables.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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372

THOMASON

12G

“mana=ni·hka=ki·na, þa·ki this.PRX.SG=(expletive)=2SG.EMPH all e·nemi–’naho·mo-yane,” continue–give.such.a.cry-2S/PPL(VOC.SG) e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi.67 AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY “Here it is, you who are always yakking about everything,” he told him.

12H

kaho·ni=wi·na=’pi·=’na pašito·h-a, and.then=but=HRSY=that.PRX.SG old.man-PRX.SG “i·nahi aš-i,” e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi there place-2S>3/IMP AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY ma·hani neniw-ani. this.OBV.SG man-OBV.SG And then the old man told our hero, “Put it there!”

12I

kaho·ni=’pihi ma·haki neniw-aki and.then=HRSY this.PRX.PL man-PRX.PL e·h=we·pi–pe·pya·-wa·þi.68 AOR=begin–1RED.come-3P/CONJ And then the men started to arrive.

12J

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–we·pi–=na·hkaþi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–begin–=and –ma·mahkese·hi-wa·þi. –play.the.moccasin.game-3P/CONJ And then they started playing the moccasin game again.

12K

kaho·ni maþi·hkiwes-a|| i·nahi po·hkote and.then eldest.brother-PRX.SG that.LOC half.of.the.house e·h=ne·nešišino·hi-þi.69 AOR=1RED.lie.alone.DIM-3S/CONJ And then Eldest-Brother lay by himself in the other half of the house.

13A

e·h=pwa·wi– owiye·h-ani –taši–keša·þih-ekoþi. AOR=not– someone-OBV.SG –there–be.kind.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ And no one was nice to him.



67. Bill Leaf wrote naono for what I presume is ’naho·mo-. 68. The proximate here refers to the crowds of visitors Red-Leggins always attracts. 69. Eldest-Brother is depressed by his unpopularity and is ashamed to see the brother he tried to kill.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Meskwaki

373

13B

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–natawi–natone·h-aki manaha and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–seek.to–seek-3S>0ƍ/CONJ this.PRX.SG pašito·h-a na·hkaþi old.man-PRX.SG and wi·h=tana·hpenan-a·kwe·ni ma·hani FUT=deal.with.there-3S>3ƍ/INT.PPL(LOC.SG) this.OBV.SG o-kwis-ani.70 3-son-OBV.SG And then the old man went and set about searching again for a place where he might get rid of his son.

13C

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=pwa·wi– owiye·h-ani –mehkaw-a·þi.71 and.then=HRSY AOR=not– someone-OBV.SG –find-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And he didn’t find anyone.

13D

kaho·ni=’pihi natawa·þi=’pihi and.then=HRSY with.intent.or.resolve=HRSY e·h=mawi–na·kwa·-þi ow-i·ke-wa·-ki. AOR=go.and–depart-3S/CONJ 3-dwelling-PL-LOC And then, making the best of a bad job, he went home to their house.

13E

pye·ya·-þi, na·hka=’pi·=’ni kaho·ni=’pihi i·na·hi and.then=HRSY over.there come-3S/CC and=HRSY=then e·h=we·pi–pyepye·hkwiši-ki.72 AOR=begin–stay.lying.doubled.up-3S/CONJ And then when he got there, he went and started lying doubled up again.

13F

kaho·ni=’pihi na·hka=kapo·twe e·h=ki·yoki·yose·-þi. and.then=hrsy and=at.some.point AOR=2RED.walk.about-3S/CONJ And then at some point he went walking around again.

13G



na·hka·=’ni e·h=mawi–mehkaw-a·þi ma·hani and=then AOR=go.and–find-3S>3ƍ/CONJ this.OBV.SG nenemehkiwi–panaša·h-ahi.73 thunderer–young.one-OBV.PL

70. Bill Leaf wrote witanapi|nanakweni for what I presume is wi·h=tana·hpenana·kwe·ni. 71. The obviative here means ‘anyone (among the manitous)’. The old man is unable to find a manitou who will help him kill his son. 72. The old man is depressed because he cannot kill his son; but this is the first time Bill Leaf has told us that when he is disappointed in his plans he lies in a fetal curl. 73. Note the use of a singular obviative demonstrative with a plural obviative noun.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

374

THOMASON

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This time he went and found thunder fledglings. 13H

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=nana·tohtaw-a·þi and.then=HRSY AOR=ask.from-3S>3ƍ/CONJ e·ya·wi–’šiso-nikwe·hini. respectively–have.name.be.so-3ƍ/INT.PPL(IN.PL) And then he asked what each of their names might be.

13I

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=a·þimoh-eþi, i·nihi=mekoho.74 and.then=HRSY AOR=instruct-X>3/CONJ that.OBV.PL=EMPH And then he was told [their names], those same [fledglings telling him].

14A

kaho·ni=’pihi manaha pašito·h-a na·hkaþi and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG old.man-PRX.SG and e·h=awan-a·þi ma·hani kwi·yese·h-ani AOR=take.away.with-3S>3ƍ/CONJ this.OBV.SG boy-OBV.SG me·so·te·wi–keteminawesi-niþini.75 all.over–be.blessed-3ƍ/PPL(OBV.SG) And then the old man again took the boy who was blessed by all away with him.

14B

kaho·ni=’pihi kapo·twe=meko=’pihi e·h=mehkaw-a·þi and.then=HRSY at.some.point=EMPH=HRSY AOR=find-3S>3ƍ/CONJ manaha pašito·h-a e·h=išiwe·pi·hka·no-þi this.PRX.SG old.man-PRX.SG AOR=pretend.so-3S/CONJ ma·hani we·wa·si·sani-niþihi.76 this.OBV.SG have(as)a.nest-3ƍ/PPL(OBV.PL) And then presently the old man pretended to find the nestlings.

14C

kaho·ni=’pihi kapo·twe=meko=’pi·=’ni and.then=HRSY at.some.point=EMPH=HRSY=then e·h=mawi–we·pi–koþi–a·þimoh-a·þi. AOR=go.and–begin–try.to–instruct-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then presently he began to try to tell him about them.



74. Bill Leaf wrote .meko||koo for what I presume is =mekoho. Also, Bill Leaf uses an indefinite-on-proximate verb, and then specifies the indefinite with an obviative demonstrative. 75. “Blessed by all”: All the manitous have blessed Red-Leggins. This makes him very powerful, and it explains why the old man cannot find manitous to plot with him against his son. 76. Note the use of a singular obviative demonstrative with a plural obviative participle.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

14D

“mani, ne-kwi·hi,” e·h=in-a·þi.77 this.IN.SG 1-son.VOC.SG AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ “Here it is, son,” he told him.

14E

“mawa·pat-ano,” e·h=in-a·þi. go.to.see-2S>0/IMP AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ “Go have a look at it!” he told him.

14F

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawa·pat-aki manaha and.then=HRSY AOR=go.to.see-3S>0ƍ/CONJ this.PRX.SG kwi·yese·h-a. boy-PRX.SG And then the boy went and had a look at it.

14G

“kotapi-no. try.to.sit-2S/IMP “Try to sit in it!

14H

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375

pena·=’nahi better.do.it=now wi·h=iši–nehkitepe·pi-wane·ni,” FUT=so–sit.with.head.out.of.sight-2S/INT.PPL(IN.SG) e·h=in-a·þi. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ Why not see whether you can sit with your head out of sight,” he told him.

14I

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–kotapi-þi·=’na and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–try.to.sit-3S/CONJ=that.PRX.SG kwi·yese·h-a. boy-PRX.SG And then the boy went and tried to sit in it.

14J

kaho·ni=’pihi, “nahiƍ, ši·pi·-yane, and.then=HRSY well stretch.out-2S/PPL(VOC.SG) ši·pi·-no,” e·h=išiwe·-þi pašito·h-a. stretch.out-2S/IMP AOR=declare-3S/CONJ old.man-PRX.SG And then the old man exclaimed, “Now, Stretch Out, stretch out!”

14K

o·ni=wi·na=’pi·=’na ši·pi·-ta and.then=but=HRSY=that.PRX.SG stretch.out-3S/PPL(PRX.SG) e·h=ši·pi·-þi. || AOR=stretch.out-3S/CONJ



77. The inanimate here refers to the thunderer fledglings’ nest.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

376

THOMASON

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And then Stretch Out stretched out. 15A

manahka=meko=’pihi nanawiki·šekwe over.yonder=EMPH=HRSY mid.sky e·h=pakama·ška·-wa·þi AOR=arrive.rapidly-3P/CONJ mana neno·te·w-a, ma·hani nenemehkiw-ani. this.PRX.SG Indian-PRX.SG this.OBV.SG thunderer-OBV.SG The human and the thunderer came rushing up above into the middle of the sky.

15B

“i·niya ne-kwis-a, nenemehki·-tike,” that.moving.away-PRX.SG 1-son-PRX.SG thunderer-VOC.PL e·h=i-þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “There goes my son, thunderers!” he said.

15C

kaho·ni=’pihi, “ket-ašam-enepwa,” and.then=HRSY 2-feed-1S>2P/IND e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY And then he told them, “I’m feeding him to you.”

15D

kaho·ni=’pihi, “o·ƍ, kašina·kwa,” and.then=HRSY (exclamation) why! e·h=iyo-wa·þi=’pihi=wi·na·=’niki nenemehkiw-aki.78 AOR=say.so-3P/CONJ=HRSY=but=that.PRX.PL thunderer-PRX.PL And then the thunderers said, “Oh, my!”

15E

kaho·ni=’pihi and.then=HRSY e·h=pemi–a·yahkwihkaneti·-wa·þi AOR=along–1RED.leave.each.other.behind.so.far-3P/CONJ mehtami wi·h=waþa·ho-kwe·na. first FUT=cook-3S/INT.PPL(PRX.SG) And then they raced each other to see who would be the first to feast.

15F

pe·mehka·-þiki i·ni=’pihi ma·haki ahkowi then=HRSY this.PRX.PL in.the.rear go.past-3S/PPL(PRX.PL) e·h=mawi–we·pi–mi·na·wi–peseše·-wa·þi. AOR=go.and–begin–attentively–listen-3P/CONJ Then the ones in the rear started listening carefully.



78. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .|wina . Note the quotative particle with echo vowel before a word divider before an enclitic.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

15G

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15H

377

kaho·ni=’pihi manaha kwi·yese·h-a, “ke·waki, and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG boy-PRX.SG still k-i·h=nawaþi–atama·-pwa,” e·h=in-a·þi. 2-FUT=first–smoke-2P/IND AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then the boy told them, “Wait! You should smoke first. “ki·ši–=þa·hi –atama·-ye·kwe, PERF–=so –smoke-2P/SUBJ k-i·h=we·we·ne·net-a·pwa,” || e·h=išiwe·-þi.79 2-FUT=have.control.over-2P>0/IND AOR=declare-3S/CONJ After you’ve smoked you may do what you like with it,” he declared.

16A

kaho·ni=’pi e·h=mawi–natawi– ... and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–seek.to– And then they went and set about . . .

16B

natawa·þi=’pi·=’ni e·h=atama·-wa·þi. with.intent.or.resolve=HRSY=then AOR=smoke-3P/CONJ Then they decided they might as well smoke.

16C

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–nenaw-oþi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–recognize-X>3/CONJ And then he was recognized.

16D

pe·hki=mekoho “o·ƍ, kašina·kwa, ni·na=wi·na (exclamation) why! 1SG.EMPH=but really=EMPH ne-ki·ša·koþi–menwi·hka·so.80 1-extremely–be.well.taken.care.of.[1]S/IND “See now, I am really being treated well.

16E

a·wasi=meko wi·h=atame·h-iyani more=EMPH FUT=give.a.smoke.to-2S>1S/CONJ net-ešite·he·hi,” e·h=iyo-wa·þi=’pihi.81 1-think.so.DIM.[1]S/IND AOR=say.so-3P/CONJ=HRSY I think that you will give me more to smoke,” they said.

16F

“mana=ma·h=mo·hþi·=’niya this.PRX.SG=as.you.know=even=that.previous-PRX.SG



79. It is unclear what the inanimate refers to here. 80. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem menwi·hka·so-. 81. Bill Leaf wrote wiata|maiyani for what I presume is wi·h=atame·hiyani. The thunderers are better-pleased by Red-Leggins’ offerings than by his father’s.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

378

THOMASON

keye·þi·hi me·na·škonoh-enakwa,” recently cause.to.eat.fresh.meat-3>12/PPL(PRX.SG) e·h=iyo-wa·þi=’pihi.82 AOR=say.so-3P/CONJ=HRSY “He’s even the same one who got us a meal of fresh meat not long ago,” they said. 16G

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–pahkim-eþi ma·hani and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–permit-X>3/CONJ this.OBV.SG nekoti ši·pi·-niþini. one stretch.out-3ƍ/PPL(OBV.SG) And then he was granted that one [fledgling], Stretch Out.

16H

“k-i·h=awan-a·wa. 2-FUT=take.away.with-[2]S>3S/IND “You must take him home with you.

16I

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16J

asa·mi wa·waneška·hi-wa,” e·h=in-eþi=’pihi. too.much be.bad-3S/IND AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY He’s too much of a mischief-maker,” he was told. kaho·ni=’pihi, “natawa·þi=’pihi ne·ya·pi and.then=HRSY with.intent.or.resolve=HRSY back(to.former.state) pya·-yane, k-i·h=keki–pakam-a·wa ma·hani come-2S/SUBJ 2-FUT=having–hit(at)-[2]S>3S/IND this.OBV.SG k-o·s-a,” e·h=in-eþi=’pihi. 2-father-PRX.SG AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY And then he was told, “When you get back, you had better throw him at your father.

16K

“wi·h=me·mehtapaye·pi-wa=ke·h= nani||nani. FUT=sit.with.bare.thighs-3S/IND=moreover=?? He’ll be sitting with his thighs bare [. . .].

17A

wi·h=ni·mihkame·šin-wa,” e·h=in-eþi=’pihi.83 FUT=lie.smoking-3S/IND AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY He’ll be lying around smoking,” he was told.

17B

“pwa·wi–=’=þa·hi ke·ko·h-i=–’na·hpenan-a·te, not–=NEG=so something-IN.SG=–treat.so-3S>3ƍ/SUBJ



82. The thunderers are reminding each other that Red-Leggins helped them hunt and kill a water manitou. 83. This is to date our only attestation of the AI stem ni·mihkame·šin-.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

379

no·make·he=mekoho k-i·h=apwi·h-a·wa. for.a.little.while.DIM=EMPH 2-FUT=wait.for-[2]S>3S/IND “And if he doesn’t do anything terrible to him, you should wait a little while for him. 17C

17D

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17E

i·ni ne·ya·pi wi·h=pemi–ata·hpen-aþi. then back(to.former.state) FUT=along–take.hold.of-2S>3/CONJ Then you should pick him back up. “kaho·ni=þa·hi nase·ma·w-ani and.then=so tobacco-OBV.SG wi·h=na·pita·h-aþi. FUT=put.around.the.neck.of-2S>3/CONJ And then you should put tobacco around his neck. ‘ne·ya·pi=’ha·-no back(to.former.state)=go-2S/IMP wi·h=in-aþi. e·h=awi-yanehe,’ AOR=be(there)-2S/PST.PPL(LOC.SG) FUT=say.so.to-2S>3/CONJ ‘Go back to where you were before!’ you must say to him.

17F

“kaho·ni=þa·hi ne·ya·pi wi·h=a·-þi. and.then=so back(to.former.state) FUT=go-3S/CONJ “And then he will go back.

17G

ahkwitapahkwe k-i·h=pakisen-a·wa,” on.top.of.the.roof 2-FUT=set.down-[2]S>3S/IND e·h=in-eþi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY You should put him on the roof,” he was told.

17H

kaho·ni=’pihi ne·ya·pi and.then=HRSY back(to.former.state) e·h=a·-þi·=’na=ye·toke. AOR=go-3S/CONJ=that.PRX.SG=EVID And then he went back, it seems.

17I

ne·pehe=’pi e·h=na·kwa·-þi e·na·kwi·hi-niki or.rather=HRSY AOR=depart-3S/CONJ be.evening.DIM-0ƍ/CC manaha. this.PRX.SG Oops! What I meant to say was, early that evening he set off for home.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

380

THOMASON

17J

i·na·hi=’pi pye·ya·-þi aya·pami, over.there=HRSY come-3S/CC back When he got back there,

17K

i·nah=þi·hi=’pihi pašito·k-ani there=POV=HRSY old.man-PRX.SG e·h=me·mehþikahkwane·pi-niþi=’pihi. AOR=1RED.sit.with.bare.legs-3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY why, he saw the old man sitting there with his thighs bare.

17L

18A

18B

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi||–keki–pakam-a·þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–having–hit(at)-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he went and threw him at him. “nahiƍ, mani=ni·hka=ki·na, þa·ki well this.IN.SG=(expletive)=2SG.EMPH all e·nemi–’nowa·-yane,” continue–talk.so-2S/PPL(VOC.SG) e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-3S–3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY “Well, here you go, you who are always saying all sorts of things,” he told him. e·h=wi·šika·hkaw-a·þi=meko=’pi.

AOR=throw.at.vigorously-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=EMPH=HRSY

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And he slung him at him hard. 18C

pašito·h-a o·ni=’pi=wi·na·=’na and.then=HRSY=but=that.PRX.SG old.man-PRX.SG e·h=atos-okoþi·=’nini e·h=keto-niþi.84 AOR=burn-3ƍ>3S/CONJ=that.OBV.SG AOR=vocalize-3ƍS/CONJ And then he burned the old man when he boomed out.

18D

“ši·hwi·ƍ, anehka·þi=ni·hka nešiwina·kosi-wa.85 oh.my! (intensifier)=(expletive) look.terrible-3S/IND “Gosh, he looks really dreadful.

18E

anika=ni·hka išiweš-i,” further.away=(expletive) take.thither-2S>3S/IMP



84. Thunderers make the sound of thunder when they cry. In other versions of this story, what happens is that the thunderer fledgling so scares the old man that he drops his pipe and burns himself. 85. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the free particle anehka·þi.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

381

e·h=išiwe·-þi=’pihi manaha pašito·k-a. AOR=declare-3S/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG old.man-PRX.SG Take him away!” the old man exclaimed.

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18F

o·ni=wi·na=’pi·=’na·=’nini and.then=but=HRSY=that.PRX.SG=that.OBV.SG e·h=pemi–ata·hpen-a·þi, AOR=along–take.hold.of-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he picked him up,

18G

ta·taki wi·h=peno-niþi. as.it.were FUT=go.home-3ƍ/CONJ so he could to go home.

18H

nase·ma·w-ani=’pi·=’ni tobacco-OBV.SG=HRSY=then e·h=mawi–na·pita·h-a·þi. AOR=go.and–put.around.the.neck.of-3S>3ƍ/CONJ Then he went and put tobacco around his neck.

18I

“peno-no=ni·hka e·h=awi-yanehe,” go.home-2S/IMP=(expletive) AOR=be(there)-2S/PST.PPL(LOC.SG) e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY “Go home to where you were before!” he told him.

18J

kaho·ni na·hkaþi e·h=peno-niþi=ye·toke and.then and AOR=go.home-3ƍ/CONJ=EVID ne·ya·pi. back(to.former.state) And then he went back home again, it seems.

18K

e·šim-eþi=ta·taki e·h=išawi-þi. speak.so.to-X>3/PPL(IN.SG)=as.it.were AOR=do.so-3S/CONJ He did what he was told, basically.

18L

i·ni. that.IN.SG That was that.

18M o·ni=na·hka manaha neniw-a=’pihi and.then=and this.PRX.SG man-PRX.SG=HRSY

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

382

THOMASON

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e·h=we·pi–ma·wa·ši-ki.86 AOR=begin–attract.crowds-3S/CONJ And then our hero started having crowds of visitors. 19A

“nahiƍ, ta·ni=þa·h=ye·toke=manihi well how-IN.SG=so=EVID=as.it.is.now wi·h=išawi-ya·ni,” e·h=išite·he·-þi.87 FUT=do.so-1S/PPL(IN.SG) AOR=think.so-3S/CONJ “Well, what can I do now?” he wondered.

19B

kapo·twe=’pi·=’ni at.some.point=HRSY=then e·h=we·pi–mehta·hkwi–ki·yose·-þi. AOR=begin–without.anything–walk.about-3S/CONJ At some point he began walking around unattended.

19C

wi·na=mekoho e·h=ki·wi–wa·pam-a·þi 3SG.EMPH=EMPH AOR=around–look.at-3S>3ƍ/CONJ mehtose·neniw-ahi. person-OBV.PL He went around to see people here and there.

19D

kaho·ni=þa·hi kapo·twe e·h=þa·ki–ki·wose·-þi. and.then=so at.some.point AOR=all–walk.about-3S/CONJ And then at some point he’d gone around to everyone.

19E

“kašiƍ, maneto·wi-wa=ma·hi·=’na why! be.a.manitou-3S/IND=as.you.know=that.PRX.SG ke-kwis-a,” 2-son-PRX.SG e·h=in-eþi=meko=’pi=’p=a·pehe.88 AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=EMPH=HRSY=HRSY=usually “Why, see, your son is a manitou,” he was told over and over again.

19F

kapo·twe=’pi·=’ni, “mo·hþi=ma·hi·=’na at.some.point=HRSY=then even=as.you.know=that.PRX.SG



86. Page break: ma||wa . 87. The proximate here refers to the old man. 88. Note the quotative particle immediately following another quotative particle. I have seen this only five times total: three times in this text, once in another text by Bill Leaf, and once in a text by Bill Leaf’s wife Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

383

ke·temina·-koþini nes-e·wa.89 bless-3ƍ>3S/PPL(OBV.SG) kill-3S>3ƍ/IND Then at some point the old man was told, “See, he even killed the one who blessed him. 19G

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19H

kanama·h=ye·toke=ni·na,” e·h=in-eþi=’pi even.moreso=EVID=1SG.EMPH AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY i·na pašito·k-a. that.PRX.SG old.man-PRX.SG What would he do to me?” “ši·ƍ,” e·h=išite·he·-þi.90 (surprise) AOR=think.so-3S/CONJ “Gee!” he thought.

19I

“kašiƍ, we·ne·h-ani=ni·hka=ye·toke ne·s-a·þini why! who-OBV.SG=(expletive)=EVID kill-3S>3ƍ/PPL(OBV.SG) e·h=ketemina·-koþi,” e·h=išite·he·-þi=’pihi. AOR=bless-3ƍ>3S/CONJ AOR=think.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “Why, who could it be that he killed when he blessed him,” he wondered.

19J

koþike·hkwi=ke·h=wi·na·=’nini maþi–maneto·h-ani but.of.course=moreover=but=that.OBV.SG evil–manitou-OBV.SG aka·me·heki we·þi-pye·n-ekoþini on.the.opposite.bank thence-bring-3ƍ>3S/PPL(OBV.SG) e·tamaw-oþini.91 say.so.of.to-X>3/PPL(OBV.SG) But of course it was that evil manitou who brought him from the other shore who was talked of that way in relation to him.

19K

nenemehkiw-aki. thunderer-PRX.PL It was the thunderers.

19L

ne·s-a·wa·þini=ke·h=wi·na·=’nini kill-3P>3ƍ/PPL(OBV.SG)=moreover=but=that.OBV.SG



89. This is a reference to the fact that Red-Leggins helped the thunderers catch and kill his water manitou benefactor. 90. Bill Leaf enclosed ši in elaborate single quotes—an unusual use of punctuation for a Meskwaki text. 91. “Evil manitou”: water manitous are often inimical to humans.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

384

THOMASON

waþa·ho-waki.92 cook-3P/IND They feasted on that one they killed. 20A

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20B

o·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=þa·ki–=mekoho –a·nawesi-þi. and.then=so=HRSY AOR=all–=EMPH –fail-3S/CONJ So then he had failed with everyone. kapo·twe=meko=’pi·=’ni e·h=aya·pami·-þi. at.some.point=EMPH=HRSY=then AOR=go.back-3S/CONJ Then at some point he went back.

20C

kaho·ni=’pihi na·hkaþi and.then=HRSY and e·h=we·pi–pepye·hkwiši-ki. AOR=begin–stay.lying.doubled.up-3S/CONJ And then he started lying doubled up again.

20D

kaho·ni=’pihi kapo·twe=’pi·=’ni and.then=HRSY at.some.point=HRSY=then e·h=mehkwe·nem-a·þi.93 AOR=remember-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then at some point he remembered them.

20E

ma·hi=’pihi e·h=ma·wa·seto·-wa·þi=’pi over.there=HRSY AOR=have.a.village-3P/PPL(LOC.SG)=HRSY ahte·-niwi=’pihi nepise·h-i. be(there)-0ƍS/IND=HRSY lake.DIM-IN.SG There was a small lake over at the place where he and the others had their village.

20F

mani=’pihi e·šite·he·-þi=’pihi: this.IN.SG=HRSY think.so-3S/PPL(IN.SG)=HRSY This is what he thought:

20G

“kašina·kwa, n-i·h=mawi–=ni·hka –wa·pam-a·waki,” why! 1-FUT=go.and–=(expletive) –look.at-[1]S>3P/IND e·h=išite·he·-þi=’pihi. AOR=think.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “Why, I’ll go and see them,” he thought.



92. Page break: ni||ke . 93. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .pii. . The obviative here refers to two water manitous who live together in a nearby lake.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Meskwaki

20H

kapo·twe=’pi=meko·=’ni i·tepi at.some.point=HRSY=EMPH=then thither maþi–maneto·hina·-ki e·h=a·-þi.94 evil–manitou.country-LOC AOR=go-3S/CONJ Then at some point he went to the country of the evil manitous.

20I

kaho·ni i·nahi=’pi nepis-eki e·h=pi·tike·-þi. and.then that.LOC=HRSY lake-LOC AOR=go.inside-3S/CONJ And then he went inside that lake.

20J

“hawo,” e·h=i-þi=’pihi manaha all.right AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG maya·wi–pe·hki–maþi–maneto·h-a. directly–really–evil–manitou-OBV.SG “Hello,” said the true evil manitou, the leader of the two.

20K

kaho·ni=’pihi, “ke·ko·h-i ket-oþi–pya,” and.then=HRSY something-IN.SG 2-thence–come.[2]S/IND e·h=išiwe·-þi. AOR=declare-3S/CONJ And then, “You’ve come for something?” he asked.

20L

“o·ƍ, manaha nase·ma·w-a ke-pye·to·-nepwa (exclamation) this.PRX.SG tobacco-PRX.SG 2-bring.to-1S>2P/IND wi·h=atahatama·-ye·kwe.” || FUT=2RED.smoke-2P/CONJ “Well, I’ve brought you two some tobacco to smoke.”

21A

“nahiƍ, ta·ni=þa·h=ta·taki well how-IN.SG=so=as.it.were we·þi–pye·þi–atame·h-iya·ke.”95 thence–hither–give.a.smoke.to-2>1P/PPL(IN.SG) “All right, for what reason have you brought us a smoke?”

21B

“kašina·kwa, mana=koþi ne-kwis-a nekoti why! this.PRX.SG=of.course 1-son-PRX.SG one



385

94. “Country of the evil manitous” refers to the underwater country. 95. Accepting a gift of tobacco means acceding to the supplicant’s request. The old man offers tobacco, and the evil water manitou asks what he is expected to do in return; the old man tells him to kill Red-Leggins, and the evil water manitou assents and smokes some of the tobacco. Bill Leaf skips explicit mention of these last two steps, but they are implied by what follows.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

386

THOMASON

ne-mya·ne·nem-a·wa,” e·h=i-þi=’pi. 1-dislike-[1]S>3S/IND AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “Why, the thing is, I dislike one of my sons,” he said. 21C

ši·ƍ, manaha maþi–maneto·h-a, “o·ƍ, this.PRX.SG evil–manitou-OBV.SG (exclamation) (surprise) we·nah=ni·hka, a·kwi ke·ko·he-kini,” (this)is.it=(expletive) not be.something-0/NEG e·h=išiwe·-þi=’pihi. AOR=declare-3S/CONJ=HRSY The evil manitou declared, “Well, gee, so that’s it. That’s nothing.”

21D

“kašina·ƍ, ki·na, pašito. why! 2SG.EMPH old.man.VOC.SG “Why, it’s your turn, old man.

21E

21F

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21G

atahatama·-no=wi·na,” e·h=išiwe·-þi=’pi 2RED.smoke-2S/IMP=but AOR=declare-3S/CONJ=HRSY manaha neniw-a.96 this.PRX.SG man-PRX.SG Smoke!” our hero said. pašito,”97 “ne·neši–atahatama·-no, 1RED.alone–2RED.smoke-2S/IMP old.man.VOC.SG e·h=išiwe·-þi=’pihi manaha pe·hki–maneto·he·h-a.98 AOR=declare-3S/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG really–manitou.DIM-PRX.SG “Smoke by yourself, old man!” said the poor true manitou. “ni·na=koh=wi·na ne-kosehkye,” 1SG.EMPH=certainly=but 1-get.frightened.[1]S/IND e·h=išiwe·-þi. AOR=declare-3S/CONJ “For my part I’m afraid to,” he declared.



96. “Our hero”: manaha neniwa is very strange here. The speaker is most likely the evil water manitou, but manaha neniwa ought to mean Red-Leggins. 97. Bill Leaf wrote the first syllable of ne·neši over an erased syllable, |.wa . He also wrote a word divider in the middle of the proximate noun: .pekimaneto.|ea. . Note that both the preverb ne·neši and the verb stem atahatama·- are reduplicated. There are only a handful of such cases in the edited corpus; apart from two in this text and one in a text by an anonymous author, the other examples are all in texts by Alfred Kiyana. 98. “True manitou”: pe·hki-maneto·wa is Bill Leaf’s term for the good water manitou. The diminutive here probably expresses pathos.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

21H

“mo·hþi=ma·hi·=’na ke·temina·-koþini even=as.you.know=that.PRX.SG bless-3ƍ>3S/PPL(OBV.SG) nes-e·wa,” e·h=i-niþi=meko=na·hka i·nini.99 kill-3S>3ƍ/IND AOR=say.so-3ƍ/CONJ=EMPH=and that.OBV.SG “See, he even killed the one who blessed him,” the other one said in turn.

21I

“kašiƍ, keye·hapa=ke·h=wi·na·=’na why! in.fact=moreover=but=that.PRX.SG pye·þi–tahkamiwen-ekoþini nenemehkiw-ahi hither–convey.across-3ƍ>3S/PPL(OBV.SG) thunderer-OBV.PL ne·s-ekonitehe.100 kill-3Ǝ>3ƍ/C.PST “Why, but in fact, thunderers killed the one who carried him across.

21J

“o·ƍ, kašina·kwa, mani=þa·h=wi·h=išawi-yani:101 (exclamation) why! this.IN.SG=so=FUT=do.so-2S/PPL(IN.SG) “Well, now, this is what you must do:

21K

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387

‘pe·hki=mekoho ket-aka·wa·n-enepwa really=EMPH 2-want-1S>2P/IND wi·h=kehke·nem-enako·we a·wasi102 FUT=know-1S>2P/CONJ more a·yahkwana·mo-kwe·na,’ 1RED.swim.so.far.underwater-3S/INT.PPL(PRX.SG) k-i·h=in-a·waki=koþi ke-kwis-aki.103 2-FUT=say.so.to-[2]S>3P/IND=of.course 2-son-PRX.PL The thing is, you must tell your sons, ‘I very much want to know which of you can swim the greatest distance underwater.’ “kaho·ni ni·na wi·h=mešen-aki nekoti and.then 1SG.EMPH FUT=catch-1S>3/CONJ one



99. Presumably the good water manitou is still speaking here, because logically (and in other versions of the story) it is the good water manitou who points out how dangerous Red-Leggins is. And yet, both na·hka and use of obviative suggest a change of speaker. If the evil water manitou is speaking here, he would have to be mockingly repeating something that the good water manitou has said—which would mean that Bill Leaf has omitted a part of the conversation. 100. The speaker here must be the evil water manitou. 101. Bill Leaf wrote wiša for what I presume is wi·h=iša. The wi is written oddly: it has two extra loops. Also, the speaker here must still be the evil water manitou; here he is addressing Red-Leggins’ stepfather. 102. Page break: ne||me . 103. Bill Leaf wrote amakwanamo for what I presume is a·yahkwana·mo-. He also crossed out three letters ( .|ein ) that originally appeared before k-i·h=.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

388

THOMASON

ma·waþi–þakeši·hi-kwe·na.104 among.all–be.small-3S/INT.PPL(PRX.SG) “And then I’ll catch hold of one of them, whichever is the smallest.

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22B

sese·si=mekoho wi·h=a·mi·-yani. “kaho·ni ki·na and.then 2SG.EMPH hurriedly=EMPH FUT=move.camp-2S/CONJ “And then you should make haste to move camp.

22C

i·ni=þa·h=meko wi·h=išawi-yani,” that.IN.SG=so=EMPH FUT=do.so-2S/PPL(IN.SG) e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY That’s what you should do,” he told him.

22D

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi i·ni e·h=peno-þi. and.then=so=HRSY then AOR=go.home-3S/CONJ So then he went home.

22E

e·h=anohka·n-a·þi=’pihi,105 AOR=commission-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY He gave them a task,

22F

wi·h=a·þimoh-a·þi FUT=instruct-3S>3ƍ/CONJ wi·h=a·yahkwana·moheti·hi-niþi FUT=race.so.far.swimming.underwater.DIM-3ƍ/PPL(IN.SG) i·nahi·=’ni nepis-eki. that.LOC=then? lake-LOC that he would tell them how far to race each other underwater in the lake.

22G

o·ni=wi·na=’pi·=’niki e·h=anwa·þi·-wa·þi. and.then=but=HRSY=that.PRX.PL AOR=consent-3P/CONJ And then they consented.

22H

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–anenwi·-wa·þi ma·maya, and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–bathe-3P/CONJ early me·h–wi·seni-wa·kwe=’pi=mekoho. before–eat-3P/PRIOR=HRSY=EMPH And then they went to bathe bright and early, before eating.



104. Bill Leaf wrote nimešenaki| for what I presume is wi·h=mešenaki. 105. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before the enclitic: .pii. . The obviative here refers to the old man’s sons.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

22I

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=mawi–na·kwa·-wa·þi. and.then=so=HRSY AOR=go.and–depart-3P/CONJ And then they set out.

22J

mana=ke·hi maþi–maneto·h-a=’pi this.PRX.SG=moreover evil–manitou-OBV.SG=HRSY e·h=pako·ši–we·we·šiwiši-ki.106 || AOR=beforehand–lie.ready-3S/CONJ And the evil manitou lay in wait ahead of time.

23A

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=we·pi–peninawi·-wa·þi, and.then=HRSY AOR=begin–undress-3P/CONJ And then they began to undress

23B

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389

e·h=a·ya·šowiþime·-wa·þi. AOR=1RED.swim.across-3P/CONJ and they swam across.

23C

kaho·ni manahka oþi e·h=kotawi·-wa·þi and.then over.yonder thence AOR=go.under.the.water-3P/CONJ manihi nepis-i. this.IN.SG lake-IN.SG And then they plunged into this lake from the far side.

23D

kaho·ni e·h=tetepana·mo-wa·þi. and.then AOR=swim.in.a.circuit.underwater-3P/CONJ And then they swam around it underwater.

23E

manaha nekoti oškinawe·h-a this.PRX.SG one young.man-PRX.SG e·h=a·hpetana·mo-þi.107 AOR=swim.underwater.and.never.come.up-3S/CONJ And the one young man never came up.

23F

pašito·h-a a·þi·hpana·h-ani kaho·ni=’pihi manaha and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG old.man-PRX.SG town.crier-OBV.SG e·h=a·þimoh-a·þi108 AOR=instruct-3S>3ƍ/CONJ wi·h=ki·wi–papa·mwe·t-aminiþi. FUT=around–go.around.crying.out.the.announcement-3ƍ/CONJ



106. This is to date our only attestation of the AI stem we·we·šiwišin-. 107. To date the AI stem a·hpetana·mo- occurs only in this text. 108. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before the enclitic: .pii. .

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

390

THOMASON

And then the old man told the town crier to go around proclaiming the news. 23G

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23H

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=we·pi–a·ya·þimo-þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=begin–1RED.narrate-3S/CONJ And then he began to tell everyone. e·h=ki·wi–’nowe·-þi “wi·h=a·mi·-pi=’pihi,” FUT=move.camp-X/IND=HRSY AOR=around–talk.so-3S/CONJ manaha a·þi·hpana·h-a. this.PRX.SG town.crier-PRX.SG “There’s an order to shift camp,” the town crier went around saying.

23I

kaho·ni=’pihi, “nahiƍ, pe·hki=’pi=mekoho109 mya·šite·he·-wa and.then=HRSY well really=HRSY=EMPH feel.bad-3S/IND pašito·h-a o-kwis-ani old.man-PRX.SG 3-son-OBV.SG e·h=a·hpetana·mo-niþi,” AOR=swim.underwater.and.never.come.up-3ƍ/CONJ e·h=i-þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then he said, “Now, it’s said the old man is deeply grieved because his son never came up.”

23J

kaho·ni=’pihi kekimesi e·h=we·pi–nana·hinawi·-wa·þi and.then=HRSY every(one) AOR=begin–get.ready-3P/CONJ ta·taki110 wi·h=a·mi·-wa·þi. as.it.were FUT=move.camp-3P/CONJ And then they all started getting ready to move camp, as it were.

23K

kaho·ni=’pihi and.then=HRSY e·h=we·pi–penapahkwe·-wa·þi.111 || AOR=begin–take.down.wickiup.coverings?-3P/CONJ And then they began to take down the wickiup matting.

24A

kaho·ni=’pihi manaha nekoti iškwe·se·h-a and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG one girl-PRX.SG



109. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .mekoo. . 110. Bill Leaf wrote two word dividers before ta·taki: ..tataki. . 111. Bill Leaf wrote we|pe.penapakwe for what I presume is we·pipenapahkwe·-. If it is real, penapahkwe·- is an interesting stem. Unfortunately, it occurs nowhere else in the edited portion of Michelson’s corpus, and the word it appears in here contains a spelling error.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

391

wi·h=pakin-a·pi,

FUT=disown-X>3/IND

manaha ot-ehkwe·m-ani this.PRX.SG 3-sister.of.a.man-OBV.SG

a·hpetana·mo-ta. swim.underwater.and.never.come.up-3S/PPL(PRX.SG) And then one little girl was going to be disowned, the sister of the one who never came up. 24B

kaho·ni=wi·na pana o·hkomese·h-eki and.then=but ?? 3-grandmother.DIM-LOC e·h=mawi–pi·þisa·-þi manaha iškwe·se·h-a.112 AOR=go.and–run.in-3S/CONJ this.PRX.SG girl-PRX.SG And then [. . .] the little girl ran inside her grandmother’s house.

24C

kaho·ni=’pihi, “wanimo·þi menwi–mehtose·neniwe·hi-yane, and.then=HRSY perchance well–live.DIM-2S/SUBJ And then she told her, “If perchance you survive,

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24D

ayo·hi e·h=api·hi-ya·ni here AOR=sit(there).DIM-1S/PPL(LOC.SG) k-i·h=pye·þi–natwa·mehkahike,”113 2-FUT=hither–seek.INDEF.by.tool.in.the.earth.[2]S/IND e·h=ikoþi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ=HRSY you should come and search in the earth here in my spot,” she told her.

24E

kaho·ni=’pihi na·hkaþi nekoti=meko o-mise·h-ani and.then=HRSY and one=EMPH 3-elder.sister.DIM-OBV.SG i·ni=meko e·h=išim-ekoþi. that.IN.SG=EMPH AOR=speak.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ And then one of her elder sisters said that same thing to her, in turn.

24F

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=ki·ški·škatah-oþi, ki·ši–a·mi·-niþi. and.then=HRSY AOR=1RED.whip-X>3/CONJ PERF–move.camp-3ƍ/CC And then she was whipped after they moved camp.

24G

kaho·ni=’pihi ke·keya·hi=’pihi and.then=HRSY finally=HRSY



112. In other versions of this story, the “grandmother” is an honorary grandmother, Old Lady Mano·ne·h, a stock character in Meskwaki winter tales. 113. e·h=api·hiya·ni literally means ‘the little place where I sit’. It refers to the old lady’s personal spot in the lodge. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem natwa·mehkahike·-.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

392

THOMASON

e·h=pakisatah-oþi.

AOR=knock.down.with.a.stick-X>3/CONJ

And then eventually she was knocked down. 24H

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=akwa·hkwapin-eþi i·nahi and.then=HRSY AOR=tie.up.against-X>3/CONJ that.LOC wi·kiya·p-eki. wickiup-LOC And then she was tied to the wickiup.

24I

“i·na, ka·ka·ki·-tike. that.PRX.SG crow-VOC.PL “There she is, crows! o-ški·šeko·-ni mi·þi-ko,”114 3-eye-IN.PL eat-2P>0/IMP e·h=in-eþi=’pihi ka·ka·kiw-aki. AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY crow-PRX.PL Eat her eyes!” the crows were told.

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24J

25A

kaho·ni=’pihi . . . and.then=HRSY And then . . .

25B

kaho·ni=’pihi manaha nekoti ka·ka·kiw-a and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG one crow-PRX.SG e·h=mawine·hw-a·þi. AOR=go.after-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then one crow went right up to her.

25C

kaho·ni=’pihi, “nahiƍ, ne-mešo, and.then=HRSY well 1-grandfather.VOC.SG a·pinahw-ino=’škwe,” e·h=in-a·þi. untie-2S>1S/IMP=(expletive) AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then she told him, “Well, grandfather, untie me!

25D



“kapo·twe·=’ni

wi·h=mi·þiyani.115 at.some.point=then FUT=eat2S>0/CONJ Then at some point you will eat it.

114. Page break: þi||ko . 115. It is unclear what the inanimate refers to here.

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Meskwaki

393

25E

k-i·h=mehkwe·nem-ene a·šitami. 2-FUT=remember-1S>2S/IND in.(re)turn I’ll think of you in return.

25F

i·noki=wi·na=mani þa·kam-iyane, i·ni=mekoho now=but=as.it.is.now eat.up-2S>1S/SUBJ then=EMPH a·kwi=na·hkaþi ke·ko·h=wi·h=mi·þi-yanini not=and something-IN.SG=FUT=eat-2S>0/NEG ašitahi. for.a.long.while If you eat me up now, you won’t have anything to eat again for a long time.

25G

mani=wi·na=ni·na ahpene·þi=meko this.IN.SG=but=1SG.EMPH always=EMPH me·hkwe·net-amo·hiya·nini, k-i·h=ašam-enepwa,” think.of-DIM.1S>0/ITER 2-FUT=feed-1S>2P/IND e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY But in the other case, every time I think of it, I’ll feed you,” she told him.

25H

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=te·pwe·hta·-koþi. and.then=HRSY AOR=believe-3ƍ>3S/CONJ And then he believed her.

25I

kaho·ni=’pihi and.then=HRSY e·h=we·pi–papahkahama·-koþi AOR=begin–1RED.cut(stringlike.thing)by.tool.for-3ƍ>3S/CONJ so·kiso-þini.116 be.bound-3S/PPL(IN.PL) And then he began cutting her bonds for her.



116. Bill Leaf wrote .|esokisoþini. for what I presume is so·kisoþini. If correct this would have to be e·h=so·kisoþini, the locative plural participle meaning ‘the places where she was bound’. This does not make as much sense as the instrumental so·kisoþini ‘the things with which she was bound’, since it is harder to cut places than things. Moreover, the instrumental participle is what is used in other, similar texts. Compare, for instance, the following line from one of Jim Peters’ texts where RedLeggins’ sister is appealing to Crow: nemešo, papahkahamawino ma·hani so·kiso·hiya·nini ‘Grandfather, cut these bonds of mine!’. Nonetheless, it may be that Bill Leaf is doing something deliberately, interestingly different here, in which case my emendation is unwarranted.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

394

25J

menehta·mi=meko=’pihi o-nehk-eki first=EMPH=HRSY 3-hand-LOC pa·papahkahama·-kwa.117 1RED.1RED.cut(stringlike.thing)by.tool.for-3ƍ>3S/IND First he cut the ones on her hands.

25K

kaho·ni o-hka·t-eki ahkowi=’pihi. || and.then 3-foot-LOC after=HRSY and then her feet, afterwards.

26A

kaho·ni=’pi=’yo·we o·hkomese·h-ani and.then=HRSY=formerly 3-grandmother.DIM-OBV.SG e·h=kehkahama·-kotehe e·h=a·-þi. AOR=designate.for-3ƍ>3S/PST.PPL(LOC.SG) AOR=go-3S/CONJ And then she went to the place her grandmother had told her about.

26B

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=pema·ška·-þi, ne·pehe, and.then=HRSY AOR=run.along-3S/CONJ or.rather ki·ši–pahkah-okoþi. PERF–cut(stringlike.thing)by.tool-3ƍ>3S/CC Oops! Then she ran off, I forgot to say, after he cut her loose.

26C

o·ni·=’na·hi ki·ši–pya·-þi=’pihi, and.then=over.there PERF–come-3S/CC=HRSY And then after she got there,

26D

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THOMASON

26E

o·ni e·h=mawi–ata·hpen-amo·hiþi and.then AOR=go.and–take.hold.of-DIM.3S>0ƍ/CONJ o·hkomese·h-ani.118 3-grandmother.DIM-OBV.SG then she went and picked up her grandmother’s [things].119 kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pi e·h=ki·ši–þa·k–otehten-aki. and.then=so=HRSY AOR=PERF–all–get-3S>0ƍ/CONJ So then she had gotten all of them.



117. Note the double reduplication. See the comment to line 1N, above. 118. The repetition of o·ni is odd here. This particle typically occurs only sentenceinitially or, occasionally, between conjoined noun phrases. 119. We know from other versions of the story that Red-Leggins’ sister gets food and cooking implements and other tools that her helpful grandmother or sister has buried for her. What Bill Leaf wrote, however, was ‘And then she went and picked it up, her grandmother.’ Most likely o·hkomese·hani is the possessor of a missing inanimate noun or participle that would make sense of this sentence. I do not know of any other cases in Meskwaki of a possessive noun phrase where the possessum is omitted.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

26F

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–ašike·-þi=’pihi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–build.the.house-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then she went and built a house.

26G

kaho·ni=’pihi and.then=HRSY e·h=mawi–awata·so·hi-þi=’pihi. AOR=go.and–take.INDEF.away.with.DIM-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then she started carrying her things home.

26H

kaho·ni=’pihi kapo·twe=’pihi na·hkaþi=’pihi and.then=HRSY at.some.point=HRSY and=HRSY e·h=pye·þi–mawine·h-oþi. AOR=hither–go.after-X>3/CONJ And then at some point they came after her again.

26I

“nahiƍ, nahiƍ,” e·h=iyo-wa·þi=’pihi. well well AOR=say.so-3P/CONJ=HRSY “Now, now!” they said.

26J

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawine·hw-a·wa·þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.after-3P>3ƍ/CONJ And then they went after her.

26K

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395

“k-i·h=mawa·pam-a·pena,” e·h=iyo-wa·þi=’pihi, 2-FUT=go.to.see-[12]>3/IND AOR=say.so-3P/CONJ=HRSY ma·hani iškwe·se·h-ani. this.OBV.SG girl-OBV.SG “We’ll go see her,” they said, regarding the little girl. kaho·ni=’pihi kapo·twe e·h=pakameškaw-oþi. and.then=HRSY at.some.point AOR=come.upon-X>3/CONJ And then at some point she was come upon.

26M “ya·ƍ, ta·tepi=’škwe=ye·toke,” (woman’s.exclamation) whither=(expletive)=EVID e·h=iyo-wa·þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so-3P/CONJ=HRSY “Mercy me, where she could have gone?” they said. 26N

“ya·ƍ, mana=þa·hi. (woman’s.exclamation) this.PRX.SG=so “Mercy, here she is!

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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396

THOMASON

26O

i·ni=ye·toke manaha we·þ–aškwi·-tehe,120 that.IN.SG=EVID this.PRX.SG thence–stay.behind-3S/PST.PPL(IN.SG) That must be why she stayed behind,

26P

wi·h=neši–wa·wi·seni-þi e·h=išite·he·-tehe.” || FUT=alone–1RED.eat-3S/CONJ AOR=think.so-3S/PST because she thought she could have meals all by herself.”

27A

nahi·=’ni=’pihi e·h=þa·ki–manih-eþi o-wi·seniwa·h-i. well=then=HRSY AOR=all–rob.of-X>3/CONJ 3-food-IN.SG Well, then she was robbed of all her poor food.

27B

(pe·hki=’yo=ke·h=meko=’pihi ma·wa·ka·n-i really=for=moreover=EMPH=HRSY village-IN.SG wi·ša·pene·-waki=’pihi.)121 be.hungry-3P/IND=HRSY (Incidentally, they were really hungry in the village.)

27C

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=we·pose·-þi·=’na and.then=HRSY AOR=start.walking-3S/CONJ=that.PRX.SG iškwe·se·h-a, nano·škwe=’pihi. girl-PRX.SG at.random=HRSY And then the little girl set out walking, without knowing where she was going.

27D

kaho·ni=wi·na=’pi·=’na·ma·haki and.then=but=HRSY=that.yonder.invisible-PRX.PL ma·wa·seto·h-aki=’pihi . . .122 villager-PRX.PL=HRSY And then as for the villagers over in the other place . . .

27E

kapo·twe=’pihi manaha wi·teko·w-a e·h=ne·w-a·þi at.some.point=HRSY this.PRX.SG owl-PRX.SG AOR=see-3S>3ƍ/CONJ ne·po·h-ani mahkw-ani.123 corpse-OBV.SG bear-OBV.SG At some point the owl saw a bear carcass.



120. Bill Leaf wrote .wini for what I presume is i·ni. 121. Bill Leaf wrote wisapene for what I presume is wi·ša·pene·-. The syntax in this sentence is odd. ma·wa·ka·ni ‘village’ is not the subject or a locative oblique of the verb. Literally, this reads something like, ‘Incidentally, as for the village, they were really hungry.’ 122. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before two of the enclitics: .namaaki. and .pii. . 123. Here begins a story which has no point of intersection with the Red-Leggins story except that in both tales some villagers are suffering for want of food.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Meskwaki

397

27F

kaho·ni=’pihi, “ma·hi n-i·h=mena·nowe,” and.then=HRSY over.there 1-FUT=talk.of.wonders?.[1]S/IND e·h=i-þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then he said, “I’ll say something really strange back there.”

27G

kaho·ni=’pihi, “manahka iši–wi·te·m-ake, and.then=HRSY over.yonder so–accompany-1S>3/SUBJ And then he said, “If she accompanied me over there,

27H

pye·š-iye·ka·ha, mi·þipe·he·h-a=meko game.animal.DIM-PRX.SG=EMPH bring-1S>3/POT I would bring back a game animal,

27I

še·škesi·h-a wi·te·m-ake,” maiden-PRX.SG accompany-1S>3/SUBJ e·h=i-þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY if a girl accompanied me.

27J

“manaha=ma·hi okima·hkwe·wi–še·škesi·h-a,” this.PRX.SG=as.you.know chiefly.woman–maiden-PRX.SG e·h=i-þi=’pihi.124 AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY The chief’s daughter is the one I mean, of course,” he said.

27K

(ow-i·w-ani=’yo=ke·hi pe·hki=meko=’pihi 3-wife-OBV.SG=for=moreover really=EMPH=HRSY wa·kikome·-niwani.) have.a.crooked.nose-3ƍS/IND (Incidentally, his wife had a really crooked nose.)

27L

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–a·þimo-þi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–narrate-3S/CONJ a·ya·hkwa·þimo·h-a.125 || tattletale-PRX.SG And then the village gossip went and told the story.

28A

kaho·ni wi·na=’pi·=’na okima·neniw-a, and.then 3SG.EMPH=HRSY=that.PRX.SG chief.man-PRX.SG



124. Note the echo vowel before an enclitic. 125. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the animate noun stem a·ya·hkwa·þimo·h-.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

398

THOMASON

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“o·ƍ, kašina·kwa, kakata·ni=’h=we·na. (exclamation) why! (it.will.be)very.good And then the chief [said], “Oh, why, that’s excellent news! 28B

kašiƍ, ke-mya·nehka·-pena=ma·hi,” why! 2-crave.meat-[12]/IND=as.you.know i-wa=wi·na=’pi·=’na. say.so-3S/IND=but=HRSY=that.PRX.SG Why, we’re pining for meat, obviously.

28C

“kakata·ni=’h=we·na, wi·h=wi·seni-yakwe,” (it.will.be)very.good FUT=eat-12/CONJ e·h=išiwe·-þi. AOR=declare-3S/CONJ That’s excellent news: we’ll have a feast,” he declared.

28D

“wi·þe·we·-no,” e·h=išiwe·-þi=’pi·=’nini, go.along-2S/IMP AOR=declare-3S/CONJ=HRSY=that.OBV.SG e·h=in-a·þi o-ta·nes-ani.126 AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ 3-daughter-OBV.SG “Go with him!” he declared, telling his daughter.127

28E

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–wi·te·m-a·þi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–accompany-3S>3ƍ/CONJ še·škesi·h-ani manaha neniw-a128 maiden-OBV.SG this.PRX.SG man-PRX.SG i·nahi=’pi·=’ni e·h=owi·ki-wa·þi. that.LOC=HRSY=then AOR=dwell(there)-3P/PPL(LOC.SG) And then our hero went with the girl to the place where his family lived.

28F

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–owi·ki-wa·þi.129 and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–dwell(there)-3P/CONJ And then they went and lived [there].



126. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .pi . 127. The syntax in this Meskwaki sentence is odd. It is a normal part of Meskwaki style to follow a bare-bones version of a clause with an expanded version of the same clause containing new information, such as a new subject, object, or second object. In such cases, though, the two clauses are typically clearly demarcated. Here, the second clause is run together with the first. Literally, this reads something like, ‘“Go with him!” he declared, regarding her, telling his daughter.’ It ought to be e·h=išiwe·þi=’pi, i·nini e·h=ina·þi ota·nesani ‘“Go with him!” he declared, telling that daughter of his.’ 128. Bill Leaf wrote the n of manaha with an extra loop. 129. There seems to be some explanation missing here. You would think that the owl and his new wife would set out immediately to collect the bear meat.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

Meskwaki

399

28G

kaho·ni=’pihi, “ma·hi,” e·h=in-a·þi. and.then=HRSY over.there AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he told her, “Let’s go back that way!”

28H

“ši·ƍ, iškwe·s-e, mana=ya·pi=’pi (surprise) girl-VOC.SG this.PRX.SG=here’s.the.thing=HRSY ki·šesw-a ahkate·wi–ki·šeswi-wa.130 month-PRX.SG burning–be.the.month-3S/IND “Say, dear, here’s the thing: they say this month is the burning month.

28I

mahkese·h-ani=’p=a·pehe nahi–ahkate·-wani,” moccasin-IN.PL=HRSY=usually know.how.to–burn(up)-0p/IND e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY Moccasins tend to get burned up,” he told her.

28J

kaho·ni=’pihi pe·hkote·-niki=’pihi,131 and.then=HRSY be.night-0ƍ/CC=HRSY e·h=a·šito·ko·taw-a·þi=’pihi manaha || AOR=trade.hanging.on-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG še·škesi·h-a.132 maiden-PRX.SG And then that night the girl switched them on him as they hung there.

29A

a·šitami i·nini wi·teko·w-ani o-mahkese·h-ani in(re)turn that.OBV.SG owl-OBV.SG 3-moccasin-IN.PL e·h=api-þi e·h=ako·to·-þi.133 AOR=sit(there)-3S/PPL(LOC.SG) AOR=hang-3S>0ƍ/CONJ She hung the owl’s moccasins in her spot.

29B

o·ni e·h=api-niþi wi·teko·w-ani and.then AOR=sit(there)-3ƍ/PPL(LOC.SG) owl-OBV.SG e·h=maw–ako·to·-þi.134 AOR=go.and–hang-3S>0ƍ/CONJ And then she went and hung them in the owl’s spot.



130. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the prenoun ahkate·wi. 131. Bill Leaf wrote .pekotenipii. for what I presume is pe·hkote·niki=’pihi. 132. The inanimate here refers to the girl’s and the owl’s two pairs of moccasins, which are hanging near the fire to dry. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the TA+O stem a·šito·ko·taw-. 133. e·h=apiþi literally means ‘the place where she sat’. It refers to the girl’s personal spot in the lodge. 134. The inanimate here refers to the girl’s moccasins, of course. Additionally, e·h=apiniþi literally means ‘the place where he sat’, referring to the owl’s personal spot in the lodge.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

400

29C

kaho·ni=’pihi manaha wi·teko·w-a nekotenwi to·hki·-þi, and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG owl-PRX.SG once wake.up-3S/CC e·h=pemi–pasekwi·-þi, AOR=along–arise-3S/CONJ And then one time when the owl woke up, he got up

29D

še·škesi·h-ani e·h=mawi–ata·hpen-aki AOR=go.and–take.hold.of-3S>0ƍ/CONJ maiden-OBV.SG e·h=api-niþi e·ko·te·-nikini, AOR=sit(there)-3ƍ/PPL(LOC.SG) hang-0ƍ/PPL(IN.PL) and went and picked up the ones hanging in the girl’s spot

29E

e·h=mawi–ni·sen-aki. AOR=go.and–lower-3S>0ƍ/CONJ and put them down.

29F

keye·hapa=ke·h=wi·na wi·na o-mahkese·h-ani. in.fact=moreover=but 3SG.EMPH 3-moccasin-IN.PL But of course they were his own moccasins.

29G

29H

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THOMASON

wa·pa-niki=’pihi, be.morning-0ƍ/CC=HRSY In the morning, “ši·ƍ, ke·htena=ya·pi=meko (surprise) truly=here’s.the.thing=EMPH ke-mahkese·h-ani=ya·pi ahkate·-kwe·ni,”135 2-moccasin-IN.PL=here’s.the.thing burn(up)-0/INT e·h=in-eþi=’pihi manaha wi·teko·w-a. AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG owl-PRX.SG “Say, brace yourself for some bad news: sure enough, your moccasins seem to have burned up,” the owl was told.

29I

“ehehye·ƍ,” e·h=išite·he·-þi=’pihi. uh-oh! AOR=think.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “Uh-oh!” he thought.

29J

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–na·kwa·-wa·þi,136 and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–depart-3P/CONJ



135. The repetition of =ya·pi is odd. 136. Bill Leaf wrote nakwawawaþi.| for what I presume is na·kwa·wa·þi. The w of wa·þi is written very oddly.

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Meskwaki

401

And then they set out,137 29K

30A

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30B

e·h=mawi–wa·pam-a·wa·þi i·niye·ne AOR=go.and–look.at-3P>3ƍ/CONJ that.previous-OBV.SG me·hkaw-a·wa·þini.138 || find-3P>3ƍ/PPL(OBV.SG) going to look at the one they had found. “nahiƍ, pe·hki=ya·pi=meko=ma·h well really=here’s.the.thing=EMPH=as.you.know ne-po·hkisopye·hw-a·wa,” 1-puncture.gall.bladder.of.by.tool-[1]S>3S/IND e·h=i-þi=’pihi,139 AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “Well, here’s what must have happened: I really punctured its gall bladder,” he said, e·h=mena·kosi-niþi ki·ši–kehke·nem-a·þi. AOR=smell.bad-3ƍ/CONJ PERF–know-3S>3ƍ/CC after he realized that it was stinking.

30C

kaho·ni=’pihi, “a·kwi=’h=we·=mekoho paši–nahiki-þini?” and.then=HRSY not=NEG=or.rather=EMPH at.all–be.right-3S/NEG e·h=in-eþi.140 AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ And then he was asked, “Isn’t it any good at all?”

30D

paši–nahiki-wa·þini “’kwi=ma·h=meko not=as.you.know=EMPH at.all–be.right-3P/NEG i·n=e·h=iši–po·hkisopye·h-oþi,” that.IN.SG=AOR=so–puncture.gall.bladder.of.by.tool-X>3/CONJ e·h=i-þi=’pihi.141 AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY



137. Note that nothing comes of the burnt-moccasins motif. Where this motif occurs elsewhere, it is a sneaky attempt at murder, the idea being that it is impossible to survive a long walk in the snow without proper footgear. The hero typically foils the villain’s plot by switching the moccasins, and the villain then burns up his or her own moccasins by mistake. It is not clear in this instance why the owl would want to murder the chief’s daughter. 138. Bill Leaf wrote mawawi. for what I presume is mawi. See the comment to line 2G, above. Additionally, the participle here ought to be me·hkawa·þini ‘the one he had found’ rather than me·hkawa·wa·þini ‘the one they had found’. 139. To date the TA stem po·hkisopye·hw- occurs only in this text. 140. Bill Leaf wrote paþi for what I presume is paši. 141. Bill Leaf wrote two word dividers before i·n=e·h=: ..ine .

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

402

THOMASON

“Of course they’re not any good when their gall bladder is punctured like that,” he said. 30E

kaho·ni=’pihi, “nahiƍ, meše·=’nahi na·kwa·-no,” and.then=HRSY well perhaps depart-2S/IMP e·h=in-a·þi i·nini še·škesi·h-ani.142 AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ that.OBV.SG maiden-OBV.SG And then he told the girl, “Well, you might as well go home!”

30F

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–na·kwa·-þi wi·na·=’na and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–depart-3S/CONJ 3SG.EMPH=that.PRX.SG ihkwe·w-a. woman-PRX.SG And then the woman started back by herself.

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30G

i·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·šawi-þi. that.IN.SG=so=HRSY do.so-3S/PPL(IN.SG) So that is what she did.

30H

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–na·kwa·-niþi=’pihi.143 and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–depart-3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY And then he started back.

30I

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi– and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and– i·na·hi=–pya·-þi·=’na ihkwe·w-a. over.there=–come-3S/CONJ=that.PRX.SG woman-PRX.SG And then the woman got there.

30J

kaho·ni=ke·hi=’pi manaha wi·teko·w-a a·kwi=mekoho and.then=moreover=HRSY this.PRX.SG owl-PRX.SG not=EMPH kaški–ketaho·n-a·þini.144 able–drag.out-3S>3ƍ/NEG And then the owl couldn’t drag it out.

30K

e·h=ši·košw-a·þi owi·neno·-ni,145 AOR=separate.by.cutting-3S>3ƍ/CONJ fat-OBV.SG He separated off the fat,



142. Bill Leaf wrote .še|šesiani. for what I presume is še·škesi·hani, with |še written over |s . 143. The perspective shift with an obviative pronoun unaccompanied by any noun is surprising here. 144. Bill Leaf wrote .kaškiketaonaþi. for what I presume is kaški-ketaho·na·þini. It is not clear to me what obviative refers to here. 145. This is to date our only attestation of the TA stem ši·košw-.

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Meskwaki

30L

403

e·h=mawi– . . . AOR=go.and– and went and . . .

30M o-htawaka·-ki e·h=kokwe·tawen-a·þi 3-ear-LOC AOR=1RED.put.in.by.hand-3S>3ƍ/CONJ 146 wa·wi·taweše. || in.both.ears He stuffed it down into his ears, into both ears. 31A na·hka=’pihi i·ni=’pihi and=HRSY then=HRSY e·h=mawi–we·pi–wa·wi·wika·piso-þi.147 AOR=go.and–begin–wrap.feet.in.cloth-3S/CONJ And then he started wrapping his feet in rags. 31B

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31C

(e·h=ma·ne·-niþi=’yo=ke·hi ako·n-ani. AOR=be.numerous-3ƍ/CONJ=for=moreover snow-OBV.SG (Incidentally, there was a lot of snow. manaha wi·teko·w-a, this.PRX.SG owl-PRX.SG e·h=ki·šišim-a·þi=’yo=ke·hi AOR=lay.away-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=for=moreover o-htawaka·-ki ma·hani owi·neno·-ni.)148 3-ear-LOC this.OBV.SG fat-OBV.SG And as for the owl, incidentally, he had stored the fat in his ears.)

31D

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=na·kwa·-þi=’pihi and.then=HRSY AOR=depart-3S/CONJ=HRSY e·h=ma·wa·seto·-wa·þi=’pihi. AOR=have.a.village-3P/PPL(LOC.SG)=HRSY And then he set off for the village.

31E

kaho·ni=’pihi i·na·hi=’pihi e·h=pya·-þi. and.then=HRSY over.there=HRSY AOR=come-3S/CONJ And then he got there.



146. This is to date our only attestation of the free particle wa·wi·taweše. 147. Here, finally, the burnt-moccasins motif crops up again. It is still not clear how it fits into the plot. 148. This reads awkwardly, in its repitition of information we have already been told. Moreover, everywhere but here the particle combination =iyo-ke·hi occurs immediately after the first element in the sentence. But manaha wi·teko·wa seems even more out of place at the end of 31B.

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404

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31F

THOMASON

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h= naka –tahitanetone·mo-þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=??–2RED.talk.there-3S/CONJ And then he [. . .] kept running his mouth.

31G

“nahiƍ, okima·hkwe·wi–še·škesi·h-a=wi·na well chiefly.woman–maiden-PRX.SG=but natonamaw-ite,149 seek.lice.on-3S>1S/SUBJ “Well, if a chief’s daughter searched me for lice,

31H

o-pwa·m-eki tanehkwe·šin-a·ne, 3-thigh-LOC lie.with.head.there-1S/SUBJ if I laid my head in her lap,

31I

ne-htawaka·-ki,” ke·ko·h=mekoho ayo·h=mehk-asa something-IN.SG=EMPH here=find-3S>0ƍ/POT 1-ear-LOC e·h=i-þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY she would find something here in my ears,” he said.

31J

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=ke·sehkohta·-koþi ma·hani.150 and.then=HRSY AOR=just.happen.to.overhear-3ƍ>3S/CONJ this.OBV.SG And then this certain [someone] just happened to overhear him.

31K

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–=þa·hi=’pihi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–=so=HRSY –a·þimoh-a·þi=mana –instruct-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=this.PRX.SG ot-o·kima·-m-wa·w-ani manaha a·þi·hpana·he·h-a.151 3-chief-POSS-PL-OBV.SG this.PRX.SG town.crier.DIM-PRX.SG And then the town crier went and informed their chief.

31L

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=kanawi-þi.152 and.then=HRSY AOR=speak-3S/CONJ And then he spoke.



149. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before the enclitic: .|wina . 150. It is extremely atypical to introduce a new character with a demonstrative from the mana series (‘this one right here, this one we all know about’) and no noun. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the TA stem ke·sehkohtaw-. 151. The enclitic =þa·hi is almost everywhere a strict second-position particle. It is possible that kaho·ni=’pihi is a false start. Note also the repetition of mana. 152. The proximate here refers to the chief.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Meskwaki

405

31M

“nahiƍ, wi·h=wa·pama·so-wa me·meþiškine·hi. ||153 well FUT=be.looked.at-3S/IND the.last.time “Well, he’ll be examined one last time.

32A

pwa·wi–=þa·hi ke·ko·h=–mehkama·-kote not–=so something-IN.SG=–find.for-3ƍ>3S/SUBJ ma·hani ne-ta·nes-ani, this.OBV.SG 1-daughter-OBV.SG If my daughter doesn’t find anything on him,

32B

i·ni=þa·hi wi·h=we·pi–natawi–mi·winehka·so-þi,”154 then=so FUT=begin–seek.to–be.chased.away-3S/CONJ e·h=i-þi=’pihi manaha okima·wi–neniw-a.155 AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG chiefly–man-PRX.SG then it’ll be time to run him off,” said the chief.

32C

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi kapo·twe=’pi·=’ni and.then=so=HRSY at.some.point=HRSY=then e·h=mawi–natonama·-koþi ma·hani še·škesi·h-ani.156 AOR=go.and–seek.lice.on-3ƍ>3S/CONJ this.OBV.SG maiden-OBV.SG So then at some point the girl started searching him for lice.

32D

o·ni=’pihi kapo·twe=mekoho e·h=ne·t-aki and.then=HRSY at.some.point=EMPH AOR=see-3S>0ƍ/CONJ ke·ko·he·h-i i·nini wi·teko·w-ani o-htawaka·-ki.157 something.DIM-IN.SG that.OBV.SG owl-OBV.SG 3-ear-LOC And then presently she saw a little something in the owl’s ears.

32E

kaho·ni=’pihi manaha še·škesi·h-a, and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG maiden-PRX.SG “ya·ƍ, we·kone·h-i=’škwe mani,” (woman’s.exclamation) what-IN.SG=(expletive) this.IN.SG e·h=in-a·þi. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then the girl asked him, “Mercy, what’s this?”



153. Bill Leaf wrote memeþiškimehi for what I presume is me·meþiškine·hi. 154. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem mi·winehka·so-. 155. Bill Leaf crossed out a letter ( n ) that originally appeared before okima·wi. 156. Bill Leaf wrote mawa|wi. for what I presume is mawi. See the comment to line 2G, above. 157. Bill Leaf originally wrote .ini| for i·nini. He then corrected it to .inini|. .

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

406

32F

kaho·ni=manaha wi·teko·w-a, “ne-wi·na·nakeša·kan-i=kohi, and.then=this.PRX.SG owl-PRX.SG 1-earwax-IN.SG=certainly iškwe·s-e,” e·h=i-þi=’pihi.158 girl-VOC.SG AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then the owl said, “It’s my earwax, dear.”

32G

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi– . . . and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and– And then she went and . . .

32H

ki·hki·hki=meko·=’ni manaha iškwe·se·h-a in.defiance=EMPH=then this.PRX.SG girl-PRX.SG e·h=we·pi–kekye·tah-aki.159 AOR=begin–1RED.pull.out.by.tool-3S>0ƍ/CONJ Then despite what he said the little girl began tweaking it out.

32I

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THOMASON

kašiƍ, pe·hki=þi·h=meko=’pihi ma·nwa·pye·ki ma·hani why! really=POV=EMPH=HRSY many.portions this.OBV.SG owi·neno·-ni, mahkwi–owi·neno·-ni. ||160 fat-OBV.SG bear–fat-OBV.SG Why, she really saw a great many portions of fat, bear fat.

33A

i·ni=þa·hi=’pihi=wi·na·=’niki i·nini e·h=mawi– then=so=HRSY=but=that.PRX.PL that.OBV.SG AOR=go.and– a·ya·nehki·hi . . .161 a.little.each So then they went and . . . a little each of that . . .

33B

e·h=amw-a·þi aþa·hmeko=’pihi.162 AOR=eat-3P>3ƍ/CONJ only.then=HRSY She ate it only then.

33C

(pe·hki=’yo=ke·h=mekoho e·h=a·hpeþi–=mekoho really=for=moreover=EMPH AOR=all.the.time–=EMPH



158. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the inanimate noun stem wi·na·nakeša·kan-. 159. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .meko . 160. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .|meko . This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the free particle ma·nwa·pye·ki. 161. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .wina . Note the echo vowel before the word divider. Additionally, the proximate here may refer to the villagers, but the sentence is incomplete. 162. The proximate here might refer to the chief’s daughter.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

407

–wi·ša·pene·-wa·þi=’pihi.163 –be.hungry-3P/CONJ=HRSY (Incidentally, they were really constantly hungry. 33D

33E

nahiƍ, i·na·ka=wi·na ihkwe·w-a=’pihi,164 well that.yonder.invisible-PRX.SG=but woman-PRX.SG=HRSY Well, as for that woman elsewhere,165

33F

pe·hki=mekoho kehþi–ma·ne·hto·-wa really=EMPH greatly–have.in.numbers-3S/IND mena·škono·n-i, fresh.meat-IN.SG she really had a great deal of fresh meat,

33G

i·niya that.previous-PRX.SG ma·mawi–ki·ški·ški·škatahw-a·wa·þini.166 1RED.go.and–1RED.1RED.whip-3P>3ƍ/PPL(OBV.SG) that aforementioned [woman] they kept going and whipping.

33H

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i·ni=þa·h=e·na·þimo-ya·ke.) that.IN.SG=so=narrate.so-1P/PPL(IN.SG) That’s how we tell the story.)

kapo·twe=ne·pehe=’pihi me·meþiškine·hi at.some.point=or.rather=HRSY for.the.last.time e·h=pye·þi–ki·ški·ški·škatah-oþi=’pihi.167 AOR=hither–1RED.1RED.whip-X>3/CONJ=HRSY Oops! I should have mentioned that at some point they came and whipped her for the last time. mehtekw-i=’pihi e·h=wa·šinihkate-niki=’pihi tree-IN.SG=HRSY AOR=be.hollow-0ƍ/PPL(LOC.SG)=HRSY e·h=pi·ta·wato·-þi mašiškye·-ni. AOR=bring.in-3S>0ƍ/CONJ blade.of.grass-IN.PL She brought blades of grass into the hollow of a tree.



163. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .pii. . 164. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .pii. . 165. Here we revert to Red-Leggins’ story. The woman mentioned here is RedLeggins’ sister. 166. Bill Leaf originally wrote kiškiškaškataw for ki·ški·ški·škatahw-. He then emended ška to ški . Also, there is a startling proximate shift in the middle of this noun phrase: the proximate demonstrative is coindexed with an obviative participle. Note also the double reduplication. See the comment to line 1N, above. 167. Note the double reduplication. See the comment to line 1N, above.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

408

33J

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33K

THOMASON

i·nahi=’pi·=’ni e·h=šekišekišino·hi-þi. there?=HRSY=then AOR=2RED.lie.DIM-3S/CONJ Then she lay around there. kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–=’pihi ... and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–=HRSY And then they went and . . .

33L

“nahiƍ,” i-pihi, well say.so-X/IND “Now!” was said,

33M

e·h=patapatahkitiye·hw-a·wa·þi.168 AOR=2RED.pierce.the.rear.end.of-3P>3ƍ/CONJ and they jabbed holes in her hind end.169

33N

“ya·ƍ, mahkwi–ihkwe·w-a,” (woman’s.exclamation) bear–woman-PRX.SG e·h=in-a·wa·þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-3P>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY “Mercy, a bear woman!” they said about her.

33O

kaho·ni=wi·na=’pihi manaha mahkwihkwe·w-a, and.then=but=HRSY this.PRX.SG bear.woman-PRX.SG “natawa·þi=ta·ni n-i·h=keteminaw-a·wa with.intent.or.resolve=why.don’t.I 1-FUT=bless-[1]S>3S/IND manaha. ||170 this.PRX.SG And then Bear–Woman [said], “If that’s how it is, why don’t I bless her.

34A

“k-i·h=mawi–=þa·hi –ne·se·h-a·wa,” 2-FUT=go.and–=so –cure-[2]S>3S/IND



168. Bill Leaf wrote the |ki of e·h=patapatahkitiye·hwa·wa·þi over the start of another letter, and he wrote the second wa over an erased syllable. Note also the abrupt shift from indefinite to proximate. 169. In other versions of this story, the cruel sisters rob the girl of all her possessions, burn down her house, tear up her clothes, and leave her to fend for herself. She nests in a hollow tree for shelter and to hide her nakedness. When her tormentors return, they find her in the tree and, pretending they think they have found a bear, stab her despite her screams. 170. The real Bear-Woman, a manitou, is angered by the sisters’ taking her name in vain.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

409

e·h=in-eþi=’pihi manaha mahkwi–neniw-a.171 AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG bear–man-PRX.SG “You’ll have to go cure her,” Bear-Man was told. 34B

kaho·ni=wi·na=’pi·=’na mahkw-a i·tepi and.then=but=HRSY=that.PRX.SG bear-PRX.SG thither e·h=a·-þi=’pihi. AOR=go-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then Bear went to that place.

34C

kaho·ni=’pihi kapo·twe=manaha iškwe·se·h-a and.then=HRSY at.some.point=this.PRX.SG girl-PRX.SG e·h=po·namat-aki.172 AOR=cease.to.have.pain-3S/CONJ And then suddenly the girl was no longer in pain.

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34D

owiye·h-ani=mekoho someone-OBV.SG=EMPH e·h=ka·ških-a·þi=’pihi i·nahi AOR=become.aware.of.the.presence.of-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY there sa·kiþi. outside She became aware that someone was right outside.

34E

kapo·twe=þi·hi=’pihi ke·htena e·h=pemi–kanawi-niþi at.some.point=POV=HRSY truly AOR=along–speak-3ƍ/CONJ neniw-ani. man-OBV.SG Why, at some point, sure enough, she heard a man speaking.

34F

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–kano·n-ekoþi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–speak.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ And then he began to speak to her.

34G

34H

“nahiƍ, nowo·te·-no,” e·h=ikoþi. well crawl.out-2S/IMP AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ “Well, crawl out!” he told her. kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–we·pi–nowo·te·-þi.173 and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–begin–crawl.out-3S/CONJ



171. Note the abrupt proximate shift. 172. In other versions of this story, the bear gives Red-Leggins’ sister medicine that heals her wounds. 173. Bill Leaf wrote .|nwote for what I presume is nowo·te·-.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

410

THOMASON

And then she started crawling out.

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34I

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=kano·n-eþi. and.then=HRSY AOR=speak.to-X>3/CONJ And then she was spoken to.

34J

“nahiƍ, n-i·w-a=kohi ke-ketemina·-kwa,” well 1-wife-PRX.SG=certainly 2-bless-3S>[2]S/IND e·h=in-eþi=’pihi. AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY “Well, my wife has blessed you,” she was told.

34K

“manahka=þa·hi k-i·h=mawi–natone·h-a over.yonder=so 2-FUT=go.and–seek-[2]S>0/IND wi·h=owi·ki-wane·ni.174 FUT=dwell(there)-2S/INT.PPL(LOC.SG) “You must go over there and seek out a place where you would like to live.

34L

k-i·h=mawi–=’pihi –kehkešk-a 2-FUT=go.and–=HRSY –pace.out-[2]S>0/IND wi·h=owi·ki-wane·ni. FUT=dwell(there)-2S/INT.PPL(LOC.SG) You must go and pace out a place where you would like to live.

34M

manaha n-i·w-a ke-ketemina·-kwa. this.PRX.SG 1-wife-PRX.SG 2-bless-3S>[2]S/IND My wife has blessed you.

34N

ayo·h=wi·na=mekoho ne·ya·pi || here=but=EMPH same.as.before k-i·h=pye·þi–owi·ki,” in-a·pi=’pihi. 2-FUT=hither–dwell(there).[2]S/IND say.so.to-X>3/IND=HRSY You must come and dwell here again as before,” she was told.

35A

kaho·ni=’pihi i·tepi=mekoho ne·ya·pi and.then=HRSY thither=EMPH same.as.before ot-awe·ma·w-ani e·h=tahpene·-nitehe, 3-brother.of.a.woman-OBV.SG AOR=perish(there)-3ƍ/PST.PPL(LOC.SG) And then in that direction, back where her brother had perished,

35B



ne·ya·pi=mekoho i·nahi ašiþi same.as.before=EMPH there near(ly)

174. Bill Leaf wrote .mana| for what I presume is manahka.

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Meskwaki

411

e·h=mawi–kehkeška·nawe·-þi=’pihi.175 AOR=go.and–pace.out.INDEF-3S/CONJ=HRSY back near there she went and did the pacing-out. 35C

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi– ne·ya·pi –nepa·-þi.176 and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and– same.as.before –sleep-3S/CONJ And then she went and slept back there.

35D

kaho·ni=’pi e·h=mawi– . . . and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and– And then she went and . . .

35E

wa·pa-niki ma·maya=meko, be.morning-0ƍ/CC early=EMPH e·h=mawi–wa·pat-aki AOR=go.and–look.at-3S>0ƍ/CONJ e·h=taši–kehkeška·nawe·-tehe. AOR=there–pace.out.INDEF-3S/PST.PPL(LOC.SG) Bright and early the next morning, she went and looked at the place where she had done the pacing-out.

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35F

kašiƍ, pe·hki=þi·h=mekoho e·h=ki·ša·koþi–we·wenete-niki why! really=POV=EMPH AOR=extremely–be.pretty-0ƍ/CONJ wi·kiya·p-i. wickiup-IN.SG Why, she saw that a really exceptionally pretty wickiup was there.

35G

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=we·pi–waþa·ho-þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=begin–cook-3S/CONJ And then she started cooking.

35H

o·ni=’pihi e·h=pye·nota·-koþi=’pihi.177 and.then=HRSY AOR=come.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ=HRSY And then he visited her.

35I

“nahiƍ, a·kwi=wi·na well not=but i·niye·ka that.previous-PRX.PL

na·hkaþi wi·h=mehko·-hkini and FUT=find-3>2S/NEG ke-mise·h-aki. 2-elder.sister.DIM-PRX.PL



175. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .|mekoo. . He also originally wrote keškekanawe , and then emended it to kekeškanawe . This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem kehkeška·nawe·-. 176. Bill Leaf wrote mawawi. for what I presume is mawi. See the comment to line 2G, above. 177. The obviative here might refer to Bear. But it could also mean Bear-Woman.

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412

THOMASON

“Well, your elder sisters won’t find you again. 35J

mo·hþi=mekoho ayo·hi kepiškwa·te pemehka·-wa·te, even=EMPH here in.the.doorway go.past-3P/SUBJ Even if they go right past your door here,

35K

a·kwi=meko || wi·h=kaški–ne·w-ohkini. not=EMPH FUT=able–see-3>2S/NEG they won’t be able to see you.

36A

“nahiƍ, mana=ke·hi e·yi·ki ket-awe·ma·w-a well this.PRX.SG=moreover also 2-brother.of.a.woman-PRX.SG k-i·h=a·pesi·h-a·wa,” e·h=in-eþi. 2-FUT=bring.back.to.life-[2]S>3S/IND AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ “Well, and what’s more, you’ll revive your brother, too,” she was told.

36B

“mani wi·h=išawi-yani,” e·h=in-eþi=’pi.178 this.IN.SG FUT=do.so-2S/PPL(IN.SG) AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY “This is what you must do,” she was told.

36C

“mani mato·teše·wika·n-i pe·hki=mekoho this.IN.SG sweatlodge-IN.SG really=EMPH k-i·h=wi·šikihto.179 2-FUT=make.strong.[2]S>0/IND “As for this sweatlodge, you must really make it strong.

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36D “kaho·ni mani na·tawino·n-i and.then this.IN.SG medicine-IN.SG wi·h=seswam-aþi.180 FUT=spray.on.with.mouth-2S>3/CONJ “And then you must spray this medicine on him with your mouth.



178. In other versions of this story, Red-Leggins’ sister finds her brother’s body lying frozen in the ice of the lake. She goes home wailing, fasting and crying out so the manitous will pity her plight. Only then does Bear offer help and advice. 179. Bill Leaf wrote the šiki of ki·h=wi·šikihto over two erased syllables. The sweatlodge is introduced here as if it has already been mentioned. 180. Bear gives Red-Leggins’ sister some medicine to use. Bill Leaf explains below what magical effect the medicine will have.

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Meskwaki

413

36E

meše·=’nah=mekoho k-i·h=sakikwe·pin-a·wa.181 perhaps=EMPH 2-FUT=tie.by.the.neck-[2]S>3S/IND You must tie him by the neck, if that seems right to you.

36F

“‘mani=koþi=’yo·we wi·h=te-kehe.182 this.IN.SG=of.course=formerly FUT=fare.so-3S/PST.PPL(IN.SG) “‘The thing is, this is what would have happened to him.183

36G

i·noki=wi·na=mani wi·h=a·pesi·-wa,’ now=but=as.it.is.now FUT=come.back.to.life-3S/IND k-i·h=išite·he. 2-FUT=think.so.[2]S/IND But now he will revive,’ you will think.

36H

“meše·=’nahi=þa·h=meko k-i·h=kehþipeno. perhaps=so=EMPH 2-FUT=go.at.top.speed.[2]S/IND “You should run as fast as you can, if that seems right to you.

36I

ki·ši–seswam-ate,

PERF–spray.on.with.mouth-2S>3/SUBJ

o-to·tan-eki 3-heel-LOC

k-i·h=takeškaw-a·wa.184 2-FUT=kick-[2]S>3S/IND After you spray it on him, you must kick him in the heel. 36J

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36K

i·ni=mekoho [wi·h=]pahkwanisa·-þi.185 then=EMPH FUT=come.off.with.a.jerk-3S/CONJ He will immediately pop out. “kaho·ni wi·h=pi·þisah-aþi. and.then FUT=throw.in-2S>3/CONJ “And then you must push him inside.186



181. Bill Leaf skips several steps here. Judging by other versions of the story, ‘you should tie him by the neck (and then haul him across the ice)’ refers to how RedLeggins’ sister should get her brother’s body to the sweatlodge. So what Bear advises is this: she should first build a sturdy sweatlodge; then spray the medicine Bear has given her on her brother’s body; and then tie a rope around his neck and haul him into the sweatlodge. 182. Bill Leaf wrote .witetekee. for what I presume is wi·h=tekehe. 183. It is not entirely clear what this means. Getting killed and frozen by the evil lake manitou is what happened to Red-Leggins. Perhaps Bill Leaf intends, ‘This is how he would have stayed (if I, Bear, had not intervened)’? 184. Here, backtracking, Bill Leaf has Bear tell Red-Leggins’ sister what effect the medicine will have. It will allow her to magically extract her brother from the ice. 185. Bill Leaf wrote .pakwanisaþi for what I presume is wi·h=pahkwanisa·þi. 186. Inside the sweatlodge, that is.

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414

36L

THOMASON

“o·ni ... and.then “And then . . .

36M “mana=ke·hi aseny-a k-i·h=pako·ši–=meko this.PRX.SG=moreover stone-PRX.SG 2-FUT=beforehand–=EMPH –meškwano·s-a·wa. –heat.red-[2]S>3S/IND “And you must heat this sweatlodge stone red-hot ahead of time. 36N

37A

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37B

mani=na·hkaþi na·tawino·n-i k-i·h=pako·ši–=meko187 this.IN.SG=and medicine-IN.SG 2-FUT=beforehand–=EMPH –ki·ša·po·s-a.188 –boil.done-[2]S>0/IND And also you must boil this medicine ahead of time. “kaho·ni=þa·hi and.then=so wi·h=mawi–we·pi–mato·tešawan-aþi=’pihi.189 FUT=go.and–begin–give.a.sweatbath.to-2S>3/CONJ=HRSY “And then you must start giving him a sweatbath. pe·hki=ke·h=mekoho wi·h=anemwe·we·kesi-wa aškiþa·hi really=moreover=EMPH FUT=go.wailing.along-3S/IND at.first i·na·ma·hi. in.yonder(invisible)place He will really keep wailing away at first inside there.

37C

“na·hkaþi ne·so·nameki i·ni wi·h=we·pi– . . .190 and the.third.time then FUT=begin– “And then the third time, he’ll start . . .

37D

“i·nina·h=pe·hki wi·h=a·nemih-ehki. at.that.time=really FUT=put.in.dire.straits-3>2S/CONJ



187. Page break: ši||me . 188. Bear gives Red-Leggins’ sister a second kind of medicine to use. In this context, a Meskwaki audience would understand that the medicine is to be poured on the heated sweatlodge stone instead of plain water, to create steam. 189. Bill Leaf wrote mawawi. for what I presume is mawi. See the comment to line 2G, above. He also wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .pii| . 190. Using a sweatlodge to revive a dead person is a standard theme in Meskwaki winter stories. The person performing the cure pours water on the hot stone four times. Typically, the first three times provoke variations of screaming and pleading. The fourth time, there is an ominous silence. After that, the person in the sweatlodge is cured.

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Meskwaki

415

“At that time he’ll really press you hard. 37E

k-i·h=nahinahim-ekwa=ke·hi. 2-FUT=2RED.instruct-3S>[2]S/IND=moreover And he will keep trying all kinds of persuasion.

37F

wi·h=iši–=meko –kaški–pa·hken-a·wate·ni FUT=so–=EMPH –able–open-2S>3/INT.PPL(IN.SG) k-i·h=išim-ekwa. 2-FUT=speak.so.to-3S>[2]S/IND He will tell you whatever might get you to open the door for him.

37G

pwa·wi–=þa·h=meko –pa·hken-ate. not–=so=EMPH –open-2S>3/SUBJ That’s if you don’t open it for him.

37H

pa·hken-ate, i·ni “ki·hpene=ke·hi in.the.event.that=moreover open-2S>3/SUBJ then wi·h=we·pi–a·hpeþi–nes-aþi. FUT=begin–for.good–kill-2S>3/CONJ “And if you open it for him, then you will kill him for good.

37I

“i·noki=wi·na mani: now=but this.IN.SG “And now there’s this:

37J

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37K

nye·wo·nameki i·nina·hi wi·h=po·ni–pakana·mo-þi. the.fourth.time at.that.time FUT=cease–utter.a.sound-3S/CONJ the fourth time, he’ll cease to make any sound at all. “kapo·twe·=’ni wi·h=nana·totamo·-hki at.some.point=then FUT=ask.from-3>2S/IND wi·h=pesehk-akini. FUT=don-3S>0ƍ/PPL(IN.PL) “Then at some point he’ll ask you for things to wear.

37L

i·ni wi·h=pi·þi–awatenamaw-aþi. then FUT=inside–hand.over.to-2S>3/CONJ Then you should hand them in to him.

37M

i·ni wi·h=pye·þi–nowi·-þi, then FUT=hither–go.out-3S/CONJ Then he’ll come out,

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416

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37N

THOMASON

wi·h=mawi–pi·tike·-þi. FUT=go.and–go.inside-3S/CONJ and he’ll go inside the house.

37O

“kaho·ni=þa·hi wi·h=mawi–awataw-aki, ki·ši–=meko and.then=so FUT=go.and–take.to-1S>3/CONJ PERF–=EMPH wi·h=mi·þi-þi,” || –pi·tike·-te, –go.inside-3S/SUBJ FUT=eat-3S>0ƍ/PPL(IN.SG) e·h=in-eþi=’pihi.191 AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY And then I will take him, after he goes inside the house, food to eat,” she was told.

38A

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=pi·þisah-a·þi=’pihi i·nahi.192 and.then=HRSY AOR=throw.in-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY there And then she heaved him in there.

38B

e·šim-eþi=mekoho e·h=išawi-þi.193 speak.so.to-X>3/PPL(IN.SG)=EMPH AOR=do.so-3S/CONJ She did exactly what she had been told [to do].

38C

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–na·kwa·-þi=’pihi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–depart-3S/CONJ=HRSY wi·kiya·p-eki.194 wickiup-LOC And then he went out of the wickiup.

38D

e·h=awatenamaw-a·þi me·meškwimatete·h-ani=’pihi.195 AOR=hand.over.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ red.leggin-IN.PL=HRSY She handed him red leggins.

38E

kaho·ni=’pihi pi·tike=’pihi ki·ši–pya·-þi, and.then=HRSY inside=HRSY PERF–come-3S/CC And then after he came inside the house,



191. The word order in 37O is surprising. 192. Bill Leaf skips describing how Red-Leggins’ sister gets him home from the lake. 193. Bill Leaf skips describing how Red-Leggins’ sister revives him. 194. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .emawi.nakwaþi.pii . 195. This is a strangely abrupt proximate shift. It suggests a possible misspelling of woþi as waþi . e·h=awatenamawoþi would mean ‘indefinite handed something to proximate singular’, and then the only problem would be the peculiar repetition in the next two lines. If waþi is in fact what Bill Leaf intended, then the proximate probably refers to Red-Leggins’ sister, who, in other versions of the story, is the one who hands Red-Leggins his clothes after he comes back to life. The red leggins are a gift from Bear or Bear-Woman, ultimately.

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Meskwaki

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38F

417

e·h=pye·tenamaw-oþi me·meškwimatete·h-ani. AOR=hand.to-X>3/CONJ red.leggin-IN.PL red leggins were handed to him.

38G

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–mi·n-eþi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–give-X>3/CONJ And then he was given them.

38H

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=pye·taw-oþi wi·h=mi·þi-þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=bring.to-X>3/CONJ FUT=eat-3S>0ƍ/PPL(IN.SG) And then he was brought food to eat.

38I

meškwahkohko·h-eki=’pihi pye·tenamaw-a·pi. copper.kettle-LOC=HRSY hand.to-X>3/IND He was handed it in a copper kettle.

38J

še·ški=’pihi sa·sa·kinehke·-niwani196 nekoti just=HRSY 1RED.have.arm.sticking.out.into.view-3ƍS/IND one ihkwe·w-ani. woman-OBV.SG Some unknown woman had just her arms sticking out into view.197

38K

“we·ne·h-a=þa·hi·=’niya,” who-PRX.SG=so=that.moving.away-PRX.SG e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi o-si·me·h-ani. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY 3-younger.sibling.DIM-OBV.SG “Who is that who was here?” he asked his little sister.

38L

“nahiƍ, k-i·h=pwa·wi–=’hi=’yo –kehke·nem-a·waki well 2-FUT=not–=NEG=for –know-[2]S>3P/IND ki·ši–nye·wokonakah-ke,” e·h=in-eþi=’pi PERF–be.four.days-0/SUBJ AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY manaha me·meškwimatete·h-a.198 this.PRX.SG Red.Leggins-PRX.SG “Well, you will learn about them in four days, without fail,” RedLeggins was told.

38M kaho·ni=’pihi, “ke·temino·-nakwiki=ma·hi·=’niki,” and.then=HRSY bless-3>12/PPL(PRX.PL)=as.you.know=that.PRX.PL



196. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider in the middle of the verb stem: .sasaki.|neke . 197. In other words, Red-Leggins can only see the arms of the woman who is handing him a copper kettle full of food. The lady is Bear-Woman, of course. 198. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .pi .

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

418

THOMASON

e·h=in-eþi. ||

AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ

And then he was told, “They’re the ones who blessed us.” 39A

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39B

nahiƍ, ma·hani=koþi=’pihi ot-ehkwe·m-ani=’pihi: well this.OBV.SG=of.course=HRSY 3-sister.of.a.man-OBV.SG=HRSY Well, here’s the thing about his sister: kwi·yena=meko=’pi·=’ni exactly=EMPH=HRSY=then e·h=mawi–oni·þa·nese·hi-niþi=’pihi. AOR=go.and–have(as)a.child.DIM-3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY exactly at that time she was about to have a baby.

39C

e·h=we·pi–a·hkwamat-aminiþi=’pihi. kapo·twe=’pihi at.some.point=HRSY AOR=begin–be.ill-3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY At some point she began to have pangs [of labor].

39D

kaho·ni=’pihi, “meše·=’nah=ni·hka·=’nahi po·þe·ha·n-eki,” and.then=HRSY perhaps=(expletive)=that.LOC storage.corner-LOC e·h=in-eþi=’pihi.199 AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY And then he was told, “Perhaps there in the storage corner.”

39E

“nahiƍ, wi·nihto·-hkakwe k-i·k-ena·n-i,” well foul-12>0/PROH 2-dwelling-1PL-IN.SG e·h=in-eþi=’pihi.200 AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY “Well, we might besmirch our house,” she was told.

39F

kaho·ni=’pihi manaha ihkwe·w-a kapo·twe, and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG woman-PRX.SG at.some.point “i·ni=ya·pi e·h=ki·šike·-ya·ni,” then=here’s.the.thing AOR=finish.building.a.house-1S/CONJ



199. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .nai. . Traditionally, Meskwaki women gave birth in a separate, specially built wickiup. Men were not supposed to take any part in the preparations for the birth, or to be present at it. Since RedLeggins and his sister live alone together, her pregnancy presents a dilemma. 200. Note the back-to-back instances of e·h=ineþi without accompanying nouns, the first referring to Red-Leggins and the second to his sister. These kinds of things make the narrative much harder to read.

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Meskwaki

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e·h=ikoþi=’pihi.201 AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ=HRSY And then the woman suddenly was told by someone, “See here, now I’m done building a house.” 39H

o·ni=’pihi i·nahi=’pi and.then=HRSY there=HRSY e·h=mawi–oni·þa·nese·hi-þi. AOR=go.and–have(as)a.child.DIM-3S/CONJ And then she started having her baby there.

39I

kaho·ni e·h=mawi–ka·škehtaw-a·þi manaha.202 and.then AOR=go.and–hear-3S>3ƍ/CONJ this.PRX.SG And then our hero started to hear the sound of someone.

39J

kaho·ni=þa·hi e·h=ka·škehtaw-a·þi. and.then=so AOR=hear-3S>3ƍ/CONJ So then he heard someone.

39K

“nahiƍ, we·ne·he·h-a,” e·h=i-þi=’pihi manaha well who.DIM-PRX.SG AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG me·meškwimateta·-ta. have.red.leggins-3S/PPL(PRX.SG) “Well, what is it?” Red-Leggins asked.

39L

kaho·ni=’pihi, “kwi·yese·he·h-a,” e·h=in-eþi. and.then=HRSY boy.DIM-PRX.SG AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ And then he was told, “It’s a little boy.”

39M kaho·ni=’pihi, “nahiƍ, n-i·h=so·ken-a·wa,” and.then=HRSY well 1-FUT=hold.in.hand-[1]S>3S/IND e·h=in-a·þi.203 AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he told her, “Well, I want to hold him!” 39N “nahiƍ, ke·waki. well wait “Well, wait a bit.



201. The obviative here refers to Bear-Woman. An out-of-the-blue obviative pronoun is actually appropriate in situations where someone receives a blessing from a manitou. 202. The obviative here refers to the new baby. 203. The obviative here refers to Red-Leggins’ sister.

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420

39O

ki·ši–=þa·hi –ko·kena·so-te,” PERF–=so –be.washed-3S/SUBJ e·h=in-eþi=’pihi.204 AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY After he’s been washed,” he was told.

39P

“ awoweþai ,” || e·h=i-þi=’pihi. ?? AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “[. . .],” he said.

40A

kaho·ni=’pi e·h=pye·tenamaw-oþi, and.then=HRSY AOR=hand.to-X>3/CONJ And then he was handed to him,

40B

40C

40D

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THOMASON

ki·ši–ko·ken-emeþi. PERF–wash-X>3ƍ/CC after he was washed. kaho·ni=þa·hi e·h=mawi–ki·–so·ken-a·þi.205 and.then=so AOR=go.and–around–hold.in.hand-3S>3ƍ/CONJ So then he started to go around holding him. kašiƍ, pe·hki=þi·h=mekoho e·h=mi·šisikiwe·hi-niþi.206 why! really=POV=EMPH AOR=have.a.hairy.back.DIM-3ƍ/CONJ Why, he saw he really had a hairy back.

40E

“þi·hþe·ƍ, mi·šisiki·he·h-a,” e·h=i-niþi=’pihi.207 (astonishment) Hairy.Back.DIM-PRX.SG AOR=say.so-3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY “Ooh, Hairy-Back!” he said.

40F

kaho·ni=ya·pi e·h=mi·šisiki·hi·hi-niþi.208 and.then=here’s.the.thing AOR=be.a.hairy.back.DIM-3ƍ/CONJ And that was that, he became a Hairy-Back.



204. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem ko·kena·so-. 205. The bond between a boy and his mother’s brother is traditionally very close. 206. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem mi·šisikiwe·-. 207. In other Meskwaki versions of the Red-Leggins story, Red-Leggins’ nephew has fur here and there on his body and is called Furry-In-Patches. The obviative probably refers to Red-Leggins, but this is a very surprising shift. If Red-Leggins is obviative, who is the proximate who hears him say this? His sister, perhaps, or possibly Bear? This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the animate noun stem mi·šisiki·h-. 208. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem mi·šisiki·hi-.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

40G

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40H

421

kenwe·ši=þa·hi·=’nahi. a.long.time=so=now? A long time passed. i·ni=meko=’pihi e·h=ki·ši–makekino·hi-niþi. then=EMPH=HRSY AOR=PERF–be.big.DIM-3ƍ/CONJ And by then he was all grown up.

40I

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=ašihtaw-a·þi o-mehte·h-ani. and.then=HRSY AOR=make.for-3S>3ƍ/CONJ 3-bow-OBV.SG And then he made a bow for him.

40J

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–ka·ki·wi·te·m-a·þi=’pihi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–1RED.go.about.with-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY e·h=ši·ša·-þi=’pihi. AOR=hunt-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then he started taking him around to places when he went hunting.

40K

pe·hki=meko=’pihi no·hkih-e·waki mahkw-ahi. really=EMPH=HRSY easily.overcome-3P>3ƍ/IND bear-OBV.PL They really had an easy time killing bears.

40L

pe·hki=meko=’pi·=’na kehke·nem-e·wa really=EMPH=HRSY=that.PRX.SG know-3S>3ƍ/IND e·ya·wi–’šike·-niþi mahkw-ahi.209 respectively–dwell.so-3ƍ/PPL(IN.SG) bear-OBV.PL He really knew what kinds of places bears lived in.

40M

i·ni=þa·hi e·na·þim-eþi.210 that.IN.SG=so tell.of.so-X>3/PPL(IN.SG) That’s what is told of him.

40N

“mana=wi·na mya·še·wi·hi-wa e·h=pehtawe·-þi,”211 this.PRX.SG=but err.DIM-3S/IND AOR=make.a.fire-3S/CONJ in-e·wa=’pi a·neta mahkw-ahi. say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/IND=HRSY some(of.them) bear-OBV.PL



209. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .na . He also wrote kekenemewewa| for kehke·neme·wa. The proximate here refers to Hairy-Back rather than Red-Leggins. This is implied by the use of i·na rather than mana. 210. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .þai. . He also wrote a word divider in the middle of the participle: .enaþi.meþi. . 211. Hairy-Back’s comments about bears and fires are mysterious, and probably meant to be. Bill Leaf’s wife, Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha, also has Furry-in-Patches talk disparagingly or approvingly about the fires bears make. Jim Peters has Furry-in-Patches talk disparagingly or approvingly about the lights bears have.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

422

THOMASON

“This one does a bad job of making a fire,” he said about some of the bears. 40O

“mana=mataha,” i-wa=’pi a·pehe. || this.PRX.SG=alternatively say.so-3S/IND=HRSY usually “This one, however, is a different matter,” he would say.

41A

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–=’pi a·pehe –nowinehkaw-a·þi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–=HRSY usually –chase.out-3S>3ƍ/CONJ mahkw-ahi manaha mahkwi–a·pehtawesi·h-a.212 bear-OBV.PL this.PRX.SG bear–halfbreed-PRX.SG And then the half-bear would go and chase the bears out.

41B

manaha kaho·ni=’pihi=’p=a·pehe213 and.then=HRSY=HRSY=usually this.PRX.SG we·nekwa·hi-ta ma·hani have(as)a.cross.nephew-3S/PPL(PRX.SG) this.OBV.SG a·pehtawesi·hi–mahkw-ani, halfbreed–bear-OBV.SG And then as for the one who had the half-bear as a nephew,

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41C

pe·hki=meko=’pi=’p=a·pehe really=EMPH=HRSY=HRSY=usually se·se·kim-ekwa ma·hani 1RED.frighten.by.speech-3ƍ>3S/IND this.OBV.SG o-nekwa·h-ani.214 3-cross.nephew-OBV.SG his nephew would really frighten him with the things he said.

41D

pemi–tana·si·-wa.215 na·mataye=’p=a·pehe under.the.belly=HRSY=usually along–climb.there-3S/IND He would usually climb in under its belly.

41E

“e·hye·ƍ, i·n=e·h=neš-iki, ne-šise,” darn.it! then=AOR=kill-X>1S/CONJ 1-cross.uncle.VOC.SG



212. Hairy-Back’s father is Bear. Bill Leaf has omitted mention of how Red-Leggins’ sister came to marry Bear. 213. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .papee . Note also the quotative particle with echo vowel before a word divider before another quotative particle. See the comment to line 19E, above. 214. Bill Leaf wrote .sesekimekwe. for what I presume is se·se·kimekwa. Note also the quotative particle immediately following another quotative particle. See the comment to line 19E, above. 215. The proximate refers to Hairy-Back here.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

423

e·h=in-eþi=’p=a·pehe

AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY=usually

manaha this.PRX.SG

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me·meškwimatete·h-a. Red.Leggins-PRX.SG “Drat, now I’m being killed, uncle!” Red-Leggins would be told. 41F

i·ni=meko=’p=a·pehe e·h=pemw-a·þi then=EMPH=HRSY=usually AOR=shoot(at)-3S>3ƍ/CONJ ma·hani mahkw-ani. this.OBV.SG bear-OBV.SG Then he would shoot the bear.

41G

“ši·hþe·ƍ, ke·kya·ta=ni·hka ke-pehtenaw-i,” ooh! nearly=(expletive) 2-shoot.accidentally-2S>1S/IND e·h=in-a·þi=’p=a·pehe.216 AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY=usually “Ooh, you nearly shot me by mistake!” he would tell him.

41H

“a·ƍ, kašina·kwa, (exclamation) why! ke-se·kise·kim-i=ma·hi=ni·na,” 2-2RED.frighten.by.speech-2S>1S/IND=as.you.know=1SG.EMPH e·h=in-eþi=’pihi mi·šisiki·h-a. AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY Hairy.Back-PRX.SG “Ah, why, you keep frightening me with the things you’re saying, you know!” Hairy-Back was told.

41I

“i·noki ka·ta se·kim-ihkani,” now don’t frighten.by.speech-2S>1S/PROH e·h=in-eþi=’pihi. || AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY “Don’t frighten me this time!” he was told.

42A

kaho·ni=’pihi kapo·twe=meko and.then=HRSY at.some.point=EMPH manaha e·h=kokwi–pena·wihto·-þi AOR=abruptly–make.summer-3S>0ƍ/CONJ this.PRX.SG



216. Bill Leaf changed the second vowel of ši·hþe·ƍ from an illegible letter to something that looks as if it is probably an e . The proximate refers to Hairy-Back here.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

424

THOMASON

me·meškwimatete·h-a.217 Red.Leggins-PRX.SG And then at some point Red-Leggins suddenly made it summer. 42B

kaho·ni=’pihi, nahiƍ, . . . and.then=HRSY well And then, well, . . .

42C

ma·haki=wi·na maneto·w-aki, kapo·twe this.PRX.PL=but manitou-PRX.PL at.some.point e·h=mawi–we·pi–apano·sike·-wa·þi.218 AOR=go.and–begin–warm.INDEF.up?-3P/CONJ Meanwhile, as for the manitous, at some point they began to [warm things up?].

42D

“ši·ƍ, meþi=ya·pi apa·po·hte·-wi.” (surprise) rather=here’s.the.thing be.warm.water-0S/IND “Say, see here, the water’s rather warm!”

42E

“kašiƍ, asa·mekwa·me-hkakwe=’yo,” e·h=i-þi=’pihi.219 why! oversleep-12/PROH=for AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “Why, it may be that we overslept!” he said.

42F

“kašina·kwa, mawa·pat-ano,” e·h=in-eþi why! go.to.see-2S>0/IMP AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ manaha šekaho·he·h-a,220 this.PRX.SG pied.billed.grebe.DIM-PRX.SG “Why, go have a look at it!” Helldiver was told,

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217. This is an extremely abrupt transition to a new episode in the Red-Leggins’ story. Red-Leggins has decided to take his revenge on the lake manitous. For the lake manitous, summer is day and winter is night, and since it is still winter they are sleeping at the bottom of their lake. Red-Leggins lures them out of the lake by calling for summer weather. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the TI stem pena·wihto·-. 218. There are a surprising number of Meskwaki stems that describe the act of warming oneself near a fire, or warming oneself in the sun. Many have unusual morphology. Bill Leaf’s stem apano·sike·- is particularly strange, however, because the normal meaning of the combination of -es plus -ike·—‘do to an indefinite object by heat’—does not seem to fit the case here. The lake manitous are not warming anything up; rather, they are being warmed themselves by the unseasonably warm lakewater. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem apano·sike·-. 219. The proximate here refers to one of the lake manitous, but there is no way of telling which. The exclamation suggests that this speaker may be different from the speaker of 42D. 220. “Helldiver” is an American country term for the pied-billed grebe. Water manitous often have certain kinds of waterfowl as pets.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

42G

e·h=ikoþi ma·hani maþi–maneto·h-ani. AOR=say.so.to-3ƍ>3S/CONJ this.OBV.SG evil–manitou-OBV.SG the evil manitou telling him.

42H

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=mawi–wa·pat-aki. and.then=so=HRSY AOR=go.and–look.at-3S>0ƍ/CONJ So then he went to look at it.

42I

kaho·ni=’pihi, “pe·hki=meko wi·šate·-wi,” and.then=HRSY really=EMPH be.warm.weather-0S/IND e·h=i-niþi.221 AOR=say.so-3ƍ/CONJ And then he said, “It’s really warm weather.”

42J

“ši·ƍ, meþi=ni·hka=ni·na·=’na (surprise) rather=(expletive)=1SG.EMPH=that.PRX.SG net-a·nwe·htaw-a·wa,”222 e·h=i-niþi=’pihi.223 1-fail.to.understand-[1]S>3S/IND AOR=say.so-3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY “Say, I can’t quite understand him,” he said.

42K

kaho·ni=’pihi na·hka ma·kw-a i·tepi and.then=HRSY and loon-PRX.SG thither e·h=išinehkaw-oþi=’pihi. AOR=send.thither-X>3/CONJ=HRSY And then Loon was sent there next.

42L

sa·kiþi. kaho·ni=’pihi i·na·hi=’pihi e·h=pya·-þi and.then=HRSY over.there=HRSY AOR=come-3S/CONJ outside And then he arrived up there, outside.

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425

pe·hki=þi·h=mekoho e·h=ki·šipye·ya·-niki really=POV=EMPH AOR=have.leafed.out-0ƍ/CONJ mehteko·-ni. || tree-IN.PL Why, he saw that the trees were really in leaf.



221. The obviative refers to Helldiver here. The shift of Helldiver’s status from proximate to obviative is the only thing that tells us that he has returned to the lake and is reporting to his masters. 222. It is a standard joke in the Red-Leggins story that Helldiver’s speech is incomprehensible. Some versions state that Helldiver speaks Potawatomi. 223. Obviative here refers to one of the lake manitous, but there is no way of telling which. It is not at all clear why the speaker should be obviative, or who the proximate could be.

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426

THOMASON

43A

“nahiƍ,” e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi·=’nini well AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY=that.OBV.SG maneto·w-ani.224 manitou-OBV.SG “Well!” he told that manitou.

43B

“pe·hki=mekoho ki·šipye·ya·-kwe·ni,” e·h=i-niþi.225 really=EMPH have.leafed.out-0/INT AOR=say.so-3ƍ/CONJ “They really seem to be in leaf,” he said.

43C

kaho·ni=’pi, “o·ƍ, nahiƍ, pašito, and.then=HRSY (exclamation) well old.man.VOC.SG wi·h=mawi–=þa·h=ye·toke –apa·siwaso-yakwe,” FUT=go.and–=so=EVID –sun.self-12/CONJ e·h=iti·-wa·þi. AOR=say.so.to.each.other-3P/CONJ And then one said to the other, “Well, see here, old man, let’s go and sun ourselves!”

43D

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=nepa·-wa·þi ma·haki pašito·h-aki.226 and.then=HRSY AOR=sleep-3P/CONJ this.PRX.PL old.man-PRX.PL And then the old men slept.

43E

sese·si=mekoho·=’ni e·h=ki·ša·koþi–wi·šikate-niki.227 hurriedly=EMPH=then AOR=extremely–be.frozen.hard-0ƍ/CONJ Then without warning it was extremely bitterly cold.

43F

e·h=te·pahkye·wi–kepate-niki=meko.228 AOR=reaching.the.bottom–freeze.over-0ƍ/CONJ=EMPH It froze all the way to the bottom, in fact.

43G

i·ni=þa·hi e·na·þimo-ya·ni. that.IN.SG=so narrate.so-1S/PPL(IN.SG) That’s how I tell the story.



224. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .nini. . Again, Bill Leaf neglects to explain that the Loon returns to his masters. It is not clear why he makes his report to only one manitou. Nor is it clear which of the two manitous this is. Note the echo vowel before a word divider before an enclitic. 225. Presumably the obviative refers to Loon here. The proximate shift is surprising. 226. Unlike other authors, Bill Leaf does not explain that the manitous crawl out of the lake and are put to sleep by the sun. 227. Note the echo vowel before an enclitic. 228. In other words, the lake freezes solid. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the preverb te·pahkye·wi.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Meskwaki

427

43H

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=mawi– na·hka=–ki·ša·koþi–=mekoho and.then=so=HRSY AOR=go.and– and=–extremely–=EMPH –wi·šiki–kesi·ya·-niki. –strongly–be.cold.weather-0ƍ/CONJ So then it began to be extremely bitterly cold weather again.

43I

kaho·ni=þa·hi e·h=mawi–to·hkinehka·ke·-wa·þi ma·haki and.then=so AOR=go.and–chase.INDEF.awake-3P/CONJ this.PRX.PL pašito·h-aki.229 old.man-PRX.PL So then the old men chased people awake.

43J

pašito·h-aki e·h=to·hki·-wa·þi. kapo·twe ma·haki at.some.point this.PRX.PL old.man-PRX.PL AOR=wake.up-3P/CONJ At some point the old men woke up.

43K

“kašina·kwa, pašito, pe·hki=ya·pi=mekoho why! old.man.VOC.SG really=here’s.the.thing=EMPH mani ki·ša·koþi–kesi·ya·-wi.” || this.IN.SG extremely–be.cold.weather-0S/IND “Why, see here, old man, this is really extremely cold weather!”

44A

“nahiƍ, pašito, mani=ya·pi·=’niye well old.man.VOC.SG this.IN.SG=here’s.the.thing=that.past-IN.SG ke-mi·ša·tesiwen-i,”230 e·h=i-þi=’pihi manaha. 2-finery-IN.SG AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG “Why, look, old man, this is your ornament that was!” our hero said.

44B

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=pwa·wi– nekotahi and.then=HRSY AOR=not– somewhere 231 –nahi–kehke·net-aki. –never–have.senses-3S/CONJ



229. to·hkinehka·ke·- here is as odd as apano·sike·-, above. If anyone is being chased awake, it is the old men. The next line may be intended as a correction of this one. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem to·hkinehka·ke·-. 230. mani here might mean ‘this is (the work of) your ornament’, or it might mean ‘here (coming toward us) is your ornament’. The phrase ‘your ornament’ is explained by the fact that in other versions, the evil water manitou uses Red-Leggins’ body as a door ornament. The exclamation suggests that this speaker may be different from the speaker of 43K. 231. Bill Leaf wrote .kekeneta for what I presume is -kehke·netaki. The proximate perhaps refers to Red-Leggins. The stem kehke·net- can be a TI meaning ‘know’ or a TI-O meaning ‘be conscious’. My best guess is that this sentence means that RedLeggins was conscious (though dead) and aware of everything that happened to him in the lake.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

428

THOMASON

And he never blacked out at all. 44C

“nahiƍ, wi·h=oþi–konakwi·-wakwe·ni.”232 well FUT=thence–pass.through-12/INT.PPL(IN.SG) “Well, I wonder how we might get through?”

44D

“nahiƍ, mana=þa·hi=’yo·we ne-ketemina·-kwa,233 well this.PRX.SG=so=formerly 1-bless-3S>[1]S/IND “Well, he blessed me in the past,

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44E

ašawaye=’yo·we e·h=kwi·yese·hi-ya·ni.” long.ago=formerly AOR=be.a.boy-1S/CONJ long ago, when I was a boy.”

44F

o·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=a·þimo-þi and.then=so=HRSY AOR=narrate-3S/CONJ e·taswipepo·nwe·-þi.234 AOR=be.so.many.years.old-3S/CONJ So then he told how old he was.

44G

ehehe·ƍ, ne-pehta·þimo. I.misspoke! 1-mistell.[1]S/IND Oops, I told it wrong!

44H

ne·pehe, e·tasokoni·-þi. or.rather fast.so.many.days-3S/PPL(IN.SG) I meant to say, how many days he fasted.

44I

ne·pehe, e·h=nye·wokoni·-þi=’pihi.235 or.rather AOR=fast.four.days-3S/CONJ=HRSY I meant to say, he fasted for four days.

44J

i·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–a·þimo-þi236 then=HRSY AOR=go.and–narrate-3S/CONJ



232. The speaker here is one of the lake manitous, but there is no way of telling which. He is talking about breaking through the ice to their home at the bottom of the lake. 233. The exclamation suggests that this speaker may be different from the speaker of 44C. The proximate here refers to some manitou we have not yet encountered in this text; fasting and praying for the blessings of manitous is something that, traditionally, all Meskwaki children were supposed to do. Apparently it is something that manitous can do, too. 234. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .pii . 235. That is, he received this important blessing after four consecutive days of fasting. 236. Telling about your blessing is what you do when you want to invoke it.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

429

e·h=ote·net-aki

AOR=think.of(as.coming.from)thence-3S>0ƍ/CONJ

ke·ko·h-i . . .237 something-IN.SG Then he started to tell about thinking of something from . . . 44K

44L

na·hka=e·h=pakeþe·se-niki.238 and=AOR=fall.and.hit.in.a.clump-0ƍ/CONJ falling and striking (the ice) compactly again.

44M

waninawe=’pihi anema·ške·-niwi in.all.directions=HRSY fly.on-0ƍS/IND e·h=pekihkise-niki. AOR=fall.in.pieces-0ƍ/CONJ It flew in all directions as it shattered.

44N

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kaho·ni=’pihi ahpemeki=’pihi e·h=ota·ška·-niki=’pihi and.then=HRSY up.aloft=HRSY AOR=fall.out.of-0ƍ/CONJ=HRSY mehtekw-i, mehtekomiš-i, tree-IN.SG oak-IN.SG And then a tree, an oak tree, fell from up above,

“ohohwa·ƍ, pe·hki=mekoho nawe·ni–mese·he·h-ani mercy! really=EMPH handsome–piece.of.firewood.DIM-IN.PL ke-ki·šihto·hi,” 2-complete.DIM.[2]S>0/IND in-a·pi=’pihi maþi–maneto·h-a.239 say.so.to-X>3/IND=HRSY evil–manitou-PRX.SG “Oh boy, you’ve really made pretty pieces of firewood!” the evil manitou was told.

44O

“asa·mi=mekoho ota·nesi-yane, too.much=EMPH have(as)a.daughter-2S/SUBJ naha·kanihkwe·wi-te, || be.a.coresident.daughter.in.law-3S/SUBJ “How great it would be if you had a daughter who was living with her in-laws,

45A

mama·ne ki·šihto·-hkapa mese·h-ani,” 1RED.many complete-2S>0/POT piece.of.firewood-IN.PL



237. There is a missing word here: the ot- of ote·net- requires a complement. 238. It is not clear what na·hka ‘and, again’ is doing here. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the II stem pakeþe·sen-. 239. Here at last we learn that the speaker of 44D–E was the evil water manitou.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

430

THOMASON

e·h=in-eþi=’pihi.240 AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY for you would make lots and lots of kindling,” he was told. 45B

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45C

(i·ni=’yo=ke·hi=’pihi o-nepis-em-wa·w-i. that.IN.SG=for=moreover=HRSY 3-lake-POSS-PL-IN.SG (Incidentally, it was their lake. pe·hki=mekoho asa·mi–wi·šikaþi-niwani=’pihi.)241 really=EMPH too.much–be.frozen.stiff-3ƍS/IND=HRSY And he was really frozen stiff.)

45D

maneto·w-a kaho·ni=’pihi na·hka·=’na=kotak-a and.then=HRSY and=that.PRX.SG=other-PRX.SG manitou-PRX.SG e·h=koþawi-þi=’pihi.242 AOR=try-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then the other manitou tried next.

45E

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=nye·wokoni·-þi=meko.243 and.then=HRSY AOR=fast.four.days-3S/CONJ=EMPH And then he fasted for four whole days.

45F

e·yi·ki·=’nahi·=’ni ahpemeki also=there=that.IN.SG up.aloft e·h=ote·net-aki, AOR=think.of(as.coming.from)thence-3S>0ƍ/CONJ He, too, thought of it coming from up above,

45G

kohkosen-i ahpemeki.244 granite.rock-IN.SG up.aloft a granite rock from above.



240. A daughter-in-law impresses her in-laws by doing women’s work diligently and well. In other versions of this story, the good water manitou humiliates the evil water manitou by saying he makes firewood so well that he ought to be someone’s daughter-in-law. That makes more sense than insulting him by telling him that he would provide firewood for his daughter. 241. Bill Leaf wrote |.sasami. for asa·mi. The obviative here refers to RedLeggins. It is not clear what the clarification in 45B-C is meant to accomplish. This is to date our only attestation of the AI stem wi·šikaþi-. 242. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .na for =’na. 243. Bill Leaf wrote nyokoni for what I presume is nye·wokoni·-. This sentence should be in the past mood, rather than the narrative mood. The good water manitou is telling how he obtained his blessing. 244. Bill Leaf crossed out a syllable ( |me ) that originally appeared before kohkoseni.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

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45H

431

i·ni=’pihi e·h=pye·ta·ška·-niki ahpemek=oþi. then=HRSY AOR=fall.hither-0ƍ/CONJ up.aloft=thence Then it came falling from above.

45I

ki·ša·koþi=meko=’pihi kepaškise-niwi i·nahi extremely=EMPH=HRSY lie.blocking-0ƍS/IND that.LOC o-nepis-em-wa·-ki.245 3-lake-POSS-PL-LOC It lay completely obstructing that lake of theirs.

45J

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–=’pihi i·tepi=–’ha·-þi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–=HRSY thither=–go-3S/CONJ manaha me·meškwimatete·h-a. this.PRX.SG Red-Leggins-PRX.SG And then Red-Leggins headed in that direction.

45K

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi– i·na·hi=–pya·-þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and– over.there=–come-3S/CONJ And then he got there.

45L

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–=’pihi i·nah=–pye·notaw-a·þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–=HRSY there=–come.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then he came up to them there.

45M kaho·ni=’pihi, || “anika·na·ka and.then=HRSY that.further.away-PRX.SG pye·tosa·-ta ke-mi·ša·tesiwen-i,” come.walking-3S/PPL(PRX.SG) 2-finery-IN.SG e·h=in-eþi=’pihi.246 AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY And then he was told, “That thing over there walking this way is your ornament.” 46A

kaho·ni=þa·hi, “nahiƍ, mana=kohi,” e·h=išiwe·-þi=’pihi and.then=so well this.PRX.SG=certainly this.PRX.SG=HRSY manaha pe·hki–maneto·w-a.247 this.PRX.SG real–manitou-PRX.SG So then the real manitou declared, “See, here he is!”



245. Bill Leaf wrote meno for what I presume is =meko. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the II stem kepaškisen-. 246. The proximate refers to the evil water manitou here. This is a very bald proximate shift. 247. ‘True manitou’ (pe:hki-maneto·wa) is Bill Leaf’s term for the good water manitou.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

432

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46B

THOMASON

kaho·ni=wi·na=manaha pašito·h-a,248 “nahiƍ, mana=wi·na and.then=but=this.PRX.SG old.man-PRX.SG well this.PRX.SG=but k-o·šisem-ena·n-a keteminaw-a·ta·we. 2-grandchild-1PL-PRX.SG bless-12>3/IMP And then the old man [said], “Well, let’s bless our grandson!

46C

we·þi–pya·-kwe·ni=we·n=ayo·hi. thence–come-3S/INT.PPL(IN.SG)=or.rather=here After all, it’s probably why he came here.

46D

wa·wosa·hi which.was.not.to.be.expected k-i·h=pwa·wi–keteminaw-a·pena.”249 2-FUT=not–bless-[12]>3/IND We could hardly help but bless him.”

46E

i·ni e·n-a·þi=’pihi that.IN.SG say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/PPL(IN.SG)=HRSY ow-i·þi–maneto·w-ani. 3-fellow–manitou-OBV.SG That’s what he said to his fellow manitou.

46F

kaho·ni=’pi·=’na=nekoti maþa·hi·n-i ma·ne and.then=HRSY=that.PRX.SG=one drygoods-IN.SG much e·h=mi·n-a·þi pwa·wi–nes-a·ta.250 AOR=give-3S>3ƍ/CONJ not–kill-3S>3ƍ/PPL(PRX.SG) And then the one who hadn’t killed him gave him lots of drygoods.

46G

kaho·ni·=’na ne·s-a·ta·=’nini and.then=that.PRX.SG kill-3S>3ƍ/PPL(PRX.SG)=that.OBV.SG nana·hkawesiwen-i e·h=mi·n-a·þi. witchcraft-IN.SG AOR=give-3S>3ƍ/CONJ And then the one who had killed him gave him witch medicine.

46H

46I

i·ni=þa·h=e·na·þimo-wa·þi. that.IN.SG=so=narrate.so-3P/PPL(IN.SG) That’s how they tell the story. kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi kapo·twe=’pihi and.then=so=HRSY at.some.point=HRSY



248. This ought to be a different speaker from the speaker in 46A, so perhaps it is the evil water manitou who says this. 249. Bill Leaf wrote pwa|ni for what I presume is pwa·wi. 250. The obviative refers to Red-Leggins here.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

433

e·h=a·þimoheti·-wa·þi=’pihi

ma·haki pašito·h-aki this.PRX.PL old.man-PRX.SG wi·h=pem-oþi manaha nekoti.251 FUT=shoot(at)-X>3/CONJ this.PRX.SG one So then at some point one of the old men explained that the other should be shot.

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AOR=inform.each.other-3P/CONJ=HRSY

46J

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=pem-oþi manaha and.then=so=HRSY AOR=shoot(at)-X>3/CONJ this.PRX.SG maþi–maneto·w-a. evil–manitou-PRX.SG So then the evil manitou was shot.

46K

mana=ke·h=kotak-a || ... this.PRX.SG=moreover=other-PRX.SG And the other one . . .

47A

kaho·ni=manaha nekoti maneto·w-a and.then=this.PRX.SG one manitou-PRX.SG e·h=mawi– na·hka –pena·wepye·htaw-oþi AOR=go.and– and –make.summery.water.for-X>3/CONJ 252 wi·h=anemiha·-þi. FUT=go(by.that.route)-3S/PPL(LOC.SG) And then the route that the one manitou would take was made summery again for him.

47B

kaho·ni=wi·na manaha aya·pami e·h=na·kwa·-þi.253 and.then=but this.PRX.SG back AOR=depart-3S/CONJ And then he went back.

47C

mani kaho·ni=wi·na manaha e·h=ki·wi–šešo·h-aki and.then=but this.PRX.SG AOR=around–paint-3S>0ƍ/CONJ this.IN.SG wi·seniwen-i.254 food-IN.SG



251. In other versions of the story, the good water manitou is outraged that the evil water manitou gives evil gifts to Red-Leggins. He is even more outraged when RedLeggins lets the evil water manitou go free. In Bill Leaf’s version, instead of letting the evil water manitou go free, Red-Leggins kills him. 252. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the TA+O stem pena·wepye·htaw-. 253. The proximate here probably refers to Red-Leggins. 254. Bill Leaf wrote .wima for what I presume is =wi·na. Bill Leaf omits a great deal of relevant information here: Red-Leggins’ father’s people are still starving. RedLeggins invites them to a feast, and then daubs the evil water manitou’s gift of poison on the food.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

434

THOMASON

Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

And then he went around around daubing the food. 47D

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–a·þimoh-eþi ma·haki and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–inform-X>3/CONJ this.PRX.PL we·wi·ki-þiki. dwell(there)-3S/PPL(PRX.PL) And then the householders were told about it.

47E

ne·pehe=’pihi manaha ka·ka·kiw-a255 or.rather=HRSY this.PRX.SG crow-PRX.SG o·šisem-ani·=’niye·ne 3-grandchild-OBV.SG=that.previous-OBV.SG e·h=mawa·pam-a·þi. AOR=go.to.see-3S>3ƍ/CONJ Oops! I should have mentioned that Crow went to see his granddaughter.

47F

pe·hki=þi·h=mekoho e·h=ki·ša·koþi–ma·ne·te-niki really=POV=EMPH AOR=extremely–be.numerous-0ƍ/CONJ wi·seniwen-i. food-IN.SG Why, he saw that there was really an extremely large amount of food there.

47G

e·h=we·pi–=mekoho –amw-a·þi owi·neno·-ni. AOR=begin–=EMPH –eat-3S>3ƍ/CONJ fat-OBV.SG And he began to eat the fat.

47H

kaho·ni=na·hkaþi e·h=we·pi–ne·w-a·þi manaha and.then=and AOR=begin–see-3S>3ƍ/CONJ this.PRX.SG mi·šisiki·h-a·=’nini·=’ni.256 Hairy.Back-PRX.SG=that.OBV.SG=then? And then Hairy-Back saw him then again.

47I

o·ni=’pihi o-þi·kwa·kan-i e·h=pemi–ata·hpen-aki,257 and.then=HRSY 3-??-IN.SG AOR=along–take.hold.of-3S>0ƍ/CONJ And then he picked up his [. . .] bone



255. Bill Leaf wrote the wa|. of .kakakiwa. over an erased syllable. 256. na·hka ‘and, again’ does not really seem appropriate here. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider in the middle of it: naka.þi. . 257. The noun stem þi·kwa·kan- means some kind of a bone, but we do not know which bone it is.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

47J

47K

48A

48B

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48C

435

e·h=mawi–pakam-a·þi. AOR=go.and–hit(at)-3S>3ƍ/CONJ and went and threw it at him. “þi·ƍ, pe·hki=ni·hka=manaha halloo! really=(expletive)=this.PRX.SG ne-šise·h-ani || e·h=taši–þa·katamaw-a·þi258 AOR=there–eat.up.for-3S>3ƍ/CONJ 1-cross.uncle.DIM-OBV.SG o-se·sahikan-i,” e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi, 3-dried.meat-IN.SG AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY “Sheesh, this guy is really eating up all of my uncle’s dried meat!” he said about him, e·h=pakam-a·þi=’pihi. AOR=hit(at)-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY and he threw it at him. kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–a·þimo-þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–narrate-3S/CONJ And then he went and told about it. mana nahako·þi[n-wa],” “nahiƍ, pe·hki=ni·hka well really=(expletive) this.PRX.SG know.how.to.hang-3S/IND e·h=i-þi=’pihi.259 AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “Well, he’s really given to hanging upside down,” he said.

48D

i·nahi=’pihi mawi–pi·þipaho·n-a·pi=’pihi.260 there=HRSY go.and–run.inside.with-X>3/IND=HRSY There was a rush to carry him inside.

48E

“ya·ƍ,” (woman’s.exclamation) e·h=i-þi=’pi·=’na=’hkwe·w-a. AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY=that.PRX.SG=woman-PRX.SG “Mercy!” the woman said.

48F

“ke-mešo·h-a=ma·hi·=’na,” 2-grandfather.DIM-PRX.SG=as.you.know=that.PRX.SG



258. Most winter story insults are delivered in the third person. 259. Bill Leaf wrote naa|koþi. for what I presume is nahako·þinwa. My emendation of the text here is pretty drastic, and is quite possibly wrong. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem nahako·þi-. 260. The proximate refers to Crow here. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the TA stem pi·þipaho·N-.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

436

THOMASON

e·h=in-eþi=’pihi.261 AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY “See, that’s your grandfather!” he was told. 48G

48H

kaho·ni=’pihi, “i·na=ma·hi=mehteno·hi and.then=HRSY that.PRX.SG=as.you.know=only ke·temino·-nakwa,” e·h=in-eþi=’pihi. bless-3>12/PPL(PRX.SG) AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY And then he was told, “You see, he’s the only one who had pity on us.”

48I

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=waþa·h-eþi·=’na.263 and.then=HRSY AOR=cook.for-X>3/CONJ=that.PRX.SG And then food was cooked for him.

48J

kaho·ni=’pihi·=’na, and.then=HRSY=that.PRX.SG? “k-i·h=a·þimoh-a·waki·=’niye·ke.264 2-FUT=instruct-[2]S>3P/IND=that.previous-PRX.PL And then he [said], “Go and tell them the news.

48K

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“ke-mešo·h-ena·n-a=ma·hi·=’na,” 2-grandfather.DIM-1PL-PRX.SG=as.you.know=that.PRX.SG e·h=in-eþi=’pihi.262 AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY “See, that’s our grandfather!” he was told.

48L

wi·h=pye·þi–me·mena·škono-waki,” FUT=hither–1RED.eat.fresh.meat-3P/IND e·h=i-þi=’pihi mana me·meškwimatete·h-a.265 AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG Red.Leggins-PRX.SG They can come have meal after meal of meat,” Red-Leggins said. kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=na·kwa·-þi=’pihi.266 and.then=HRSY AOR=depart-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then he set off.



261. The proximate refers to Hairy-Back here. 262. This line may be intended as a correction of 48F. 263. The proximate here refers to Crow. 264. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: .niyeke. . The demonstrative i·niye·ke occurs only in Bill Leaf’s texts; all other speakers use the more modern form i·niye·ka exclusively. Note also the echo vowel before an enclitic. 265. Red-Leggins is telling Crow to go invite Red-Leggins’ father’s people to a feast. 266. Proximate here refers to Crow.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

437

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48M i·na·hi=’pihi pye·ya·-þi, e·h=a·þimoh-a·þi. over.there=HRSY come-3S/CC AOR=instruct-3S>3ƍ/CONJ When he got there, he told them about it. 48N

“ki·ši–a·pesi·-kwe·ni·=’niya PERF–come.back.to.life-3S/INT=that.previous-PRX.SG o-kwis-ani,” ket-o·kima·-m-ena·n-a 2-chief-POSS-1PL-PRX.SG 3-son-OBV.SG e·h=ki·wi–’-þi=’pihi || manaha a·þi·hpana·h-a. AOR=around–say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG town.crier-PRX.SG “Our chief’s son seems to have come back to life,” the town crier went around saying.

49A

“k-i·h=mawi–=þa·hi=’pihi –me·mena·škono-pena,” 2-FUT=go.and–=so=HRSY –1RED.eat.fresh.meat-[12]/IND e·h=i-niþi=’pihi.267 AOR=say.so-3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY “So we can go and have meal after meal of meat,” he said.

49B

kaši·=’ni=meko=’pihi why!=then=EMPH=HRSY e·h=þa·ki·–=’tepi=–’ši–sese·si–a·mi·-wa·þi. AOR=all–=thither=–so–hurriedly–move.camp-3P/CONJ Why, right away they all made haste to move camp to that place.

49C

kaho·ni=’pihi manaha ow-i·hka·n-ahi and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG 3-friend-OBV.PL e·h=kotowe·-þi a·neta, AOR=make.a.suggestion-3S/CONJ some(of.them) And then our hero warned some of his friends,

49D

wi·h=pwa·wi–takwi–ašam-emeþi ki·mo·þi=’pihi FUT=not–together(with)–feed-X>3ƍ/CONJ secretly=HRSY nana·hkawahikan-i.268 witch.medicine-IN.SG so that they wouldn’t, along with the rest, be surreptitiously fed the witch medicine.



267. Obviative here could be the town crier, or could be Crow. It is not entirely clear who the proximate here would be, but perhaps the speaker’s shift into the obviative signals a shift to the perspective of the hungry villagers, who would, of course, be overcome on hearing they were going to have a feast. 268. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the inanimate noun stem nana·hkawahikan-.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

438

THOMASON

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49E kaho·ni=’pihi manaha ihkwe·w-a and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG woman-PRX.SG e·h=pwa·wi–paši–we·te·wi–kaškim-eþi.269 AOR=not–at.all–(not)the.least.bit–persuade-X>3/CONJ And then the woman wasn’t at all amenable. 49F

“kašina·kwa, a·kwi=ma·hi owiye·h-a why! not=as.you.know someone-PRX.SG paši–otahama·-þini k-i·ya·-na·n-i,”270 e·h=i-þi. at.all–stand.up.for-3S/NEG 2-life-1PL-IN.SG AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ “Why, as you know, no one stood by us at all,” she said.

49G

“ma·haki=ma·hi mehteno·hi ni·šwi this.PRX.PL=as.you.know only two ke-to·te·m-ena·n-aki ša·kwe·nemo-þiki.271 2-sibling-1PL-PRX.PL be.unwilling-3S/PPL(PRX.PL) “As you know, two of our brothers were the only ones who resisted.

49H

na·hkaþi manaha mano·ne·h-a. and this.PRX.SG Mano·ne·h-PRX.SG And Mano·ne·h.

49I

o·ni manaha ka·ka·kiw-a. and.then this.PRX.SG crow-PRX.SG And then Crow.

49J

i·ni taswi wi·h=aškwi·-wa·þi,” that.IN.SG that.number FUT=stay.behind-3P/PPL(IN.SG) e·h=i-þi=’pihi manaha ihkwe·w-a.272 AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY this.PRX.SG woman-PRX.SG That’s as many as will be spared,” said the woman.

49K

i·ni=’pihi e·nowe·-þi=’pihi. || that.IN.SG=HRSY talk.so-3S/PPL(IN.SG)=HRSY That’s what she said.

50A

kaho·ni=’pihi, “mani=ki·nwa·wa,” and.then=HRSY this.IN.SG=2PL.EMPH



269. In other words, Red-Leggins’ sister is not happy about sparing Red-Leggins’ friends. 270. Bill Leaf wrote .kiyanenani. for what I presume is ki·ya·na·ni. 271. This is the first time we have been told that two of Red-Leggins’ ten brothers refused to kill him. 272. Bill Leaf wrote the first i of ini| without a dot.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

439

e·h=in-eþi·=’ni

taswi·hi. that.number.DIM And then that tiny number of them was told, “Here’s yours.”

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AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=that.IN.SG

50B

kaho·ni=’pihi i·ni=taswi and.then=HRSY that.IN.SG=that.number e·h=pwa·wi–maneto·waha·te·-niki.273 AOR=not–be.witched.with.witch.medicine-0ƍ/CONJ And then, for that many [of them], it wasn’t witched.

50C

kaho·ni=’pi·=’niki ... and.then=HRSY=that.PRX.PL And then as for the others . . .

50D

ši·ƍ, ne·pehe=’pihi, i·na·h=pye·-waki ma·haki (surprise) or.rather=HRSY over.there=come-3P/IND this.PRX.PL še·škesi·h-aki, i·niye·ke maiden-PRX.PL that.previous-PRX.PL pye·pye·þi–kehþi–nes-a·þiki i·nini.274 1RED.hither–greatly–kill-3S>3ƍ/PPL(PRX.PL) that.OBV.SG Say, I forgot to mention that the girls arrived there, the ones who kept coming and beating her.

50E

me·me·kwe·šawe=meko=’pi·=’niki (butting.in)before.the.others=EMPH=HRSY=that.PRX.PL ki·ši–mahkikwe·sah-a·pi=’pi.275 PERF–rip.off.the.head.of-X>3/IND=HRSY They had their heads torn off before all the others.

50F

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=ki·wi–wi·þe·noke·-þi=’pihi.276 and.then=HRSY AOR=around–play.with.INDEF-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then he went around playing.



273. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the II stem maneto·waha·te·-. 274. The demonstrative i·niye·ke occurs only in Bill Leaf’s texts. Everyone else uses the more modern form i·niye·ka exclusively. 275. This is the first we have heard of heads being ripped off. It is mentioned here rather casually. And it is unexpected, because what normally happens to the villagers who eat Red-Leggins’ evil water manitou poison is that they turn into snakes. See below, for instance. 276. The proximate refers to Hairy-Back here. As several other versions of the Red-Leggins story make clear, Hairy-Back is thrilled to have other children to play with.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

440

50G

kaho·ni=’pihi wa·pa-niki, e·h=ki·wipaho-þi and.then=HRSY be.morning-0ƍ/CC AOR=run.about-3S/CONJ þi·ki–ma·wa·ka·n-e.277 near–village-EXOC And then the next morning, he ran around near the village.

50H

e·h=mawi–=nekoti –pa·hkisahto·-þi. AOR=go.and–=one –open.quickly-3S>0ƍ/CONJ He went and threw the door open at one house.

50I

pe·hki=þi·h=mekoho owiye·hi–maneto·he·h-ahi i·nahi really=POV=EMPH some.kind.of–snake.DIM-OBV.PL there e·h=ma·ne·-niþi. AOR=be.numerous-3ƍ/CONJ Why, he saw that there were really heaps of every kind of snake there.

50J

50K

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THOMASON

“ši·hwi·ƍ,” e·h=i-þi=’pihi. oh.my! AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “Gosh!” he said. “kaši=þa·h=ma·haki išawi-kwe·hiki,” e·h=i-þi=’pihi. what=so=this.PRX.PL do.so-3P/INT “Whatever could have happened to them?” he said.

50L

“þa·ki=ma·hi·=’niye·ka pakeso-kwe·hiki,” all=as.you.know=that.previous-PRX.PL explode-3P/INT e·h=i-þi=’pihi.278 || AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “You know, all of them seem to have exploded,” he said.

51A

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–a·þimo-þi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–narrate-3S/CONJ And then he went and told about it.

51B

“nahiƍ, ne-šise, o-šise·h-ani, 3-cross.uncle.DIM-OBV.SG well 1-cross.uncle.VOC.SG



277. Bill Leaf wrote .wapaniniki. for what I presume is wa·paniki, and wrote mawa|kani. for what I presume is -ma·wa·ka·ne. 278. The particle =ma·hi suggests that Hairy-Back is talking to someone here, rather than exclaiming aloud to himself. But if he has an audience, we have not been told who it is.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

441

mani=wi·na=’šawi-yane:279 this.IN.SG=but=do.so-2S/SUBJ To his uncle, “Well, uncle, why don’t you do this: 51C

mawi–natonehkwe·we·-yane. go.and–seek.a.woman-2S/SUBJ why don’t you go in search of a wife.

51D

ta·taki=mani: as.it.were=this.IN.SG For this reason:

51E

oni·þa·nese·hi-yane, wi·ša·wi=mekoho have(as)a.child-2S/PST.SUBJ maybe=EMPH wa·wi·þe·nom-e·hihka·ha.280 1RED.play.with-DIM.1S>3/POT if you had a little child, I might perhaps play with him.

51F

51G

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51H

51I

51J

ša·ši·ša·-yani. “kaho·n=a·mihtahi ki·na=še·ški and.then=would 2SG.EMPH=just 1RED.hunt-2S/PC “And then you could go on hunting trips all by yourself. kaho·n=a·mihtah=pe·hki=ni·na wa·wi·þe·nom-aki and.then=would=really=1SG.EMPH 1RED.play.with-1S>3/PC ke-ni·þa·nese·h-a,” e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi. 2-child.DIM-PRX.SG AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY And then I could really play and play with your little child,” he told him. “kašiƍ, ke·htena=ma·hi.281 why! truly=as.you.know “Why, that’s true, of course. nahi=we·naƍ, i·ni n-i·h=išawi.” go.ahead.then that.IN.SG 1-FUT=do.so.[1]S/IND All right then, I’ll do that.” “ni·na·na=ke·hi manahka 1PL.EMPH=moreover over.yonder



279. This is another abrupt transition. Normally, at this juncture, Hairy-Back upbraids his uncle for killing off his playfellows. 280. Bill Leaf wrote .oniþaneseiyanene. for what I presume is oni·þa·nese·hiyane. 281. Red-Leggins is the speaker here.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

442

THOMASON

n-i·h=mawi–ki·wita·-pena n-o·s-eki.282 1-FUT=go.and–stay(around)-1P/IND 1-father-LOC “For our part, we’ll go and stay over there at my father’s place. 51K

“nahi·=’ni=ya·pi n-o·s-eki wi·h=a·-yakwe, well=then=here’s.the.thing 1-father-LOC FUT=go-12/CONJ e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi o-kye·-ni. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY 3-mother-OBV.SG “All right, here’s the plan: we’ll go to my father’s place now,” he told his mother.

51L

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–na·kwa·-wa·þi ne·ya·pi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–depart-3P/CONJ same.as.before o·s-eki.283 3-father-LOC And then they set off, going back to his father’s place.

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51M “nahiƍ,” e·h=in-eþi=’pi·=’na well AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ=HRSY=that.PRX.SG =’hkwe·w-a. =woman-PRX.SG “Now,” the woman was told. 51N

“ka·ta=wi·na ayo·hi sa·kiþi don’t=but here outside kokwi–kahkisahto·-hkani mehteko·-ni, abruptly–strip(fiber)rapidly-2S>0/PROH tree-IN.PL “Don’t suddenly yank the bark from the trees outside here,

51O

na·hkaþi mese·h-ani || and piece.of.firewood-IN.PL kokwi–po·no·t-akani,” abruptly–put.down.from.back-2S>0/PROH e·h=in-eþi. AOR=say.so.to-X>3/CONJ or suddenly drop your load of firewood,” she was told.

52A

“kena·þi=meko k-i·h=po·no·t=a·pehe. slowly=EMPH 2-FUT=put.down.from.back.[2]S>0/IND=usually “You should set your loads down gently.



282. Hairy-Back is the speaker here. 283. Bill Leaf wrote .|osekiki. for what I presume is o·seki.

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Meskwaki

443

52B

i·ni wi·h=išawi-yani.”284 that.IN.SG FUT=do.so-2S/PPL(IN.SG) That’s what you should do.”

52C

kaho·ni=þa·hi wi·h=mawi–=’pihi . . . and.then=so FUT=go.and–=HRSY So then she went and . . .

52D

e·he·ƍ, ne·pehe, “a·nemesi-yane, I.misspoke! or.rather be.in.a.plight-2S/SUBJ k-i·h=mehkwe·nem-i. 2-FUT=remember-2S>1S/IND Oops! I forgot to say, “If you’re in any kind of serious fix, you must think of me.

52E

i·na·h=meko n-i·h=pya·hi. over.there=EMPH 1-FUT=come.DIM.[1]S/IND I’ll appear right at that spot.

52F

i·ni=mekoho išite·he·-yane, i·ni=meko i·na·hi that.IN.SG=EMPH think.so-2S/SUBJ then=EMPH over.there wi·h=ki·ši–pya·-ya·ni,”285 e·h=in-a·þi=’pihi. FUT=PERF–come-1S/CONJ AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY If you think that, I’ll already be there, right away,” he told him.

52G

kaho·ni=’pi·=’na ihkwe·w-a=’pihi nekotenwi=’pihi and.then=HRSY=that.PRX.SG woman-PRX.SG=HRSY once=HRSY e·h=pye·to·t-aki wi·h=pehtawe·-wa·þini, AOR=bring.on.back-3S>0ƍ/CONJ FUT=make.a.fire-3P/PPL(IN.PL) And then one time the woman carried home a load of things they would use to make a fire,

52H

e·h=wi·sakisikiwe·hoko-þi=’pihi.286 AOR=have.back.hurt.from.a.weight-3S/CONJ=HRSY and her back hurt from the weight.



284. The speaker is not identified. It could be either Bear or Bear-Woman. BearWoman is very offended by bark-stripping and loud noises near her house, but none of the narrators explain why. It could be because she is a game animal, and these things are likely to draw the attention of hunters. 285. Bill Leaf wrote makoo. for what I presume is =mekoho, .išiteheyanei. for what I presume is išite·he·yane, and also wrote pii. over two erased syllables. The proximate here refers to Hairy-Back, and the obviative refers to Red-Leggins. 286. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the AI stem wi·sakisikiwe·hoko-.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

444

52I

o·ni=’pihi e·h=kokwi–pakiso·t-aki.287 and.then=HRSY AOR=abruptly–let.fall.from.back-3S>0ƍ/CONJ And then she dropped them suddenly.

52J

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pi . . . and.then=so=HRSY So then . . .

52K

o·ni=’pihi, “hwe·ƍ,” e·h=i-þi=’pi.288 and.then=HRSY (exclamation) AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then she said, “Hey!”

52L

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=pemi–nowa·ška·-þi=’pihi, and.then=HRSY AOR=along–rush.out-3S/CONJ=HRSY And then she rushed out

52M

52N

52O

52P Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

THOMASON

e·h=mahkikwe·sah-a·þi. AOR=rip.off.the.head.of-3S>3ƍ/CONJ and tore her head off. o·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–nowisa·-þi manaha and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–run.out-3S/CONJ this.PRX.SG kwi·yese·h-a.289 boy-PRX.SG And then the boy ran out. i·nah=þi·h o-kye·-ni, there=POV 3-mother-OBV.SG Why, he saw his mother there, e·h=mahkikwe·sah-emetehe=ye·toke=’pihi.

AOR=rip.off.the.head.of-X>3ƍ/PST=EVID=HRSY

and her head had been torn off, apparently. 52Q

e·h=pemi–pi·þisa·-þi, || AOR=along–run.in-3S/CONJ He ran inside

53A

o-mehte·h-ani e·h=ana·hkwe·n-a·þi, 3-bow-OBV.SG AOR=string-3S>3ƍ/CONJ and strung his bow,



287. Bill Leaf wrote koki for what I presume is kokwi. This sentence contains our only attestation to date of the TI stem pakiso·t-. 288. The proximate here refers to Bear-Woman. 289. “The boy” is Hairy-Back.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

53B

ta·taki wi·h=pemw-a·þi o-kye·-ni.290 as.it.were FUT=shoot(at)-3S>3ƍ/CONJ 3-mother-OBV.SG in order to shoot his mother.

53C

kaho·ni=’pihi o-ki·h-ani e·h=pemw-a·þi and.then=HRSY 3-stepmother-OBV.SG AOR=shoot(at)-3S>3ƍ/CONJ mahkw-ani.291 bear-OBV.SG And then he shot his stepmother, the bear.

53D

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–a·pesi·htaw-oþi=’pihi.292 and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–bring.back.to.life.for-X>3/CONJ=HRSY And then she was brought back to life for him.

53E

na·hka=meko=’pihi e·h=menes-a·þi ma·hani and=EMPH=HRSY AOR=stretch.out(to.dry)-3S>3ƍ/CONJ this.OBV.SG owiye·he·hay-ani.293 small.animal.skin-OBV.SG On another occasion she was stretching a small animal skin.

53F

na·hka=’pihi e·h=pemi–nowisa·-þi, and=HRSY AOR=along–run.out-3S/CONJ She ran out again

53G

i·nahi e·h=kahkisahto·-þi wi·kopimiš-i.294 there AOR=strip(fiber)rapidly-3S>0ƍ/CONJ basswood.tree-IN.SG and yanked some bark from a basswood tree.

53H

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445

kaho·ni=’pi=na·hka=meko·=’niye and.then=HRSY=and=EMPH=that.past-IN.SG e·to·ta·ti·-wa·tehe na·hkaþi=mekoho i·ni act.so.upon.each.other-3P/PST.PPL(IN.SG) and=EMPH then?



290. Red-Leggins’ sister and Bear-Woman are Bear’s wives. This makes BearWoman Hairy-Back’s stepmother, rather than his mother. The noun okye·ni ‘his mother’ is quite odd here, especially since Bill Leaf uses oki·hani ‘his stepmother’ in the very next line. 291. Bill Leaf wrote .kaonipii.|kaonipi. for what I presume is merely kaho·ni=’pihi. 292. The proximate refers to Hairy-Back. We know from other versions of this story that it is Bear who brings Hairy-Back’s mother back to life. He also revives his other wife, Bear-Woman. 293. Bill Leaf originally wrote .emanesaþi. , and then changed ma to me . He also wrote the ye of owiye·he·hayani over an erased syllable. The proximate here refers to Red-Leggins’ sister. 294. Presumably she needs some bark in order to make a frame to stretch the skin.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

446

THOMASON

e·h=išawi-wa·þi=’pihi.295 AOR=do.so-3P/CONJ=HRSY And then they did that same thing they had done to each other before. 53I

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=ki·ši–=na·hka and.then=HRSY AOR=PERF–=and –a·pesi·heti·-wa·þi.296 –bring.each.other.back.to.life-3P/CONJ And then they had revived each other again.

53J

kaho·ni=na·hkaþi=mekoho kapo·twe=mekoho297 and.then=and=EMPH at.some.point=EMPH pašito·h-a e·h=mawi–pye·þi–natom-eþi=’pihi AOR=go.and–hither–call-X>3/CONJ=HRSY old.man-PRX.SG wi·h=na·nawasoti·-þi.298 FUT=race-3S/CONJ And then again, all of a sudden, the old man was summoned to run races.

53K

kaho·ni=’pihi manaha kwi·yese·h-a,299 and.then=HRSY this.PRX.SG boy-PRX.SG And then the boy (said),

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53L

“ši·ƍ, ni·na·na=þa·hi manaha (surprise) 1PL.EMPH=so this.PRX.SG ki·ški·škikaša·-ta || i·tepi n-i·h=a·-pena.300 have.claws.cut-3S/PPL(PRX.SG) thither 1-FUT=go-1P/IND “Say, Short-Claws and I will go to that place.



295. In other words, Bear-Woman gets angry and tears off her co-wife’s head again. Proximate here refers to Red-Leggins’ sister and Bear-Woman. 296. The proximate here refers to Bear and his wives. 297. Bill Leaf wrote a word divider before an enclitic: nakaþi.mekoo. . 298. “The old man” is Bear. Despite the na·hkaþi here, this is the first time in this text that Bear has been summoned to run races. What is happening here is that Bear receives periodic challenges to compete with some bears who live together in a town. Each time the different groups of bears compete, the side that loses the contest forfeits some lives. 299. “The boy” is Hairy-Back. 300. Bill Leaf wrote .kikiškikaša.|| for what I presume is ki·ški·škikaša·ta. He wrote the te of i·tepi with an uncrossed t . This is the first time in this text that ShortClaws has been mentioned. Short-Claws is Hairy-Back’s half-brother, Bear and BearWoman’s son. Short-Claws’ name is mentioned twice in this text, and both times it is misspelled.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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Meskwaki

447

54A

mana=’h=we·na pašito·h-a. this.PRX.SG=NEG=or.rather old.man-PRX.SG Obviously it shouldn’t be the old man.

54B

pašito·h-aki ’kwi=ma·h=ki·na not=as.you.know=2SG.EMPH old.man-PRX.PL nahipaho-wa·þini.” be.able.to.run-3P/NEG It goes without saying that old men can’t run.”

54C

nahiƍ, wa·pa-niki=’pi·=’tepi e·h=a·-wa·þi. well be.morning-0ƍ/CC=HRSY=thither AOR=go-3P/CONJ Well, in the morning they went to that place.

54D

kaho·ni=’pihi i·na·hi=’pihi e·h=pya·-wa·þi. and.then=HRSY over.there=HRSY AOR=come-3P/CONJ And then they got there.

54E

“nahiƍ, k-i·h=na·nawasoti·-pena,” e·h=i-þi=’pihi well 2-FUT=race-[12]/IND AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY 301 nekoti. one “All right, we’ll race!” said one.

54F

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–nana·toše·-þi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–ask-3S/CONJ wi·h=anemisa·-kwe·hiki.302 FUT=speed.yonder-3P/INT.PPL(IN.SG) And then he began to ask about where they would run.

54G

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=mawi–a·þimoh-eþi. and.then=so=HRSY AOR=go.and–instruct-X>3/CONJ So then he was told.

54H

“ma·hiye maškote·-ki this.leading.away-IN.SG prairie-LOC k-i·h=anemi–’šisa·-pena,” e·h=i-þi=’pihi.303 2-FUT=continue–speed.thither-[12]/IND AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “We’ll run in that path leading off into the prairie,” he said.



301. The proximate here refers to one of the challengers. Of course, Bill Leaf has not yet told us who the challengers are. 302. The proximate here refers to Hairy-Back and the other people in the race. 303. The proximate here refers to one of the challengers.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

448

THOMASON

54I

e·h=sasaka-niki=ke·h=wi·na=’pi·=’ni304 AOR=be.thick.underbrush-0ƍ/CONJ=moreover=but=HRSY=that.IN.SG e·nemi–’šisa·-wa·þi. continue–speed.thither-3P/PPL(IN.SG) But the place where they ran was thick woods.

54J

mana=we·na=’pi ki·ški·škikaša·-ta,305 this.PRX.SG=or.rather=HRSY have.claws.cut-3S/PPL(PRX.SG) As for Short Claws,

54K

“i·niye wi·h=anemi–’šise·-wa,” that.leading.away-IN.SG FUT=continue–speed.thither-3S/IND e·h=in-a·þi.306 AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ “He’ll run in that path,” he told them.

54L

“ni·na=wi·na ma·hiye 1SG.EMPH=but this.leading.away-IN.SG n-i·h=anemi–’šisa,” e·h=i-þi.307 1-FUT=continue–speed.thither.[1]S/IND AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ “But for my part, I’ll run in this path,” he said.

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54M kaho·ni=’pihi maškote·-ki e·h=anemi–’šisa·-þi manaha and.then=HRSY prairie-LOC AOR=speed.thither-3S/CONJ this.PRX.SG mi·šisiki·h-a, || Hairy.Back-PRX.SG And then Hairy-Back ran in the prairie, 55A

e·h=anemi–nawasw-a·wa·þi.308 AOR=continue–outrun-3P>3ƍ/CONJ and they outran them.

55B

kaho·ni=þa·hi=’pihi e·h=anihiwe·-wa·þi. and.then=so=HRSY AOR=win-3P/CONJ So then they won.



304. There is some wordplay here which Bill Leaf does not explain. What is thick woods to humans seems like open country to bears. 305. Bill Leaf wrote .kiškiški|škikata. for what I presume is ki·ški·škikaša·ta. 306. The proximate subject of e·h-in-a·þi ‘he told them’ here refers to Hairy-Back. This is a very awkward mid-sentence proximate shift. 307. We know from other texts that Hairy-Back insists on running in the prairie, whereas Short-Claws runs with the other bears. 308. The proximate here refers to Hairy-Back and Short-Claws.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

55C

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=na·kwa·-wa·þi aya·pami. and.then=HRSY AOR=depart-3P/CONJ back And then they went back home.

55D

i·nahi ašiþi e·nemehka·-wa·þi, there near(ly) go.off-3P/CC When they got close,

55E

“þa·ha·ƍ, ane·h-ena·te, nakiškaw-ina·ke,” (exclamation) 1.mother-VOC(1PL) meet-2>1P/IMP e·h=i-þi=’pihi.309 AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “Chaha, mother, meet us!” he said.

55F

“nahiƍ, kwi·yese·h-aki i·ni e·h=pya·-wa·þi,” well boy-PRX.PL then AOR=come-3P/CONJ e·-þi manaha pašito·h-a. say.so-3S/PPL(IN.SG) this.PRX.SG old.man-PRX.SG “Well, the boys have arrived now!” is what the old man said.

55G

kaho·ni=’pi e·h=waþa·ho-wa·þi na·minawa·kan-i,310 and.then=HRSY AOR=cook-3P/CONJ innards-IN.SG And then they cooked the innards,

55H

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449

na·hkaþi=’pi e·h=mi·þi-wa·þi. and=HRSY AOR=eat-3P>0ƍ/CONJ and they ate them.

55I

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mi·þi-wa·þi kekimesi.311 and.then=HRSY AOR=eat-3P>0ƍ/CONJ every(one) And then all of them ate them.

55J

i·ni=þa·h e·na·þimo-wa·þi=’pihi. that.IN.SG=so narrate.so-3P/PPL(IN.SG)=HRSY That’s how they tell the story.



309. Bill Leaf wrote .aneenaenate| for what I presume is ane·hena·te. 310. Bill Leaf has not mentioned that the losers of the bear races are killed by the winners. After Hairy-Back and Short-Claws win their race, Hairy-Back kills the two bears who raced against them, and cuts out their livers. The bears are horrified. They start to suspect that Hairy-Back is not really a bear. 311. In some versions of the story, Hairy-Back forces Short-Claws and his stepmother to eat a bit of the bear livers. They are understandably reluctant, because to them this is cannibalism.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

450

55K

55L

THOMASON

ke·keya·h=meko=’pihi kekimesi mi·þi-waki ohkon-ani. finally=EMPH=HRSY every(one) eat-3P>0ƍ/IND liver-IN.PL In the end all of them ate the livers. mehteno·h=meko=’pihi pašito·h=a·kwi mi·þi-þini.312 only=EMPH=HRSY old.man-PRX.SG=not eat-3S>0ƍ/NEG Only the old man didn’t eat them.

55M o·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–po·ni·hkaw-oþi=’pihi. and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–cease.dealing.with-X>3/CONJ=HRSY And then they were no longer pestered (to engage in contests). 55N

nye·wenwi=’pihi ma·mawine·hþike·-waki.313 four.times=HRSY 1RED.go.for.another.try(gambling)-3P/IND They answered the challenges four times.

55O

o·ni=’pihi and.then=HRSY e·h=mesi–nenye·škwinehkaw-a·þi=’pihi.314 || AOR=all–chase.scattering.in.all.directions-3S>3ƍ/CONJ=HRSY And then he chased them all scattering in every direction.315

56A

nahiƍ, mana=wi·na=’pihi mešen-a·pi well this.PRX.SG=but=HRSY catch-X>3/IND e·h=na·natopani-þi AOR=1RED.go.on.the.warpath-3S/CONJ

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me·meškwimateta·-ta. have.red.leggins-3S/PPL(PRX.SG) Now, in the meantime Red-Leggins was captured when he went on the warpath time and time again. 56B



kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–mehkwe·nem-a·þi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–remember-3S>3ƍ/CONJ o-nekwa·h-ani. 3-cross.nephew-OBV.SG And then he began to think of his nephew.

312. Bill Leaf wrote miþini. for what I presume is mi·þiþini. 313. Unlike other authors, Bill Leaf describes only one of the four contests—the footrace mentioned above. 314. The proximate here refers to Hairy-Back. 315. The order of these last three sentences is odd. Hairy-Back and Short-Claws are challenged four times, win all four contests, and then are spared further challenges—because after the fourth contest, Hairy-Back chases the bears with his bow and arrows, breaking up the bear town. Bears never live in towns again. By dispersing the primordial bear town, Hairy-Back helps to make the world safe for humans.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Meskwaki

56C

“ši·ƍ, ne·pehe=’yo·we. (surprise) or.rather=formerly “Say, I forgot about back then.

56D

“nahiƍ, mi·šisikiwa·-yane, well have.a.hairy.back-2S/PPL(VOC.SG) ne-nekwa, 1-cross.nephew.DIM.VOC.SG i·ni=’yo·w=e·š-iyanehe. that.IN.SG=formerly=say.so.to-2S>1S/PST.PPL(IN.SG) “Well, Hairy-Back, nephew, that’s what you said to me back then.

56E

56F

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451

i·ni=þa·h=mani pe·hki e·h=a·nemih-iki,” now=so=as.it.is.now really AOR=put.in.dire.straits-X>1S/CONJ e·h=i-þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY Now I’m really hard-pressed,” he said. “o·ƍ, kašina·kwa, ane·he, (exclamation) why! 1.mother.VOC.SG a·nemesi-wa ne-šise·h-a,” be.in.a.plight-3S/IND 1-cross.uncle.DIM-PRX.SG e·h=i-þi=’pihi.316 AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “Oh, why, mother, my uncle is in a serious fix,” he said.

56G

“meškohpwa·kan-a, na·hkaþi pi·simi·k-aki,” catlinite.pipe-PRX.SG and wampum.bead-PRX.PL 317 e·h=i-þi=’pihi. AOR=say.so-3S/CONJ=HRSY “A redstone pipe, and wampum beads!” he said.

56H

i·tepi e·h=ki·ši–pakama·ška·-þi,318 thither AOR=PERF–arrive.rapidly-3S/CONJ He arrived there in a rush

56I

e·h=we·p–atame·hiwe·-þi. AOR=begin–give.a.smoke.to.INDEF-3S/CONJ and started offering around a smoke.



316. The proximate here refers to Hairy-Back. 317. Bill Leaf wrote .meškopakana for meškohpwa·kana. The form meškohpa·kana is either a common error for meškohpwa·kana or else a real variant. 318. Bill Leaf wrote .itetepi. for i·tepi.

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THOMASON

e·h=pwa·wi– owiye·h-ani –nahkwatama·-koþi. AOR=not– someone-OBV.SG –accept.by.mouth.for-3ƍ>3S/CONJ But no one accepted it from him.

56K

kaho·ni=’pihi e·h=mawi–papahkisah-a·þi and.then=HRSY AOR=go.and–1RED.pull.off-3S>3ƍ/CONJ o-šise·h-ani.319 3-cross.uncle.DIM-OBV.SG And then he went and yanked his uncle free.

56L

“we·nahi·=’ni e·š–aka·wa·t-ame·kwe,” (this)is.it=that.IN.SG so–want-2P>0/PPL(IN.SG) e·h=in-a·þi. AOR=say.so.to-3S>3ƍ/CONJ “That’s it. That’s what you wanted,” he told them.

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56M o·ni=’pi e·h=papo·hkwisahto·-þi pi·wa·pehko·-ni, and.then=HRSY AOR=snap.in.two-3S>0ƍ/CONJ iron.chain-IN.PL o-šise·h-ani se·kapiso-niþi. 3-cross.uncle.DIM-OBV.SG be.tied.fast-3ƍ/PPL(IN.SG) And then he snapped in two the iron chains, his uncle’s bonds. 56N

o·ni=’pihi e·h=þa·ka·mo-wa·þi·=’niki kete·=’nahi.320 and.then=HRSY AOR=all.flee-3P/CONJ=that.PRX.PL reversingly And then they all fled, the tables being turned.

56O

i·ni=þa·hi e·hkwa·þim-eþi.321 || that.IN.SG=so tell.so.far.of-X>3/PPL(IN.SG) That is as much as is told of him.



319. Bill Leaf wrote mawawi.| for mawi. See the comment to line 2G, above. Red-Leggins’ enemies are unwilling to release him in exchange for presents and promises of friendship. Having tried persuasion in vain, Hairy-Back frees his uncle by force. 320. The proximate here refers to Red-Leggins’ enemies. 321. The proximate here refers to Red-Leggins.

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Challenges of Editing and Presenting the Corpus of Potawatomi Stories Told by Jim and Alice Spear to Charles Hockett

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Laura Welcher 1. Introduction. In the late 1930s, Charles Hockett, a graduate student at Yale University who would later become a prominent American linguist, was working on his doctoral dissertation on the grammatical structure of the Potawatomi language. Although there are only about ten first-language Potawatomi speakers today, in the mid-twentieth century there were probably several hundred to a thousand speakers, living in scattered communities throughout the midwestern United States and adjacent Canada. In one of these communities, near Crandon, Wisconsin, lived a Potawatomi couple, Jim and Alice Spear.1 Hockett came to work with Mr. and Mrs. Spear for several summers, gathering information that might lead to a better understanding of the grammatical structure of the language and its place in the Algonquian language family. It is unclear whether the work was meant to serve any larger goal of documenting the language in the face of waning use, although that is one of its greatest values today. During this period, Mr. and Mrs. Spear dictated a set of narratives to Hockett, filling four spiral bound notebooks and a number of looseleaf sheets. The corpus was never published in his lifetime, and was passed along to subsequent researchers in manuscript form.2 In what follows, I describe a number of challenges in presenting and editing this set of narratives as a redacted corpus. These problems range from basic but essential questions of date and provenance, to reconstructing the fieldwork setting and how it might impact the narrative performance, to trying to determine if the corpus is grammatically 1. According to Hockett (1948d:216 n. 7), “Alice Spear was a so-called ‘Forest Potawatomi’—that is, had been born and raised in the northern Wisconsin territory. Jim was born and raised in Oklahoma, but had been in Wisconsin for a number of years. Dialect differences were practically non-existent . . . . The ages were indeterminate; my best guess is in the upper fifties for both at the time the field work was done.” 2. These four notebooks have now been deposited at the National Anthropological Archives in Suitland, Maryland.

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representative of the language as a whole, and to the complex task of filling in gaps where contextual information is lost to time. These challenges are by no means unique to working with this particular set of narratives, though their impact is magnified in this case by the rich detail and scope of the corpus, something that could not be reproduced for Potawatomi today. These narratives were told and transcribed at just about the last time that it would have been possible to do so, due to the relative robustness of the speech community at that time. The following generation saw a rapid shift to English, and a reduction in the size of the speaking community from hundreds to the approximately ten speakers that we see today. The introduction of radio and later television resulted in fewer opportunities, and less interest in traditional storytelling as entertainment—the activity and contexts for storytelling dwindled. 2. Reconstructing provenance information. One of the first challenges presented by this set of texts was whether it was reasonable to even call it a corpus—even leaving aside the question of whether the texts were assembled for a particular purpose, are the dates and speakers known? As to these basic questions, the labels on the notebooks—possibly added at a much later date—are decidedly confusing, and only after considerable detective work can it be stated that the dates and names on the covers are mostly inaccurate. In his dissertation, Hockett wrote,

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The present writer’s field work with the language was done near Crandon, Wisconsin, in the summers of 1937 and 1938. The chief informant was Jim Spear, (JS), a Kansas Potawatomi who had migrated back to Wisconsin some years before. His wife Alice told the stories which constitute the writer’s body of texts. [Hockett 1939:ii–iii]

The first set of stories that form part of the current redacted corpus were indeed told by Alice Spear in July 1937, when Jim Spear and Charles Hockett were engaged in grammatical work. There are six of these stories, on looseleaf sheets, and one “Ohio State” college-ruled notebook. These formed the principal set of texts available to Hockett when he wrote his dissertation in 1939, and one was included as an example text in that work. The remainder of the texts are to be found in three spiral-bound notebooks, filled with stories told in the spring of 1940 by Jim and Alice Spear. Despite the dates given on the covers, the notebooks are almost certainly ordered as follows:

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• What I refer to as notebook 1 is the “Ohio State” notebook labeled “4 (J.S.)” with no dates on the cover or inside, plus several looseleaf sheets torn from a spiral notebook of the same size. All of the texts on these notebook pages are transcribed with the English written every fourth line, and the Potawatomi written in between these. These stories were likely all told by Alice Spear, dictated first in English, and then translated into Potawatomi (see figure 1). • What I refer to as notebook 2 is the one labeled “I text Jim Spear” with a date written in pencil “1947” scratched out, and replaced with “1937”. Individual texts are labeled as “AS + JS” or just “JS” followed by a date in April 1940. The texts are written in Potawatomi with some accompanying word glosses. • What I refer to as notebook 3 is the one labeled “II check up Alice Spear”. Individual texts are labeled as “AS” followed by a date in May 1940. The texts are written in Potawatomi with accompanying word glosses. • What I refer to as notebook 4 is the one labeled “III Jim Spear” with a date written in pencil “1947” scratched out and replaced with “1937”. Some texts in the notebook are labeled with dates in May 1940. The texts are written in Potawatomi. The first ten pages or so have regular word glosses, after which the glosses become intermittent and then are left out altogether, so that most of the notebook contains transcribed Potawatomi only (see figure 2).

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Knowing the chronological order of the texts helps in understanding which part of the corpus informed which of Hockett’s grammatical studies. Knowing who narrated each text is valuable as well, since speakers can differ in their narrative style, and may use discourse devices (like obviation) differently, or to varying degrees. 3. Reconstructing the fieldwork setting. Knowledge of the fieldwork setting, insofar as it can be determined, is valuable in evaluating the resulting documentation, particularly when it involves texts. For example, in order to gauge whether the texts can be taken as representative of spoken performance, it helps to know the extent to which the documented narration might have been affected by the fieldwork task. Any number of factors can potentially constrain the narrative performance—whether the texts were recorded and transcribed or rather dictated, whether the texts were likely rehearsed or novel in their telling, and whether there were fluent speakers in the listening audience or mainly just the documenting linguist, whose comprehension might have been limited or advanced depending on his level of ex-

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perience with the language and cultural context. Regarding the manner of recording, our best information is that these texts were not audio recorded and later transcribed as is the modern practice, but written down phonemically while they were being told. Hockett (1948d:216 n. 7) described this task as one of dictation. Although audio recording would have been possible at the time (aluminum disk recordings were in use by contemporary cultural researchers) it would have been inconvenient, and probably expensive for a project of this scope. The resulting handwritten manuscript is therefore the only existing documentation of these fieldwork sessions. The task of dictation has a particular effect on narration: it is necessarily slower, and generally results in more halting speech. This is bound to have an effect on discourse-level cohesive devices—such as obviation and the use of verbal modes for grounding and perspective shifts—and these are some of the most interesting areas of grammatical research in Potawatomi and related languages. It turns out that these devices are used in the texts (see Buszard-Welcher 2003 for discussion) but one must hedge any statement about them since one cannot be sure how far the distribution is representative of natural speech or is affected by the dictation task. It is also clear from examining the manuscripts that the dictation task changed over time. The first set of texts, narrated by Alice Spear in 1937 or 1938, were first taken down in English, written on every fourth line, so that there would be room for the Potawatomi translation to be added afterwards (see figure 1). These first texts must therefore be considered as translations from English rather than first-tellings in Potawatomi—an important fact that it is all too easy to leave unmentioned in redaction, but that should be taken into account in any study of the texts. By the time that Hockett and the Spears came to work together in the spring of 1940, the linguist’s understanding of the language was much advanced, and the stories were then dictated by the Spears in Potawatomi, with English word glosses added later, often in contrasting ink or pencil. In the last notebook of texts, Hockett dispenses with glosses almost entirely, and one has the impression that the work was much more rapid and fluent then (see figure 2). In the absence of audio recordings, these fluently transcribed Potawatomi dictations are probably the closest the corpus comes to representing natural speech and natural narrative performance.

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Figure 1. This is the first page of the spiral-bound notebook labeled “4 (J.S)”. Contrary to the label, these stories were most likely told by Mrs. Spear during Hockett’s first field session in July 1937.

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Figure 2. Page 14 of the notebook labeled “III Jim Spear” from May 1940. From this page through the end of the notebook (page 44) there are no English word glosses.

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Another factor in the fieldwork context that can affect a narrative performance is the participants, particularly the listening audience. If the only audience is the linguist, this can potentially have a significant effect. For example, if the linguist is just beginning to understand the language, the narrator is likely to make accommodations to make sure the narration is clear and understandable—for example, by avoiding fast speech and making additional explanatory asides. I have found this to be true for Hockett’s Potawatomi corpus, especially in the early texts. As the linguist’s skills improve, these accommodations tend to be reduced. Besides the transcribing linguist, we have indications that the spouse of the narrator was present as an auditor—in both senses of the word—as Mrs. Spear was apparently consulted by Mr. Spear before and during the dictation regarding details of the stories’ telling:

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My work was mainly with Jim Spear; but most of the texts he dictated were of stories which Alice had told him, or reminded him about, in preparation for my work with him; and as we worked he would occasionally check up on a point with her before dictating it. [Hockett 1948d:216 n. 7]

Hockett does not state whether the reverse is true, but given the social conventions of the day, one would expect that Mr. Spear sat with Mrs. Spear in the presence of a visiting linguist. The fact that the Spears had an agreed upon a “right way” to tell these stories also indicates that they were well known, and at least to some degree rehearsed. This would have helped in their overall narration even despite the stop-start nature of the dictation task. Some of the texts might have been novel tellings, like those of Jim Spear in notebook 2, which are his personal reminiscences, but these tend to be much shorter than the other texts in the corpus—generally just one or two notebook pages long, whereas the traditional stories can take up dozens of pages. 4. Determining representativeness of the corpus. Collecting texts was a common practice in linguistic field sessions of Hockett’s day, particularly traditional genres and mythological texts whenever possible. This practice had a number of advantages—a great deal of information could be taken down even when the linguist’s understanding was still limited and then analyzed at length later, and the content of the texts was bound to be culturally significant. In keeping with this practice, the texts in the present corpus mostly fall into the Potawatomi yadsokanen (folktale) genre. Modern speakers who have worked on analyzing these stories do not consider them to

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have any cultural restrictions on their telling—in other words, they are not winter tales per se (such narratives do exist for Potawatomi), but rather tales that can be told at any time for entertainment or instruction. Given that this corpus of texts is a substantial historical snapshot of the language, and the only one that we have from a time when all ages in the community used it vigorously, it is potentially a good source of material upon which to base a modern grammatical description. Before doing so, however, it is important to know how well the corpus represents the language as a whole in its everyday use. While much of Hockett’s work with the Spears in 1937 and 1938 involved grammatical elicitation, particularly of the complex verbal paradigms, it is clear that these texts were an important corpus for him and that they formed a basis for his understanding of Potawatomi grammar. However, yadsokanen represent a particular marked mode of discourse, and taking it as representative of all discourse modes skewed Hockett’s grammatical presentation away from accounting for everyday speech.

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With regard to the uses of paradigmatic orders outside of narrative, we learn only that the independent is used “for statements and some questions in ordinary conversation” and that the conjunct is used “in certain types of dependent clauses” (Hockett, 1948a, p. 9). Given that the distributions of the paradigms are very different in these two discourse types, it is surprising that non-narrative discourse received no further attention. This omission was likely due to the fact that his data consisted primarily of narrative texts. It has been the tradition among Americanists, especially where field time is limited, to primarily elicit narratives, and within this type of discourse, the even narrower genre of mythological text. [Buszard-Welcher 2003:4]

In addition to the yadsokanen, notebook 2 by Jim Spear primarily contains narratives of the yajmownen genre (personal-historical accounts). Examples (1)–(3) are sentences from various yajmownen in notebook 2 with morphosyntax that is more representative of everyday speech.3 (1)

Iw se é-gi-noҲek-dso-pongesyan yegwanek Pottawatomie County ngiyemen i je na é-gi-gkenomagzeyan. Ngi-gdemages, jo ngi-nsettewasi gche-mokman.

3. Hockett quickly settled on a phonemic transcription in these texts, and developed a consistent practice within the first few recorded texts of the earliest notebook. The transcription used here is essentially a straight transliteration of Hockett’s Americanist transcription, using a modern Potawatomi phonemic orthography known as the “WNALP System” (originally developed for pedagogical use in the Wisconsin Native American Languages Program).

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So must be when I was about seven years old, we were in Pottawatomie County and I went to school. I was pitiful, I couldn’t understand white people. [Jim Spear, notebook 1, p. 9] (2)

Ngodek se ngi-zhya wéch-gzhaték. I je wikapi méykoyҲnak é-gizhyayen é-gi-we-wabmegwa mjésh neshnabék, nyéwak wesemé dzhik. Once I went south. And later, I went to Mexico and saw many Neshnabék, about four hundred were there. [Jim Spear, notebook 1, p. 3]

(3)

I je ngom ode é-gi-pok yegwan John Shabbodock ngi-bwachҲek nsogwen. Jo je kwéch gi-bmadzesi. And so now, this past winter John Shabbodock visited me for three days. He wasn’t doing too well. [Jim Spear, notebook 1, p. 11]

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The verbs in bold type in these sentences show a paradigmatic inflection known in Algonquian studies as the “independent,” which is appropriate to main clause verbs in everyday speech. If these stories were in the yadsokanen genre, they would all have been inflected instead with the “conjunct,” which is found in both main and subordinate clause verbs in yadsokanen narratives, but only in subordinate verbs in everyday speech. For example, the conjunct form corresponding to the independent verb ngi-zhya seen in (1) is é-gi-zhyayan (with the preverb é). By basing his grammatical description on yadsokanen, Hockett inadvertently omitted a grammatical account of the most common and unmarked form of Potawatomi discourse. 5. Filling in contextual gaps. In the rest of this discussion, I present several examples from the corpus that illustrate the difficulty of translation that takes place several degrees removed from the original telling, and often in the absence of contextual background knowledge. In some cases, this knowledge can be guessed at or puzzled out, and when it can, provides great satisfaction from regaining a hard-won piece of cultural knowledge. The first example, in (4), comes from “The French Story,” which tells how the French Spirit helped out a young boy and his grandfather by giving them a magical horse.4 (4)

1

O négdoshas wgi-nizhokmagwan. The pony helped them.

4. The notebooks have no titles for any of these texts. The titles I use here are of my own devising, and primarily for ease of reference when discussing the stories with speakers or Potawatomi community members.

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2

É-bwamshe-je-yewawat négdoshayen wgi-wbeshҲegwan seksiyen wgetganéswa. Before they had the pony, the deer were ruining their gardens.

3

Gigabé é-ggenowat ni négdoshayen “Ni je wa-zhechgéyan?” The boy asked the pony, “What should I do?”

4

I je o négdosha é-nat, “Wigbish mtegok wdenen, ge-dkobdon nkwégnak gkwedso égme-kezhyép ge-giwtaҲomgon iw ggetganwa.” And the pony said, “Get some basswood bark, tie it around my neck, and ride me around your garden every morning.

5

I je gi seksik é-wi-zégzewat. The deer will be scared.

6

Nesh je gégo zhe gwi-zhe-ngok.” Of course, they will say something to you.”

7

O seksi é-kedot “Wégni je o wakayabdé byé-zisdeyatek?” The deer said, “What does that round-tooth have sticking out between his legs?” [“French Story,” Jim Spear, notebook 4]

I was unable to complete the translation of (4) for a long time, due to the problematic sentence in line 7, whose interpretation completely eluded me: Wégni je o wakayabdé byé-zisdeyatek? ‘What does that round-tooth have hanging between his legs?’. This sentence is spoken by a deer and directed at the protagonist, who is riding a magical horse supplied by the French Spirit. After a great deal of wrangling over this sentence, one fluent elder realized that that wakayabdé is most likely the deer’s epithet for a human (deer have an angular jaw, humans a rounded one), and the deer’s perspective (probably funny?) is that the human-on-horse is a monstrous apparition. The example is an entertaining illustration of the cultural and historical knowledge that is embedded in stories—if it can be puzzled out. Another example of what I think is probably humor comes from the “Tale of a Whale,” where a boy gets swallowed by a whale. In the whale’s belly, the boy meets a chipmunk, and together they conspire to kill the whale by gouging its heart. When they do, the whale leaps out of the water and lands on shore, where it is found by some people passing by; the passage in (5) appears at this point. (5)

1

Iw se é-yayewat é-je-bmagzot o wizhok. So they were there where the whale lay.

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2

Bama zhe na ngodek weyéyen é-nodwawat é-gagigdonet, “Gchegigos gi-mbogben” é-kedwat neshnabék. And later, they heard someone, those people saying “A big fish is dead.

3

Njezhe bzhe gi-gbeshgagben” é-kedwat. Must be he just flew out of the water onto shore,” they said.

4

“Ahaw, gbokjénamen. “Okay, let’s open him up.

5

Nangodek wi zhe na gche-mokmanen ode wizhok gishpen gigmat zhonya bshe wde-bme-ton o gche-mokman. Sometimes if a whale swallows a white person, there could be money left.

6

Ga-bokjénamen je ge-ndewabmamen gchemokman zhiw é-wibet gchemokman” é-gi-kedwat neshnabék. After we open him up, let’s look and see if there is a white person inside,” they said. [“Tale of a Whale,” Alice Spear, notebook 2]

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My best guess is that this section of the story is a parody of the Old Testament Biblical book of Jonah. The people who happen upon the whale conjecture “Sometimes whales swallow white people, and if this beached whale did in fact swallow a white person, then he’s probably still inside, and might have money on him which we could then take.” In the absence of any additional information, however, this remains only a guess. Example (6), which comes from the story “Crane Boy” (lines 67–69 of the text presented at the end of this chapter), took some puzzling out as well—at the time we were translating it, neither linguist nor fluent speaker had a ready explanation. (6)

1

“Géchwa gshe nin bmekchako nnodwa,” é-kedot gigabé. “Seems like I hear frogs,” said the boy.

2

“O noses, iw gshe nina zhye béshoch é-wi-mnokmek,” é-kedot mdemozé. “Oh, grandchild, now soon it will be spring,” said the old woman.

3

“Ézhi pené gwi-nap wéch-nawkwék gishpen byé-gdegdegankok, iw yé i zhye é-byé-majiwat gmezodanek é-wi-byawat,” é-kedot mdemozé. “Always look there, towards noon. If spotted clouds come, your parents will be leaving to come back,” said the old woman. [“Crane Boy,” Alice Spear, notebook 2]

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The boy in this case is a young crane, abandoned by his family. The old woman is telling him to look south (‘towards noon’) to watch for flocks of birds returning on their annual migration. The spotted clouds are the flocks of migrating birds, and by ‘looking towards noon’ the Crane Boy will be facing south, the direction his fellow cranes should be travelling from. This example sets the narrative in a traditional Potawatomi setting—finding south by looking towards the sun at noon is a fact that would be known by anyone accustomed to wilderness routefinding, but less familiar to the average suburbanite or citydweller, much less someone who relies on a compass or GPS device to find his way. Example (7), from the story “Clever Rabbit Outwits Himself,” also relies on background knowledge.

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(7)

1

I me se ngodek neshnabék é-wdodanwat i je weye énshonajtagwat wgetgansewan mine mbish wédҲemwat. Once there was a village and someone was destroying their gardens and wells.

2

Iw je nish wshkabéwsen é-gi-nokanawat é-wi-kewabmawat wégwéndek o ézhchegét. So they had two scouts watch out for whoever was doing that.

3

I je bama zhe na gétén é-byanet weye. Later, sure enough, someone came along.

4

Wabozoyen je ni. [. . .] It was rabbit. [. . .]

5

I je ogema é-kedot “wabek nawkwék ke-dbowémen wazhechgango.” And the chief said, “Tomorrow at noon we’ll have a meeting and decide what to do about him.”

6

Iw je o wabozo zhiw gi-dbendagze odanek jo je mamda i é-wizhe-nsawat mamwéch bshe gégo gjiyek bama a-je-nsawat. Since the rabbit belonged to the village, they couldn’t kill him as they pleased; they would have to get something on him in order to kill him. [“Clever Rabbit Outwits Himself,” Jim Spear, notebook 4]

The sentence in line 6 of (7) is formulated as an aside to the listening audience—the morphology of the main clause verb gi-dbendagze ‘he belonged’ is indicative of this. My best guess as to the translation is as follows: the narrator (Jim Spear) is making the claim that village membership means you cannot be killed indiscriminately—even if you

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are a big troublemaker like Rabbit. The narrator apparently felt that this important piece of information would not be available as background knowledge to the listening audience (Charles Hockett), hence the explanatory aside. It is an especially useful device, as it provides a pretext for the rest of the story. Example (8), another episode from the lengthy “Crane Boy” story (lines 31–36 of the text), was puzzling to me. In this very brief episode, most of which is shown in the example, the Crane Boy evicts a troublemaker from the grandmother’s house. At first, I thought that the grandmother’s remarks were simply a digression on the part of the narrator. But in fact, the point of the episode seems to be that the grandmother has culture-hero abilities, and by her word, she bestows qualities on the creature we know today as the turtle.

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(8)

1

Iw zhe na, “Wi-majin, noses,” é-nat o mdemozé, “ékwiyen bbanshonadzen. “You go away, now, grandchild,” said the old woman, “that’s right, you go on behaving any old way.

2

Iw je gé na é-gi-gizhgennen é-gish-yanwéҲnan é-wi-bzedwin, wme-bba-bméndezon zhe na zhye. I already raised you, and I can’t make you listen anymore. Go on and take care of yourself, now.

3

Gde-mgegno zhe na, é-wi-bméndezyen,” é-nat ossesen mdemozé. You’re big enough to take care of yourself,” the old woman said to her grandson.

4

“Wakokiwek jo gwi-nme-gkénmasik gmezodanek wzam énnakdemen. “You talk back too much, so you will never know your parents.

5

I yé i wa-wje-zhewébzin, mshikés gge-nme-go wakokiwek jo gge-nme-winédbesi, é-bbich-nakdemen,” é-gi-nayek. That’s why this will happen to you: you will always be called turtle. You’ll never have any smarts, because you talked back too much,” he was told.

6

Iw yé i wéch-bwa-gkénmat nmezodan o mshiké. That’s why the turtle doesn’t know his parents. [“Crane Boy,” Alice Spear, notebook 2]

Example (9), from “Crafty Raccoon and Gluttonous Wolf,” was difficult to translate because of information gaps, and what I think is a joke. In this story, Raccoon tricks Wolf into breaking into the white people’s meat store. Raccoon grabs a bit of food and sneaks out. The

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Wolf fills up and is too fat to escape when the white people come. They discover the Wolf, call a meeting, and then (I think) abruptly adjourn for lunch at noon—perhaps a parody of the on-the-job punch clock and custom of taking a work lunch hour precisely at noon. This gives the wolf the opportunity to escape, through the door which the silly white councilmen must have left open or unlocked.

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(9)

1

I je kezhyép o gche-mokman é-zhyat gokoshen é-nanat bama zhe na mwén é-wabmat é-mjemoshgegét. So early this white man went to get some pork, and soon he saw the wolf stuck.

2

É-gi-mzhenat niw mwén é-gi-zhonat pitek édat. He caught the wolf and took him to his house.

3

É-nawkwék é-gi-ndomat dbaknegénenwen. At noon, he called some councilmen.

4

Niw mwén kwech-dopwen wgi-zhgeshman. They laid the wolf on top of the table.

5

O mwé gi-wzam-débsenyét jo mamda é-wi-majnewit é-pichdbomayek. The wolf was too full; he couldn’t move away while they talked over (what to do about) him.

6

I je o nene é-kedot, “Ngot yawek ga-gish-dbaknamen.” One man said, “We’ll finish talking about him at one o’clock.”

7

É-pich-wisnewat mwé é-gi-bzegwit é-gi-zagҲek zhiw. While they were eating, the wolf stood up and went out of there.

8

Mwé jo weye é-byawat. The wolf was gone when they got back. [“Crafty Raccoon and Gluttonous Wolf,” Jim Spear, notebook 4]

Finally, in (10), another example from the “Crane Boy” story (lines 41–53), there is another apparent omission. There is a Big Spoon that lives by their water source that is a kind of curse on the grandmother: she is compelled to tell her guests what she is cooking for dinner, but if the Big Spoon finds out what she is cooking, he comes in and does something—what he does is unspecified—to make them hungry (one guesses that he makes their food vanish). (10)

1

Pené “Wéch i kedot?” gigabé wégni je yédek, “Pené wéchwidmewat wa-ne-zékwét?”

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The boy would always wonder, “Why does she say that? Why does she always tell me what she’ll cook?” 2

I me je wi zhe pené é-kenongot o gigabé. So it must be that he would always talk to the boy.

3

I je é-byat neko é-nnatagot ni okmesen “Weye ne ggi-wabma noses,” é-got ni mdemozéyen. So when he came back, his grandmother would ask him, “Did you see someone, grandchild?”

4

“Jo,” é-kedot gigabé. “No,” said the boy.

5

I je ngodek é-zhedéҲat gigabé, “Nda-gi-gkéndan wégni yédek wéch-nnatewat i wégwéndek wa-mijyak,” é-zhedéҲat. So once the boy thought, “I must know why he asked me what it is we’re going to eat.”

6

Iw je ngodek zhe na mine é-nadet kezhyép i mbish, “Wégni wamijyék, jejakos,” é-got weyéyen. So in the morning, once again, he went to fetch water and someone said to him, “What are you going to eat, little crane?”

7

“Gete se gwiҲdem pené é-nnatoyen wégni wa-mijyak. “You sure bother me, always asking what we’re going to eat.”

8

I je ngodek é-zhedéҲat gigabé, “Nda-gi-gkéndan wégni yédek wéch-nnatewat i wégwéndek wa-mijyak,” é-zhedéҲat. So once the boy thought, “I must know why he asked me what it is we’re going to eat.”

9

“Iw je gé je widmownen. Wabgonéshen, mine gokosh wi-dgoze zhiw, wabgonésgik,” é-kedot gigabé. “Well, I’ll tell you: Squash with a little pork mixed in,” said the boy.

10

Iw se é-wi-gkéndek zhye gigabé. So now the boy wanted to know what would happen.

11

Gégo bama zhe na gete. Something happened, sure enough.

12

É-nme-gisékwet mdemozé, é-byé-bidgéshkak gche-émkwan. When the old lady is almost through cooking, in comes a big spoon.

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13

Iw se mdemozé, “Yaa, noses! Gi-yajmo negne! Iw se é-wibkedéygo, iw se yé i ga-wje-dneҲmonan é-wi-bwa-yajmoyen wégni wa-mijyego,” é-nayet gigabé. “Yaa! Grandchild!” she exclaimed, “You told after all! Now we’ll be hungry. That’s why I told you not to tell what we would be eating,” she said to the boy.

14

Iw gshe zhe gete é-gi-bkedéwat gbé-gizhek, iw gshe é-gi-gkéndek é-zhewébek é-bkedék gigabé. Sure enough, they were hungry all day, and so the boy knew what it was like to be hungry. [“Crane Boy,” Alice Spear, notebook 2]

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The Big Spoon is first introduced very abruptly in line 2 of (10) as a disembodied voice, talking to the Crane Boy when he goes to fetch water: é-kenongot o gigabé ‘he (obviative) would always talk to the boy’. Later, when Crane Boy gets annoyed with the voice and tells it what they will be having for dinner, it makes a grand entrance embodied as the Big Spoon in the grandmother’s home. By line 14 it is clear that their food disappeared, but the details as to how that happened is left to the audience’s imagination—perhaps by magic, or perhaps the monstrous Spoon simply slurped it all up. 6. Conclusion. The set of Potawatomi stories told by Jim and Alice Spear to Charles Hockett form an incredibly valuable corpus, for grammatical analysis as well as language learning. The types of stories contained in the corpus also make it very compelling language learning material. It has played a major role in current understanding of Potawatomi grammar, although one should bear in mind that it is a particular mode of discourse and not necessarily representative of the way people speak on a daily basis. The fact that the stories were dictated also mean that one should be aware of the possible effects of dictation on cohesive devices. Lastly, the translation problems illustrated here show the rich context in which these stories were developed and passed down. Sometimes we can figure out the context, and sometimes the full translation is elusive. But even in these cases, we at least have a sense of what is missing, and of the rich history and culture that produced this narrative tradition.

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Abbreviations and conventions Abbreviations and symbols. 1 first person; 2 second person; 3 third person; 3ƍ third person obviative; 15 first person plural, exclusive; 12 first person plural, inclusive; 25 second person plural; 35 third person plural; 3(5) third person unspecified for number; 0 inanimate; 05 inanimate plural; 0(5) inanimate unspecified for number; AI intransitive verb stem that takes an animate subject; AIO = intransitive verb with an animate subject and an implied object; AN animate; C verb stem inflected in the conjunct paradigm; CC initial change; DIM diminutive; DIR direct theme; DUB dubitative; DUP stem reduplication; EMPH emphatic particle; EXCL exclamation; FCT factive; FUT future tense; I independent verb inflection; II intransitive verb stem that takes an inanimate subject; IMP imperative verb inflection; INAN inanimate; INV inverse theme suffix; LOC locative; MOD modal; NEG negative; NOM nominalizer; OBV obviative; P participle inflection of verb; PASS passive; PEJ pejorative; PL plural; POSS possessed; PRED predicative particle; PROH prohibitive; PST past tense; Q yes-no question particle; REFL reflexive; TA transitive verb stem that takes an animate object; TI transitive verb stem that takes an inanimate object. In the Potawatomi and grammatical gloss lines, - marks preverb and prenoun boundary. In the grammatical gloss lines, / marks off the glosses of inflectional prefixes and suffixes, and > separates subject and object features in the inflection of transitive verbs (e.g., 15>2 ‘first person plural exclusive subject with second person object’). Transcription. In the orthography used here, plain e represents schwa, é is a mid front vowel, b d j g z zh are lenis, p t ch k s sh are fortis, and Ҳ is glottal stop.

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References Buszard-Welcher, Laura 2003 Constructional Polysemy and Mental Spaces in Potawatomi Discourse. Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley. Hockett, Charles 1939 The Potawatomi Language. Ph.D. diss., Yale University. 1948a Potawatomi I: Phonemics, Morphophonemics, and Morphological Survey. International Journal of American Linguistics 14:1–10. 1948b Potawatomi II: Derivation, Personal Prefixes, and Nouns. International Journal of American Linguistics 14: 63–73. 1948c Potawatomi III: The Verb Complex. International Journal of American Linguistics 14: 139–49. 1948d Potawatomi IV: Particles and Sample Texts. International Journal of American Linguistics 14: 213–25.

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Potawatomi text Jejakos Gigabé (Crane Boy)

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Told by Alice Spear to Charles Hockett, Forest County, Wisconsin, 13 May 1940. Recorded in notebook 2 (see section 2 of the discussion above). 1

I me se ngodek jejakok that.INAN EMPH EMPH one/LOC crane/PL é-nme-dgwagek é-gche-wzhenwiwat FCT-really-get.ready.AI/35.C FCT-getting.to.be-be.fall.II/0.C wéch-gzhaték CC.towards-be.hot.weather.II/0.P é-we-bbonshewat, FCT-go.and-spend.the.winter.in.a.certain.place.AI/35.C nétem zhe na é-widmedwat o pi first EMPH EMPH FCT-say.to.e.o.AI/35.C that.AN when wa-majiwat neko. CC.FUT-leave.AI/35.P used.to Once when it was getting close to autumn, cranes were preparing for spending the winter in the south; at first, they talked to each other about when they would start, as was customary.

2

Iw je1 i é-dwagnekéwat and that.INAN FCT-store.things.away.AI/35.C wa-mijwat é-pich-bmodégzewat. CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/35>0.P FCT-while-move.AI/35.C They stored things away to eat while they moved.

3

Nangodek nyéw gon dnekiwdek Sometimes four day happen.in.a.certain.place.II/DUB.0.I é-wzhenwiwat é-nwepwankéwat wa-mijwat. FCT-get.ready.AI/35.C FCT-pack.a.lunch.AI/35.C CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/35.C Sometimes it must have taken four days for them to get ready, packing their food to eat.

1. Narrative sentences frequently begin with an inanimate demonstrative, followed by one or more particles typically translated as ‘emphatic’ (EMPH). Common sequences include i(w) se, i me se, and i je. The words in these sequences are sometimes given individual translations in the gloss line, but as collocations they have the force of ‘so then’ or ‘and then’.

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4

Iw se ga-gish-wzhenwiwat that.INAN EMPH CC.PST-finish-get.ready.AI/35.C é-wi-majiwat zhye bos-kezhyép. FCT-FUT-leave.AI/35.C EMPH very-early So when they were finished getting ready, they would leave very early.

5

É-bkonyak é-gche-giwnezwat FCT-be.night.II/0.C FCT-really-fool.around.AI/35.C gigabések é-pich-nchiwénmowat é-wi-bmodégzewat, boy/DIM/PL FCT-so.much-be.glad.AI/35.C FCT-FUT-move.AI/35.C iw o ngot gigabé é-gi-boknekéshkwayek. that.INAN that.AN one boy FCT-PST-break.one’s.arm.AI/PASS/3.C At night, the boys really fooled around they were so glad to move, and one boy broke his arm.

6

Iw se niw wmezodanen that.INAN EMPH that.OBV 3-parent/OBV é-wi-ngengot gbé-bbon FCT-FUT-leave.s.o.behind.TA/3ƍ>3.C through.all.of-winter é-got. FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C So his parents told him they were going to leave him behind all winter.

7

Anwe é-gche-mwet. although FCT-really-cry.AI/3.C He really cried hard, though.

8

anwe bzhe “Ni je2 bzhe a-napnennak, what EMPH MOD-deal.with.s.o.thus.TA/15>2.C although EMPH gche-mwin gbé-dbek,” é-got really-cry.AI/2.C through.all.of-night FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C je gé zhe na ni wmezodanen, “gin that.OBV 3-parent/OBV 2.EMPH but also EMPH EMPH gde-dodan giyow, 2-do.something.to.s.t.TI/2>0.I yourself é-bwa-bzedagéyen é-kenoҲmegoyen FCT-NEG-listen.to.people.AI/2.C FCT-teach.s.o.TA/PASS/2.C anwe i é-wzam-kébadzin.” all.right that.INAN FCT-too.much-be.naughty.AI/2.C “What will we do with you if you cry all night?” his parents said to him, “You did this to yourself; you don’t listen to what you are told, you are too naughty.” 2. Many interrogatives occur as particle clusters, which I translate as a single unit.

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9

Gete zhe na gbé-dbek é-mwet gigabé. for.sure EMPH EMPH through.all.of-night FCT-cry.AI/3.C boy Sure enough, the boy cried all night.

10

Iw se kezhyép é-yawek, that.INAN EMPH morning FCT-be.a.certain.thing.II/0.C zhye. é-wi-majiwat FCT-FUT-leave.AI/35.C EMPH So morning came, and they were leaving.

11

Iw se gigabé é-towayek ngot wabozoyen that.INAN EMPH boy FCT-put.s.t.TI/PASS/0.C one rabbit/OBV zhiw wdeshkmodak wa-mwajen there 3-sack/LOC CC.FUT-eat.s.o.TA/DIR/3>3ƍ.P gbé-bbon. through.all.of-winter So one rabbit was put in his sack for the boy to eat for the entire winter.

12

É-bwa-wdapnat anwe, FCT-NEG-pick.s.t.up.TI/3>0.C although é-gi-gzekéyewnedwat gi jejakok gyétnam FCT-PST-fly.up.AI/35.C those.AN crane/PL for.sure zhe gigabé é-gche-gwagwashkzeҲot. EMPH boy FCT-really-DUP.jump.up.and.down.AI/3.C He didn’t take it, though. As the cranes flew up, the boy jumped and jumped [trying to follow them].

13

Jo mamda é-wi-gzekat; i not possible FCT-FUT-fly.away.AI/3.C that.INAN é-boknekwat. FCT-have.a.broken.arm.AI/3.C He couldn’t fly away; his arm was broken.

14

Iw se ga-bondémwet that.INAN EMPH CC.PST-stop.crying.AI/3.C zhiw jik-gchegem. é-bme-nanibwet FCT-in.the.process.of-stand.up.AI/3.C there next.to-big.lake After he stopped crying, he stood around there by the ocean.

15

I wi gé wi mdemozé that.INAN EMPH also EMPH old.woman é-bba-nanibwet, i je weye é-nodwat FCT-go.around-stand.up.AI/3.C and someone FCT-hear.s.t.TI/3>3ƍ.C

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é-mwenet

géchwa é-zhedéҲat. like FCT-think.AI/3.C So an old woman was standing around and heard something; like someone crying, she thought.

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FCT-cry.AI/3ƍ.C

16

“Wéni je yédek a-yawet?” é-kedot who must.be MOD-be.a.certain.thing.AI/3.C FCT-say.AI/3.C é-bme-kenondezot, “Na se wi FCT-in.the.process.of-talk.to.s.o.TA/REFL/3.C EMPH EMPH EMPH penojé é-kedot.” na nda-ne-zhwéndagwes EMPH 1/MOD-start.to-be.blessed.AI/I child FCT-say.AI/3.C “Who could it be?” she said, talking to herself, “Maybe I will be blessed by a child,” she said.

17

Iw je gete é-gi-naskwat and for.sure FCT-PST-approach.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C dbaze édnwéwégzenet FCT-sound.comes.from.a.certain.place.AI/3ƍ.C straight.across é-gi-zhyat. FCT-PST-go.there.AI/3.C So she went to where the sound of him was coming from; straight across there.

18

Ibe é-byat jik-gchegem bama zhe na gete there FCT-come.AI/3.C next.to-big.lake soon EMPH EMPH for.sure gigabéyen é-nemsénet; “Ni je boy/OBV FCT-walk.off.AI/3ƍ.C what bém-zhewébzin gigabé?” é-nat, along-be.in.a.certain.state.AI/2.C boy FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C é-gi-yatwasat gigabé é-pich-zégzet. FCT-PST-fall.on.back.AI/3.C boy FCT-so.much-be.scared.AI/3.C She came to the big lake there, and soon the boy had started to walk off; “What’s the matter, boy?” she said, and the boy was so scared, he fell back.

19

“Jo zhe na gégo no EMPH EMPH something ngi-ngedgamgok nmezodanek; 1/PST-leave.s.o.behind.with.s.t.TA/INV/35>1.I 1/parent/PL bama mnokmek wi-byék,” é-kedot gigabé. later be.springtime.II/0.C FUT-come.AI/35.I FCT-say.AI/3.C boy “My parents left me behind with nothing; they won’t come back until springtime,” said the boy.

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20

“Gégo myanéndekén, nin gbé-bbon don’t be.sad/2.PROH 1.EMPH through.all.of-winter gge-mikjéwit; o gge-ndasgo; noses 2/FUT-work.AI/3.C that.AN 2/FUT-be.good.company.AI/I 1/grandchild je gge-yaw,” é-kedot mdemozé. but 2/FUT-be.a.certain.thing.AI.I FCT-say.AI/3.C old.woman “Don’t be sad, all through winter you shall work for me; you will be good company; you’ll be my grandchild,” said the old woman.

21

Gete se é-mnewéndek gigabé for.sure EMPH FCT-be.glad.AI/3.C boy é-wi-tot FCT-FUT-have.s.t.TI/3>0(5).C wa-je-bbonshet. CC.FUT-where-spend.the.winter.in.a.certain.place/3.C The boy was very happy to have a place where he would spend the winter.

22

Iw se é-gi-wijéwat ni that.INAN EMPH FCT-PST-go.with.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C that.OBV okmesen bama zhe na é-byawat wigwam grandmother/OBV later EMPH EMPH FCT-come.AI/35.C house ga-tének pekyegan CC.PST-be.in.a.certain.place.II/OBV/0.C mat.house é-je-dat o mdemozé. FCT-where-live.in.a.certain.place.AI/3.C that.AN old.woman So he went with his grandmother, and soon they came to where her house was; the old woman lived in a mat-house.

23

Jak zhe na gégo neshnabé-zhechgéwen, all EMPH EMPH something Indian-do.things.a.certain.way.AI/NOM é-wabdek o gigabé naknen FCT-see.s.t.TI/3>0.C that.AN boy mat/PL é-wenek é-zhewéksek gawta-yegwan. FCT-be.good.II/0.C FCT-lie.spread.out.II/0.C around-be.there Everything was all done the Indian way; the boy saw that the mats were good, and spread out all around.

24

Iw se é-yayajmoҲgot that.INAN EMPH FCT-tell.stories.to.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C ni okmesen. é-bkonyak FCT-be.night.II/0.C that.OBV grandmother/OBV So his grandmother told him stories at night.

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Potawatomi

25

475

Wa-nme-zhewébzet

CC.FUT-in.the.process.of-have.happen.to.one.a.certain.way.AI/3.C

é-widmagot,

FCT-tell.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C

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é-nme-gizhajmoҲgot FCT-in.the.process.of-finish.telling.stories.to.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C é-widmagot, FCT-tell.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C “Anwe ngot gigabé nbem-zhewénma,” although one boy 1/in.the.process.of-pity.s.o.TA/DIR/1>3.I o mdemozé. é-kedot FCT-say.AI/3.C that.AN old.woman She told him what would happen, and afterward, she told him, “There is one other boy I take care of.” 26

Bama zhe na gete é-wabmat, “Nesh later EMPH EMPH for.sure FCT-see.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C contrarily je gyétnam nakwtem mine nta-mnekwé but for.sure talk.back.AI2/3.I and like.doing-drink.AI/3.I o mdemozé. o wshkenigesh,” é-kedot that.AN young.man/PEJ FCT-say.AI/3.C that.AN old.woman Sure enough, soon he saw him, “He sure talks back, and he drinks a lot, that bad young fellow,” said the old woman.

27

Bama zhe na gete shkech é-wi-ne-mbawat later EMPH EMPH for.sure a.while FCT-FUT-start.to-sleep.AI/35.C é-byé-bapashkwét weye, “Mbé! O yé o FCT-come-whoop.AI/3.C someone jeez that’s.the.one.(AN) o mdemozé. byédwéwégze,” é-kedot sound.comes.AI/3.I FCT-say.AI/3.C that.AN old.woman Sure enough, later on when they were going to sleep, they heard someone whooping. “That’s him all right, coming yelling,” said the old woman.

28

Bama zhe na shkech é-byé-bidgé-gojek, “Noko later EMPH EMPH a.while FCT-come-enter.AI/3.C grandma gigabé, gyétnam ndenniw,” é-kedot for.sure 1/be.a.man FCT-say.AI/3.C boy é-byé-ddegshewat kekoyen. FCT-come-kick.around.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C pail/OBV After a while, he came tumbling in; “I’m the man, grandma,” said the boy, and he kicked around some pails.

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29

Iw se gigabé é-gi-bzegwidzet that.INAN EMPH boy FCT-PST-get.up.AI/3.C é-gi-zagjewébnat. FCT-PST-throw.s.o.out.TA/3>3ƍ.C So the Crane-boy got up and threw him outside.

30

“Noko, ni wpi je ga-danet grandma where CC.PST-live.in.a.certain.place.AI/OBV/3.P ode byé-je-nshiwzet zhode this come-for.to-be.efficient.AI/3.C here édaygo,” é-kedot o shkenigesh. live.in.a.certain.place.AI/15.C FCT-say.AI/3.C that.AN young.man/PEJ “Grandma, where does he live, this fellow who’s come to run our place?” said the bad boy.

31

Iw zhe na, “Wi-majin, noses,” that.INAN EMPH EMPH FUT-go.away.AI/2.IMP 1/grandchild é-nat o mdemozé, “ékwiyen FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C that.AN old.woman that’s.right bba-nshonadzen. around-be.naughty.AI/2.IMP “You go away, now, grandchild,” said the old woman, “that’s right, you go on, behaving any old way.

32

Iw je gé na é-gi-gizhgennen and also EMPH FCT-PST-raise.s.o.TA/1>2.C é-gish-yanwéҲnan é-wi-bzedwin, FCT-finish-believe.s.o.TA/1>2.C FCT-FUT-listen.to.s.o.TA/2>1.C wme-bba-bméndezon zhe na zhye. go.and-around-take.care.of.self.AI/2.IMP EMPH EMPH EMPH I already raised you, and I can’t make you listen anymore. Go on and take care of yourself, now.

33

Gde-mgegno zhe na, é-wi-bméndezyen,” 2-be.big.AI/I EMPH EMPH FCT-FUT-take.care.of.self.AI/2.C mdemozé. é-nat ossesen3 FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C grandchild/OBV old.woman You’re big enough to take care of yourself,” the old woman said to her grandson.

3. The word ossesen, translated as ‘her grandson’, takes an obviative suffix, which in this case indicates the combination of a third person possessor with a third person possessee.

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34

“Wakokiwek jo as.long.as.the.world.stands not gwi-nme-gkénmasik gmezodanek, 2/FUT-getting.to.be-know.s.o.TA/DIR/NEG/2>35.I 2/parent/PL wzam é-nnakdemen. too.much FCT-talk.back.AI/2.C “You talk back too much, so you will never know your parents.

35

I yé i that’s.the.one.(INAN) wa-wje-zhewébzin, mshikés CC.FUT-why-have.happen.to.one.a.certain.way.AI/2.P turtle gge-nme-go wakokiwek jo 2/FUT-getting.to.be-say.to.so.TA/INV/I as.long.as.the.world.stands not gge-nme-winédbesi, é-bbich-nakdemen,” 2/FUT-getting.to.be-have.brains.AI/NEG/I FCT-so.much-talk.back.AI/2.C é-gi-nayek. FCT-PST-say.to.s.o.TA/PASS/3.C That’s why this will happen to you: you will always be called turtle. You’ll never have any smarts, because you talked back too much,” he was told.

36

Iw je yé i wéj-bwa-gkénmat nmezodan4 and PRED that.INAN CC.why-NEG-know.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C 1/parent o mshiké. that.AN turtle That’s why the turtle doesn’t know his parents.

37

Iw se gigabé é-gi-me-mikjéwit jejakos that.INAN EMPH boy FCT-PST-continue-work.AI/3.C crane/DIM é-gi-bménmat gbé-bbon FCT-PST-take.care.of.TA/3>3ƍ.C through.all.of-winter okmesen. grandmother/OBV So the little crane kept working, and he took care of his grandmother all winter.

38

Iw je neko kezhyép o mdemozé é-widmawat and used.to early that.AN old.woman FCT-tell.s.o.TA/35>3ƍ.C

4. The word nmezodan is given the gloss in the original text as ‘his folks’, which makes sense in context. The transcription however appears to be an error, since the form of the word is singular with a first person prefix, ‘my parent’. One would expect the form to be wmezodanen ‘his parents’, as it appears later in the text (see line 85).

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éni wa-me-zékwét. this.over.there.OBV CC.FUT-continue-cook.AI/3.P So usually in the morning, the old woman would tell him what she would be cooking. 39

“Mbish naden, noses,” é-got water fetch.s.t.TI/2>0.IMP 1/grandchild FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C gigabé. boy “Fetch water, grandchild,” she would say to the boy.

40

“Gask-wiyas mine mdamnések dried-meat and corn/DIM/PL nwi-gizzwak é-wi-wisneygo,” é-kedot. 1/FUT-cook.s.o.TA/1>3.I FCT-FUT-eat.AI/15.C FCT-say.AI/3.C “I’ll cook dried meat and corn for us to eat,” she said.

41

Pené “Wéch i kedot?” gigabé wégni je always why that.INAN say.AI/3.C boy what yédek, “Pené wéch-widmewat must.be always CC.why-tell.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C wa-ne-zékwét?” CC.FUT-start.to-cook.AI/3.P The boy would always wonder, “Why does she say that? Why does she always tell what she’ll cook?”

42

I me je wi zhe pené é-kenongot that.INAN EMPH but EMPH EMPH always FCT-talk.to.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C o gigabé. that.AN boy So it must be that he would always talk to the boy.

43

I je é-byat neko é-nnatagot ni and FCT-come.AI/3.C used.to FCT-ask.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C that.OBV okmesen “Weye ne ggi-wabma noses,” grandmother/OBV someone Q 2/PST-see.s.o.TA/DIR/I 1/grandchild é-got ni mdemozéyen. FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C that.OBV old.woman/OBV So when he came back, his grandmother would ask him, “Did you see someone, grandchild?”

44

“Jo,” é-kedot gigabé. no FCT-say.AI/3.C boy “No,” said the boy.

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45

I je ngodek é-zhedéҲat gigabé, “Nda-gi-gkéndan and one/LOC FCT-think.AI/3.C boy 1/MOD-PST-know.s.t.TI/1>0.I wégni yédek wéch-nnatewat i wégwéndek what must.be CC.why-ask.s.o.TA/35>1.C that.INAN whatever wa-mijyak,” é-zhedéҲat. CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/15.P FCT-think.AI/3.C So once the boy thought, “I must know why they asked what it is we’re going to eat.”

46

Iw je ngodek zhe na mine é-nadet kezhyép and one/LOC EMPH EMPH and FCT-fetch.s.t.TI/3>0(5).C early jejakos,” i mbish, “Wégni wa-mijyék, that.INAN water what CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/25.C crane/DIM é-got weyéyen. FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C someone/OBV So in the morning, once again, he went to fetch water and someone said to him, “What are you going to eat, little crane?”

47

“Gete se gwiҲdem for.sure EMPH 2/bother.s.o.TA/DIR/I pené é-nnatoyen wégni wa-mijyak. always FCT-ask.for.s.t.TI/2.C what CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/15.P “You sure bother me, always asking what we’re going to eat.”

48

Iw je gé je widmownen. Wabgonéshen, mine gokosh and also but tell.s.o.TA/INV/1>2.I squash/PEJ/PL and pig wi-dgoze zhiw, wabgonésgik,” é-kedot gigabé. FUT-mix.things.AI/3.I there squash/DIM/LOC FCT-say.AI/3.C boy Well, I’ll tell you: squash with a little pork mixed in,” said the boy.

49

Iw se é-wi-gkéndek zhye gigabé. that.INAN EMPH FCT-FUT-know.s.t.TI/3>0.C EMPH boy So now the boy wanted to know [what would happen].

50

gete. Gégo bama zhe na something soon EMPH EMPH for.sure Something happened, sure enough.

51

É-nme-gisékwet mdemozé, FCT-getting.to.be-finish.cooking.AI/3.C old.woman gche-émkwan. é-byé-bidgéshkak FCT-come-enter.II/0.C big-spoon When the old lady is almost through cooking, in comes a big spoon.

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52

Iw se mdemozé, “Yaa, noses! that.INAN EMPH old.woman EXCL 1/grandchild Gi-yajmo negne! Iw se é-wi-bkedéygo, 2/PST-say.AI/I so that.INAN EMPH FCT-FUT-be.hungry.AI/15.C iw se yé i that.INAN EMPH PRED that.INAN ga-wje-dneҲmonan é-wi-bwa-yajmoyen CC.PST-why-tell.in.a.certain.place/1>2.P FCT-FUT-NEG-tell.about.AI/2.C wégni wa-mijyego,” é-nayet gigabé. what CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/15.C FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/PASS/3.C boy “Yaa! Grandchild!” she exclaimed, “You told after all! Now we’ll be hungry. That’s why I told you not to tell what we would be eating,” she said to the boy.

53

Iw gshe zhe gete é-gi-bkedéwat that.INAN EMPH EMPH for.sure FCT-PST-be.hungry.AI/35.C gbé-gizhek, iw gshe é-gi-gkéndek through.all.of-day that.INAN EMPH FCT-PST-know.s.t.TI/3>0.C é-zhewébek é-bkedék gigabé. FCT-happen.a.certain.way.II/0.C FCT-be.hungry.AI/3.C boy Sure enough, they were hungry all day, and so the boy knew what it was like to be hungry.

54

É-bkonyak é-widmagot ni okmesen, FCT-be.night.II/0.C FCT-tell.s.o.TA/0>3.C that.OBV grandmother/OBV “Gégo mine yajmoken wégni wa-mijyego,” don’t and tell.about.s.o.TA/2.IMP what CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/15.C é-nayek. FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/PASS/3.C When it was night, his grandmother told him, “Don’t say anything else about what we will eat.”

55

Iw se gigabé é-nagdewéndek that.INAN EMPH boy FCT-keep.s.t.in.mind.TI/3>0.C ga-zhewébzet. CC.PST-have.happen.to.one.a.certain.way.AI/3.C So the boy kept in mind what happened.

56

mine kezhyép, “Nehaw, noses,” é-nayek okay my.grandchild FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/PASS/3.C again morning ngom gégo wi ngom yajmoken “I that.INAN today don’t EMPH today tell.about.AI/2.IMP

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wa-mijyak:

mdamnabo nwi-gizsan.” corn.soup 1/FUT-cook.s.t.TI/1>0.I “Okay, grandchild,” he was told again in the morning, “today, don’t tell him what we’re going to eat: I’m going to make corn soup.”

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CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/12.C

57

“Wéwéne bshe nwi-nagdewéndan ngom neko,” carefully EMPH 1/FUT-keep.s.t.in.mind.TI/I today used.to é-kedot o gigabé. FCT-say.AI/3.C that.AN boy “I’ll certainly keep that in mind today,” said the boy.

58

É-nme-zagҲek é-kenongot FCT-in.the.process.of-go.outside.AI2/3.C FCT-talk.to.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C mine weye, “Wégni wa-mijyék jejakos?” again someone what CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/25.P crane/DIM When he went out, again someone spoke to him, “What are you going to eat, little crane?”

59

“Ni je bshe wa-dodwayék,” what EMPH CC.FUT-do.something.to.s.t.TI/25>0.C é-kedot jejakos-gigabé. FCT-say.AI/3.C crane/DIM-boy “What are you going to do?” said the Crane-boy.

60

okmesen é-nnatagot, Babek sure.enough grandmother/OBV FCT-ask.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C “Ni je na, noses, gi-yajmo ne.” what EMPH my.grandchild PST-tell.about.AI.3.I Q Sure enough, his grandmother asked him, “Well, grandchild, did you tell?”

61

“Jo noko nda-yajmosi, ngi-bkedé je no grandma 1/MOD-tell.about.AI/NEG/I 1/PST-be.hungry.AI/I but gé na wéj-bwa-yajmoyan,” é-kedot gigabé. also EMPH CC.why-NEG-tell.AI/2.C FCT-say.AI/3.C boy “No, grandma, I didn’t tell. I was hungry, so that’s why I didn’t tell,” said the boy.

62

Gigosen gé é-gche-mamikmewat fish/OBV also FCT-really-gather.s.o.TA/35>3ƍ.C é-gwajeҲgonet é-mwawat, FCT-be.washed.ashore.AI/OBV/3.C FCT-eat.s.o.TA/35>3ƍ.C neko é-bwénet o mdemozé. used.to FCT-roast.s.t.AIO/OBV/3.C that.AN old.woman

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They gathered fish that the waves had washed ashore, and the old woman would roast them. 63

Iw se o gigabé é-gche-mnesét that.INAN EMPH that.AN boy FCT-really-cut.wood.AI/3.C pené gigosen pené é-bwénewat. always fish/OBV always FCT-roast.s.t.AIO/OBV/35.C The boy gathered lots of wood, because they would always roast fish.

64

Iw gshe zhe neko é-ne-mbawat that.INAN EMPH EMPH used.to FCT-start.to-sleep.AI/35.C pené é-gkyékmegot ni okmesen. always FCT-teach.TA/3ƍ>3.C that.OBV grandmother/OBV So usually when they were going to sleep, his grandmother would teach him.

65

Ngodek zhe na é-zhgezhgeshek o gigabé one/LOC EMPH EMPH FCT-DUP/lie.down.AI/3.C that.AN boy é-bkonyak géchwa zhe na é-nodwat FCT-be.night.II/0.C like EMPH EMPH FCT-hear.s.t.TI/35.C bmekchakoyen, “Ni je ézhwébek, noko?” frog/OBV what CC.happen.a.certain.way.II/0.C grandma é-nat gigabé. FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C boy Once, when he was lying down at night, the boy heard something that sounded like frogs. “What’s happening, grandma?” said the boy.

66

“Ni je ézhwébzin, noses?” what CC.be.in.a.certain.state.AI/2.C 1/grandchild é-kedot mdemozé. FCT-say.AI/3.C old.woman “What’s the matter, grandchild?” said the old woman.

67

“Géchwa gshe nin bmekchako nnodwa,” like? EMPH 1.EMPH frog 1/hear.s.o.TA/DIR/I é-kedot gigabé. FCT-say.AI/3.C boy “Seems like I hear frogs,” said the boy.

68

“O noses, iw gshe nina zhye béshoch oh my.grandchild that.INAN EMPH EMPH near é-wi-mnokmek,” é-kedot mdemozé. FCT-FUT-be.springtime.II/0.C FCT-say.AI/3.C old.woman “Oh, grandchild, now soon it will be spring.” said the old woman.

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69

“Ézhi pené gwi-nap wéch-nawkwék over.there always 2/FUT-look.AI/I CC.towards-be.noon.II/0.C gishpen byé-gdegdegankok, iw yé if come-be.spotted.clouds.II/0.C that.INAN PRED i zhye é-byé-majiwat gmezodanek that.INAN EMPH FCT-come-leave.AI/35.C 2-parent/PL é-wi-byawat,” é-kedot mdemozé. FCT-FUT-come.AI/35.C FCT-say.AI/3.C old.woman “Always look there, towards noon. If spotted clouds come, your parents will be leaving to come back,” said the old woman.

70

Gyétnam zhe é-mnewéndek gigabé. for.sure EMPH FCT-be.glad.AI/3.C boy The boy was very glad.

71

kezhyép é-dokit. Babek sure.enough morning FCT-wake.up.AI/3.C Sure enough, in the morning he woke up.

72

Ibe gshe é-dnabet there EMPH FCT-look.towards.a.certain.place.AI/3.C wéch-nawkwék gawa zhe na CC.towards-be.noon.II/0.C scarcely EMPH EMPH bme-nangodek odé i é-wabshkankok. along-once.in.a.while this that.INAN FCT-be.white.clouds.II/0.C He kept looking towards noon, just barely, every once in a while, there would be white clouds.

73

Gigabé é-bidgésat okmesen é-widmawat, boy FCT-fly.in.AI/3.C grandmother/OBV FCT-tell.s.o.TA/35>3ƍ.C “Bme-nangodek odé é-gdegankok, noko,” along-once.in.a.while this FCT-be.spotted.clouds.II/0.C grandma é-kedot gigabé. FCT-say.AI/3.C boy The boy came flying in and told his grandmother, “Every once in a while, I see spotted clouds, grandma!”

74

“I zhye é-byé-majiwat gmezodanek,” that.INAN EMPH FCT-come-leave.AI/35.C 2/parent/PL mdemozé. é-kedot FCT-say.AI/3.C old.woman “Your parents are starting to leave,” said the old woman.

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75

Iw se é-dapnat wdekkon that.INAN EMPH FCT-pick.s.t.up.TI/3>0.C 3/pail/OBV o gigabé; “Igwamsen, noses, gégo that.AN boy careful my.grandchild don’t wi-yajmoken wa-mijyego, FUT-tell.about.AI/2.IMP CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/15.C nwi-gizsanen bokshegnéyek, mko weyas, 1/FUT-cook.s.t.TI/1>0(5).I yuccapan/PL bear meat nwi-bbawé,” é-kedot mdemozé. 1/FUT-mix.things.around FCT-say.AI/3.C old.woman So the boy took his pail. “Be careful, grandchild; don’t tell what we’re going to eat: I’m going to cook yuccapans with bear meat mixed in,” said the old woman.

76

Wéte se é-mnotwat gigabé really EMPH FCT-like.hearing.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C boy okmesen wa-ne-zékwénet. grandmother/OBV CC.FUT-start.to-cook.AI/OBV/3.P What his grandmother would cook really sounded good to the boy.

77

gigabé. “Jo gshe nde-yajmosi,” é-zhedéҲat not EMPH 1-tell.about.AI/NEG/3.I FCT-think.AI/3.C boy “For sure, I won’t tell.” thought the boy.

78

i mbish, Gete ga-gish-gwapҲek for.sure CC.PST-finish-scoop.s.t.up.TI/3>0.C that.INAN water é-nnatagot ni nenwen, “Wégni FCT-ask.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C that.OBV man/OBV what wa-mijyék jejakos?” é-nayek gigabé. CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/25.P crane/DIM FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/PASS/3.C boy After he dipped into the water, that man asked the boy “What are you going to eat, little crane?”

79

Babek okmesen é-nnatagot, “Ni je na sure.enough grandmother/OBV FCT-ask.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C what EMPH noses, gi-yajmo ne?” é-got. 1.grandchild PST-tell.about.AI/I Q FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C Sure enough, his grandmother asked him, “Well, grandson, did you tell?”

80

“Jo wi zhe na, noko,” é-kedot gigabé. no EMPH EMPH EMPH grandma FCT-say.AI/3.C boy “No, I did not, grandma,” said the boy.

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Iw se na é-gi-mno-wisnewat, ngodek that.INAN EMPH EMPH FCT-PST-good-eat.AI/35.C one/LOC zhe na o gigabé é-mikwéndek mine EMPH EMPH that.AN boy FCT-think.of.s.t.TI/3>0.I again ga-kednet ni okmesen. CC.PST-say.AI/3ƍ.P that.OBV grandmother/OBV So they had a good meal, and the boy once again thought of what his grandmother had said.

82

“Gete shké na wi-byé-wdegankot,” for.sure that’s.it EMPH FUT-come-be.a.spotted.cloud/0.I gigabé, “kezhyép nwi-doki é-zhedéҲat FCT-think.AI/3.C boy early 1/FUT-wake.up.AI/I é-wi-nde-wabdeman é-wi-gdegankok. FCT-FUT-try-see.s.t.TI/1>3(5).C FCT-FUT-be.spotted.clouds.II/0.C “That’s right, the spotted clouds will come,” thought the boy. “I’ll wake up early and look for the spotted clouds.”

83

“Iw se zhye yédek é-wi-byawat that.INAN EMPH EMPH must.be FCT-FUT-come.AI/35.C nmezodanek,” é-zhedéҲat. 1/parent/PL FCT-think.AI/3.C “So now must be my parents will come,” he thought.

84

Iw se mine wdekkon é-nanat, that.INAN EMPH again 3/pail/OBV FCT-fetch.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C “Noses, mdamnek nwi-gizswak, seksi-wiyas 1/grandchild corn/PL 1/FUT-cook.s.o.TA/1>3.I deer-meat nwi-bba-bwé,” é-nayek gigabé. 1/FUT-around-roast.AIO.I FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/PASS/3.C boy So he took his pail again, and he was told “Grandchild, I’ll cook corn and mix in some deer meat.”

85

Jo zhe na wbezdewasin okmesen, not EMPH EMPH 3/listen.to.s.o.TA/DIR/NEG.I grandmother/OBV é-bbich-nchiwénmot é-wi-wabmat FCT-so.much-be.happy.AI/3.C FCT-FUT-see.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C wmezodanen, ibe é-byat zibik babek zhiw 3/parent/OBV there FCT-come.AI/3.C river/LOC sure.enough there mine weye é-nnatagot, “Wégni again someone FCT-ask.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C what

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wa-mijyék

jejakos?” é-nayek. crane/DIM FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/PASS/3.C He didn’t listen to his grandmother, he was so happy about seeing his parents. When he came to the river, sure enough, someone asked him, “What are you going to eat, little crane?”

Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/25.P

86

gé gin gdezhwébes “Da she ma je se EXCL(?) EMPH also 2.EMPH 2/be.in.a.certain.state.AI/I mteno é-wi-negaҲet gich-bmadzi. only FCT-FUT-abuse.s.o.TA/2>3.C 2/fellow-creature “Boy, you certainly have a way of abusing your fellow creatures.

87

É-pénmen é-nshiwzin FCT-depend.on.s.o.AI/2.C FCT-be.fast.AI/2.C é-bme-mnénet FCT-along-take.away.from.s.o.TA/2>3.C wa-mijet gich-bmadzi. CC.FUT-eat.s.t.TI/3>0.P 2/fellow-creature You’re dependent and swiftly take away what your fellow creatures would eat.

88

Mdamnések, gask-weyas, wi-dgodé corn/DIM/PL dried-meat FUT-be.mixed.in.II.0.I gé-nabjetonen je zhi.” 2(?)-use.s.t.TI/2>05.I but there She’s going to cook a little corn mixed with dried meat, whatever you may do about it.”

89

Iw se gigabé é-gi-myazhéwit mine. that.INAN EMPH boy FCT-PST-do.wrong.AI/3.C and So the boy once again did wrong.

90

Iw se bapich é-nnatewat ni that.INAN EMPH now.and.then FCT-ask.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C that.OBV okmesen, “De ni é-bbich-zékwénet?” grandmother/OBV how.far FCT-so.long-cook.AI/OBV/3.C Every once in a while, he asked his grandmother, “How soon until it is cooked?”

91

“Iw zhe gaga,” é-nayek gigabé, that.INAN EMPH almost FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/PASS/3.C boy noko,” é-kedot gigabé. “Shkwadémek nwi-jajibdep door/LOC 1/FUT-DUP/sit.AI/I grandma FCT-say.AI/3.C boy

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Potawatomi

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“Almost.” The boy was told. “I’ll sit by the door, grandma,” said the boy. 92

Gche-mtek é-gkegkebet. big-stick FCT-sit.hidden.AI/3.C He sat hiding with a big stick.

93

“Ni je ézhwébzin, noses?” what CC.be.in.a.certain.state.AI/2.I 1.grandchild é-nayek. FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/PASS/3.C “What’s the matter, grandchild? she asked him.

94

“Jo ne ggekéndesin, noko? Gzhaté not Q 2/know.s.t.TI/NEG/2>0.I grandma be.hot.weather.II/I ma zhe na ode, noko. Géchwa zhe na but EMPH EMPH this grandma like EMPH EMPH gde-gkéndan. 2-know.s.t.TI/2>0.I “Don’t you know, grandma? It’s hot here, grandma. Seems like you would know.

95

Iw zhye é-mnokmek ggi-ket, gé na that.INAN EMPH FCT-be.spring.II/I 2/PST-say.AI/I also EMPH noko. grandma It’s getting to be spring, you said, grandma.

96

I je yé i wéch-gche-gzhaték,” that’s.it CC.why-really-be.hot.weather.II/0.C é-kedot gigabé. FCT-say.AI/3.C boy “That’s why it’s getting to be hot,” said the boy.

97

Iw zhe na zhye é-bme-gwashmat that.INAN EMPH EMPH EMPH FCT-along-take.s.o.off.fire.TA/3>3ƍ.C ni wdekkon o mdemozé. that.OBV 3/kettle/OBV that.AN old.woman So then, the old lady took up her kettle.

98

Bama zhe na EMPH EMPH soon iw gche-émkwan. that.INAN big-spoon

é-byé-bidgéshkannek FCT-come-enter.with.body.AI/OBV/0.C

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That big spoon came reaching in. 99

Gigabé babek wmetgom ga-nwedsat boy sure.enough 3/stick/POSS CC.PST-take.hold.of.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C i gche-émkwan. é-gi-baskeknadek FCT-PST-split.s.t.TI/3>0.C that.INAN big-spoon So the boy grabbed the stick and split that big spoon.

100

Iw se é-gi-zagjebozot gigabé. that.INAN EMPH FCT-PST-run.out.AI/3.C boy So then the boy ran out.

101

Ibe zhe na ga-wje-byat there EMPH EMPH CC.PST-where-come.AI/3.P é-zhe-gche-majit é-byat ibe FCT-in.a.certain.way-really-leave.AI/3.C FCT-come.AI/3.C there jajibdebet é-ne-wabet bzhe ibe DUP/sit.AI/3.C FCT-start.to-see.AI/3.C EMPH there é-je-gdegankodnek. FCT-there-be.spotted.clouds.II/OBV/0.C He ran to the place where he had come from, and when he arrived, he sat down and looked, and there were spotted clouds!

102

Pené zhe na gégo é-nshet, always EMPH EMPH something FCT-hear.in.a.certain.way.AI/3.C wika zhe na é-bzegwit we na pi finally EMPH EMPH FCT-stand.up.AI/3.C so.far é-zhewébzet ibe FCT-CC.be.in.a.certain.state.AI/3.C there zhe na é-nesmegagwet wéte FCT-face.in.a.certain.direction.AI/3.C for.sure EMPH EMPH é-byé-mkedéwangok. FCT-come-be.black.clouds.II/0.C He began to hear something, and finally he stood up and faced that way—for sure, a black cloud was coming.

103

“Wzam ne wi zhe na gi jejakok too.much Q EMPH EMPH EMPH those.AN crane/PL a-yawik,” é-kedot gigabé. MOD-be.a.certain.thing.AI/35.I FCT-say.AI/3.C boy “Is it too much? It must be the cranes!” said the boy.

104

gete jejakok é-byawat Bama zhe na soon EMPH EMPH for.sure crane/PL FCT-come.AI/35.C

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Potawatomi

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i se mine é-gche-gwagwaskzeҲot that.INAN EMPH again FCT-really-jump.up.and.down.AI/3.C é-bbich-nchiwénmot o jejakos. FCT-so.much-be.happy.AI/3.C that.AN crane/DIM Soon, sure enough, the cranes came and again the little crane jumped up and down, he was so happy. 105

Bama zhe na wgyéyen mine osen soon EMPH EMPH 3/mother/OBV and 3.father/OBV se é-bme-nde-wabmagot, “A, ngwesé, i FCT-along-try-see.s.o.TA/3>3ƍ.C ah 1/dear.son that.INAN EMPH gweyen é-bmadzeyen mégwa,” é-got ni good FCT-live.AI/2.C still FCT-say.to.s.o.TA/3ƍ>3.C that.OBV wmezodanen. 3/parent/OBV Soon his mother and father were looking for him. “Ah, my son, we are very glad you are still alive,” said his parents.

106

“Neshpa se na nokmes jo wi zhe o— if.not.for but EMPH 1/grandmother not EMPH EMPH that.AN ndoj-bmadzesi o wabozo 1/reason-live.AI/NEG/I that.AN rabbit ga-ngedmayek,” é-kedot gigabé. CC.PST-leave.s.t.behind.for.s.o.TA/PASS/3.P FCT-say.AI/3.C boy “If it weren’t for grandma, I wouldn’t be—I couldn’t live on just that rabbit you abandoned me with,” said the boy.

107

Iw gshe gé wi o é-kwadsokazot that.INAN EMPH also EMPH that.AN FCT-be.so.long.as.a.story.II/0.C o jejakos é-gi-gyébadzet. that.AN crane/DIM FCT-PST-misbehave.AI/3.C So that is as far as the story goes, about little crane misbehaving.

108

Iw gshe dso. that.INAN EMPH a.certain.amount That’s all.

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The Words of Black Hawk: Restoring a LongIgnored Bilingual

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Gordon Whittaker Black Hawk’s Life opens with a series of documents soon to become mandatory, and for similar reasons, in the narratives of escaped slaves: testimonials to the work’s authenticity. In the opening document, [the interpreter first takes] the precaution of dodging personal accountability for the narrative[. . . Then,] a unique certificate of authentication appears: a transliterated address, presumably in Sauk, and unmistakably “signed” by the subject of the Life, “Ma-Ka-TaiMe-She-Kia-Kiak.” Since this address is undecipherable by the vast majority (or, given the imprecision of writing an unwritten language, all) of the text’s readers—and since a translation in English appears on the facing page—its force must lie in its impenetrability, its claim to be the closest graphic equivalent to the words Black Hawk actually spoke. Joshua D. Bellin, “How smooth their language” (Prospects 25 [2000]:488–89)

The 1833 edition of An Autobiography contains a number of other authenticating apparatuses[, among which] is Black Hawk’s dedication to General Atkinson [. . .]. Interestingly, the dedication appears first in a phonetic transcription of Black Hawk’s language into the Roman alphabet, and then the full translation into English appears on the opposite page. If the presence of what is supposedly Black Hawk’s language is intended to further authenticate the text, it is not a strategy that works. If one did not want to believe that the text was Black Hawk’s—and many people did not [. . .]—the presence of a phonetic transcription of Black Hawk’s language does not prove the text’s authenticity. It could not have been written by Black Hawk himself, any more than the full translation could. Mark Wallace, “Black Hawk’s An Autobiography” (American Indian Quarterly 18(4) [1994]: 486–87)

The most famous life story of an indigenous leader in North America is surely the Life of Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak or Black Hawk, published by newspaperman John B. Patterson in Cincinnati in 1833 and advertised as the authentic first-person account of a war chief of the

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Sauk (or Sacs as they were known at the time).1 An instant success, the book was reprinted no less than five times in its first year and has been republished and reedited on many occasions since then. The topic has continued to fascinate scholars and the lay public alike. Trask (2006: 305) counted no fewer than eighteen books devoted to Black Hawk and to the war bearing his name, “scores of articles and essays, hundreds of newspaper pieces, two book-length epic poems, five novels, a play, numerous published memoirs and personal accounts of participants in the conflict, and an incalculable number of public lectures and orations,” not to mention “a great many monuments and plaques scattered across the countryside.” And there is no end in sight. On the basis of the Life—and, to a lesser extent, of the letters and accounts of people who had known or met him—Black Hawk’s character and motivation have been reduced to a nutshell in a number of ways, often condescending and patronizing. Thus, Roger L. Nichols writes: “The almost willful self-destructiveness Black Hawk had displayed [. . .] illustrated a long-demonstrated trait of the Sauk people” (1992:3). And again: “In some ways he was as naïve as a small child, engaging in the most blatant wishful thinking and refusing to ask critical questions of those who misled him” (1992:157). In an authoritative historical study of the Sauk, more than two-thirds of which is devoted solely to the critical years 1810 to 1840, William T. Hagan describes him as “the simple Black Hawk,” “the gullible Black Hawk” (1980[1958]:130).2 Jackson, an otherwise incisive and instructive editor, has little to say about the person recounting the autobiography but remarks, “He was only a stubborn warrior brooding upon the certainty that his people must fight to survive. [. . .] Black Hawk was a bullheaded fighter who chose a bitter last stand against extinction” (1955:38). Schmitz (1992:3) argues that his text “is everywhere barbed, reproachful, scathing in its irony,” then, unwilling to accept that Black Hawk might wish to end his autobiographical account by extending a hand in friendship to those who defeated him, he waxes poetic, adding, “Black Hawk capitulates, swears Keokukian amity, goes into Tamenund’s stately periods. [. . .] To this extent, and here the 1. The subject of this chapter was first presented in 1995 at the Twenty-Seventh Algonquian Conference in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and summarized in Whittaker (1996a). A further paper is planned that will discuss a hitherto-overlooked source of alleged Sauk quotes from Black Hawk. I am immensely grateful to my fellow Algonquianists, and especially to Ives Goddard and David J. Costa, for their incisive comments and continuous encouragement. 2. Contrast this with Hagan’s characterization of the explorer William Clark’s son, Lewis, as “the valiant young officer,” “the ingenious young officer” (1980 [1958]:182) because the hothead had proposed a way of getting around the ban on scalping captured members of Black Hawk’s band by first cutting off the victims’ heads.

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ironies of captive utterance are most pronounced, as Black Hawk must say what he can’t say, Patterson has the last word. Yet there he was, the Black Hawk before this, not saying goodbye, barbed, bristly, not exactly addressing us” (1992:15). Scheckel ponders how “Black Hawk speaks with defiance even as he acquiesces in defeat and makes claims for equality even as he confirms his status as a humbled, vanquished foe. Whether these are Black Hawk’s sentiments is undeterminable since his words were mediated by interpreter and editor before they found their way into print” (1998:113). Elaborating on this theme, Mielke notes, “While the appeal to sympathy often depends on the portrayal of Black Hawk as a noble but doomed primitive railing against inevitable progress, Life conveys Indian resistance in the form of a sentimental analysis” (2008:86). In contrast to interpretations of Black Hawk as largely reactive, that is, as primarily reacting to events beyond his control and then brooding over their consequences, Boelhower (1991) envisions a Black Hawk who sought to save his town and community, Saukenuk, by teaching us lessons in “ethnic semiotics.” According to Boelhower, “Black Hawk proposes a veritable topotheory based on systematically marking off his people’s cultural and geographic limina. In the face of an exalted civilizing project, he exercises a local astuteness. He takes a grand historical narrative and scales it down to a village, a place name, and an originary image. His opposition takes the form of microhistory” (1991: 360). Sweet (1993:481), on the other hand, stresses the active warrior living, and explaining to us, the life and actions of a traditional Sauk male, in which warfare played a prominent and honored part: Black Hawk thus represents himself as one firmly grounded in tribal tradition, implicitly emphasizing not his uniqueness or individuality (conventions of modern, white autobiography), but his cultural sameness with other Sauks and his qualification to explain Sauk ways to the whites. Black Hawk’s sense of his cultural sameness with other Sauks is fundamentally important, for his credibility and honor with respect to the main events of the Life—his self-identification as warrior and his conduct in the war—depend on his ability to represent himself as following the way of the Sauk, always in comparison with his political rival Keokuk, who is from Black Hawk’s perspective too much under the influence of whites. [. . .] Black Hawk’s sense of social position is heavily invested in his self-representation as a Sauk who makes no gestures toward assimilation.

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Where Brumble (1988:21–23, 32–39) identifies self-vindication as the essential, and traditional, framework of Black Hawk’s “preliterate autobiographical narrative,” Sweet (1993:482) sees a further traditional narrative, the “coup tale,” as of equal importance in the Sauk warrior’s self-representation. But we should not lose sight of the fact that, as Krupat persuasively argues in his new essay, “the story Black Hawk sought to tell in his autobiography is foremost the story of what it means to be a Sauk” (2010:1). Looking back on the myriad attempts in the past to psychoanalyze Black Hawk and define his character, an exasperated Newquist observes, “Black Hawk’s story seemed to deserve better than the judgmental exercises about literature that illuminated nothing about literary works but gave detailed and often unpleasant revelations of their authors’ minds. [. . .] His biography makes a case for his actions and for the Sauk people, but it is made out of a tradition for forthrightness that is consistent with the way warriors told their stories of battle and accomplishment before peers who could verify or deny their accuracy” (2002:85). Forthrightness is indeed a key aspect of moral character stressed by Black Hawk in his Life and in speeches attributed to him. As Walker rightly points out in her refutation of Roger Nichols’s (1992) charge that Black Hawk lied about his past, “Black Hawk dictates his memoirs because he has an ardent belief in the truth” (Walker 1997:70). Newquist concludes that “[t]he Nichols biography makes judgments about what Black Hawk should have been like and should have done according to some general western standard of heroic protagonist” (2002:85). In the linguistic analysis of the bilingual below, I present fresh evidence for the correctness of the assertion that forthrightness was central to Black Hawk’s message. Finally, in his appraisal of Black Hawk, Hallwas (1981:619) offers a concise, cautious, and balanced assessment that avoids singling out any one particular trait in the warrior’s character and text as overriding: If the Chief’s autobiography and speeches do not present a completely accurate and objective view of the Black Hawk War, that is certainly to be expected because of Black Hawk’s age and his bias on behalf of his own side of the struggle. But a very detailed and sincere self-portrait does emerge from those spoken works, which helps us to see that, regardless of his shortcomings as a leader, the Chief was a fairly complex individual, caught in a dilemma that led to a great personal tragedy. It is this insight which makes the Autobiography of Black Hawk and his major speeches a priceless part of our Midwestern literary heritage.

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In the new edition of his 1988 classic study of American Indian autobiography, Brumble (2008:6) writes,

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But if there are rewards in this literature, there are problems as well. Some of the best-known Indian autobiographies, for example, are by such Indians as Black Hawk, Plenty-coups, Geronimo, and Black Elk. These are compelling narratives in which much that is commonplace for the teller is exotic for the reader. These are the narratives that make us feel “epistemological vertigo” most keenly, that make us feel as though we are seeing the world from a cultural perspective far from our own. This is a heady feeling—so heady that we are inclined to forget all that the Anglo editor had to do to make it seem that way. Indeed, it may well be taken as evidence of these editors’ skills that even scholars have written about these autobiographies in ways which assume that the narratives were published, crisply pure, just as they flowed from the mouths of the Indians.

This is an important point. As Brumble (2008:10) notes, we should not forget that such individuals speak to us through their editors. With the help of interpreters and an imposed topical structure of interest to the intended audience, these extracted from many hours of notes a workable draft that then underwent reduction, elaboration and rephrasing to suit both the editor and the audience. How much remained of the narrator’s original intent and content after this process is the question that vexes all those who attempt to analyze such productions. The degree to which the Life represents the actual words and sentiments of Black Hawk has been the subject of much debate from the moment of publication right down to the present day. It should come, then, as something of a surprise that the only text in the various editions that purports to record Black Hawk’s actual words in his own Sauk language, a foreword allegedly dedicating his life story to his captor, has never been the subject of any discussion, let alone scholarly analysis. This is surprising, not only because the Sauk text is followed in the original by an English “translation” that scholars familiar with related Algonquian languages could use as a basis for comparison, but also because the text is long enough to have the clear potential to provide insights into the way the book’s editor prepared the English version of the life story itself, for which we have no Sauk original. Occasionally, an incautious editor has been willing to draw weighty conclusions on the basis of the English “translation” alone, without considering the possibility that this version might twist, or otherwise misrepresent, Black Hawk’s words. It is, indeed, regrettable that the help of an Algonquianist seems never to have been sought in determining the accuracy of the English version, although such an inter-

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disciplinary approach to the material must always be regarded as essential to any fruitful discussion.3 Ironically, as early as 1824 the great Prussian scholar Wilhelm von Humboldt underscored the importance of collecting texts by speakers of American indigenous languages, accompanied by translations, thus anticipating the modern goals of Franz Boas and Edward Sapir. A decade later, in 1834, his colleague John Pickering sent him the Life of Black Hawk, a work which struck Humboldt as reflecting in the most admirable way the character and spirit of this “Chef Indien” (Verlato 2013:92–95, 102–3). Let us now review the circumstances leading to the production of the Sauk narrative that the bilingual introduces. Black Hawk’s Life was the first of the “as-told-to” variety of indigenous American autobiography ever published, a novelty that ushered in a new and still popular genre. The book was a sensation at the time, not only because of its promise of stirring tales of the frontier as recounted by a famous member of what was then taken to be a vanishing race,4 but also because of its specific claim to tell the Sauk side of recent events making up the so-called Black Hawk War of 1832. This “war” was set in motion by the eviction of the protagonist’s people from their town, Sâkînâki (Saukenuk), and from their lands along the west bank of the Mississippi as the inevitable, but delayed, result of the notorious Treaty of 1804, which unauthorized representatives of the Sauk had apparently been coerced into signing under the influence of alcohol. As Jung (2007:7–8) explains,

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Black Hawk did not intend to make war, but poor decisions, ineffective leadership, and irresponsible statements and actions on the part of white leaders led to misunderstandings and ultimately violence. Moreover, the untrained and undisciplined frontier militia volunteers who did the bulk of the fighting hated Indians and sought nothing less than their extermination. Thus, the Black Hawk War at many times

3. In his edition of the Life, Roger L. Nichols (1999:xviii–xix) remarks that Black Hawk’s kindly statements in his “dedication of the book to General Henry Atkinson” contradict the autobiography itself, which bitterly protests the latter’s treatment of his prisoner. Nichols suspects the influence of the editor in the first instance, but, as is seen below, he seems oblivious to the existence of the Sauk text which could resolve the issue. He fails to include, or even mention, this text in his republication of the Life, although he states that he is following the 1834 edition (which, however, displays the text prominently). 4. James Fenimore Cooper’s Last of the Mohicans had, after all, only come out in 1826 and was still fresh in the public’s memory. According to Krupat (1989[1985]:35), it is in the Life’s innovative “presentation of an Indian voice not as vanished and silent, but as still living and able to be heard that the oppositional potential of Indian autobiography resides.”

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resembled a massacre rather than a war, particularly since women, children, and elders were needlessly and viciously killed.5

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At the end of a trek punctuated by a series of bloody engagements across an area stretching from the Mississippi almost to the shores of Lake Michigan and back, few members of Black Hawk’s so-called British Band were still alive. The actual conflict lasted only from the beginning of April to 27 August 1832, the date on which Black Hawk surrendered. Following several months of captivity, the sexagenarian Black Hawk was introduced to President Andrew Jackson in Washington on 25 April 1833 (Jackson 1955:1), after which he was sent on a tour of the East to impress upon him the power and civilization of the United States. It quickly became clear, however, that a greater impression was being made on the crowds he drew, who were as charmed by the famous warrior’s noble countenance and demeanor as were the scores of journalists vying to record his celebrated wit in published anecdotes known as Blackhawkiana. The tour came to an abrupt halt after threatening to steal the limelight from President Andrew Jackson’s own tour of the region. The interest of the public in his story was not lost on Black Hawk, who was acutely aware of the effect his words were having on the literate masses. He was, however, anything but enthralled by the skills of one interpreter, Charles St. Vrain, who accompanied him on the grand tour (Jackson 1955:11 n. 16). It is hardly surprising, then, that Black Hawk turned at this point to the official United States interpreter for the Sauk, Antoine LeClair,6 with whom he was well acquainted, and entrusted him with the task of taking down his autobiography, the proclaimed purpose of which was to set the record straight on the author’s involvement in the recent conflict. 5. With regard to the volunteers there were exceptions, such as a young Abraham Lincoln, who saw no combat beyond “a good many struggles with the musquetoes [sic].” In 1859, while running for president, he proudly recalled his election at the time as militia captain as “a success which gave me more pleasure than any I have had since” (David A. Nichols 2000:3–4). 6. This name is also spelled “LeClaire.” We learn from correspondence document I.C (137) of the LeClair collection at the Putnam Museum, Davenport, Iowa, that LeClair was appointed interpreter to the Potawatomi nation in May 1816. A secondary letter confirms that LeClair took the necessary oath. According to letter I.G (179) he was appointed blacksmith to the Potawatomi on 20 January 1825. In a letter sent from Thomas Forsyth, apparently to LeClair, on 18 February 1828 (correspondence document II.B (185), Forsyth states that it was now the third time that he had asked LeClair if he wanted to be the official interpreter for the Sauk and Fox nations. It was probably soon after this that LeClair took up his position as interpreter for the Sauk and Meskwaki. I am very grateful to Arnold Krupat for making the inventory of the LeClair collection available to me.

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Or so the story goes. But just how authentic is this claim? As a modern editor (Jackson 1955:31–33) notes, the credentials of the text as a genuine autobiography of Black Hawk have been doubted, and even rejected outright, on a number of occasions, both by lay persons and by scholars, even if the consensus of opinion down to the present day has tended to be favorable. Unfortunately, for us at this late date, so far removed from the events and individuals described in the text, it is indeed a difficult undertaking to unearth new facts that might bring us closer to the truth. A few years ago, a well-known historian of the period (Roger L. Nichols 1999:xv) announced that “research for my own 1992 Black Hawk and the Warrior’s Path uncovered substantial evidence—mostly unavailable in 1833—to corroborate the claims made by the interpreter and editor that the Indian [. . .] actually did narrate much of the material.” Regrettably, the latter study was found on close examination to be no more than “a reiteration of old facts about Black Hawk’s life delivered with reductive judgments” (Newquist 2002:85). There are several issues that we should consider while pondering the matter of authenticity. As we set about the task of identifying and delving the layers in the published account—that is, of working on the archaeology and prehistory of our text—we need to pose and answer the following questions: • Do reliable witnesses confirm or refute the authenticity of the text? • Are details in the text in accordance with the known facts? • Does the published text conform in style, character and phraseology with other statements attributed to the author by independent sources? Copyright © 2015. University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved.

• Is there internal evidence that can be brought to bear? First, let us address the matter of witnesses. The 1833 volume includes prefatory material of relevance here. Most important, we find an affidavit submitted on October 16, 1833 at the Sac and Fox Agency at Rock Island, Illinois (Black Hawk 1833:iii). The document, signed by “Antoine LeClair, U.S. Interpreter for the Sacs and Foxes,” states, I do certify, that Mà-ka-tai-me-she-kià-kiàk, or Black Hawk, did call on me, on his return to his people in August last, and express a great desire to have a History of his Life written and published in order, (as he said) “that the people of the United States [. . .] might know the causes that had impelled him to act as he has done, and the principles by which he was governed.” In accordance with his request, I acted as Interpreter; and was particularly cautious, to understand distinctly the

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narrative of Black Hawk throughout—and have examined the work carefully, since its completion—and have no hesitation in pronouncing it strictly correct, in all its particulars.

This affidavit establishes several points: • The book project was launched no earlier than August 1833. • It was undertaken at Black Hawk’s initiative. • His motive was to present the U.S. public with the reasons for his actions in the recent conflict. • The life history was dictated to an interpreter who had Black Hawk’s trust. • LeClair went to great pains to understand Black Hawk’s words and intent. • The interpreter examined and certified the accuracy of the prepublication manuscript or, perhaps, of the galley proofs.

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A further key witness is the publisher of the volume, John B. Patterson of Rock Island. In the “Advertisement” (Black Hawk 1833: ix–xi) immediately preceding the text of the autobiography, Patterson, a young newspaper editor as yet untried in the book publishing business, affirms, Several accounts of the late war having been published, in which he [Black Hawk] thinks justice is not done to himself or nation, he determined to make known to the world, the injuries his people have received from the whites—the causes which brought on the war on the part of his nation, and a general history of it throughout the campaign. In his opinion, this is the only method now left him, to rescue his little Band—the remnants of those who fought bravely with him—from the effects of the statements that have already gone forth. [. . .] The editor has written this work according to the dictation of Black Hawk, through the United States’ Interpreter, at the Sac and Fox Agency of Rock Island. He does not, therefore, consider himself responsible for any of the facts, or views contained in it—and leaves the old Chief and his story with the public, whilst he neither asks, nor expects any fame for his services as an amanuensis.

As we see, Patterson is in agreement with LeClair on Black Hawk’s motivation. He also confirms that the work was taken down directly by dictation from the warrior himself. However, he disclaims any editorial role beyond that of an amanuensis, a mere scribe. Interestingly, when the book first came out in 1833, only Black Hawk’s name was

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displayed on the title page (reproduced in Jackson 1955:39). However, in a later printing that very same year, after the book had proven itself a bestseller, the publisher added his own name at the bottom, describing himself now as “editor and proprietor.” What part did this multitasking scribe, editor, publisher, and proprietor play in preparing the work for publication? And how reliable is he as a witness? Jackson (1955:37) provides us with the results of his close comparison of Patterson’s 1833 and 1882 editions. The latter, titled more pointedly than the first edition as the Autobiography of Maka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak, or Black Hawk, and published together with several short accounts relating to Black Hawk, followed by a treatise on the Black Hawk War, has been an influential basis for many studies of Black Hawk and for several later editions. Jackson discovered that Patterson reworded, and sometimes elaborated on, many passages in the 1833 text, while retaining the general thrust of the original. More significantly, he found five major insertions: the tale of Elijah Kilbourn, an alleged white captive of the Sauk; an anecdote about Black Hawk’s watchtower on the Mississippi; the story of legendary Sauk lovers buried under a rock slide; a note on those who accompanied Black Hawk on his tour; and a speech honoring Black Hawk by John A. Graham in New York. None of these additions has any impact on the thrust or content of the autobiographical text. Nevertheless, they are clear examples of intrusive, and indeed of abusive, editing since Patterson puts them into the mouth of Black Hawk himself. Still, as Jackson observes, we must distinguish the young newspaperman of 1833, rushing his polished version of an interpreter’s fresh manuscript into print, from the veteran publisher of 1882, a full half-century later, embellishing a tale from the past to which he was the only surviving witness. All other departures from the 1833 edition noted by Jackson (1955:36–37) take the form of flowery rewordings and occasional elaborations of the original, but without altering the content. Thus, “annihilation” is replaced by “utter annihilation,” “of all their race” by “of the last remnant of their tribe.” But, as Jackson notes, one altered passage does cast doubt on Patterson’s assertion that the book is a close rendition of Black Hawk’s dictated words: [1833 edition]

[1882 edition]

I paid several visits to fort Armstrong during the summer, and was always well treated.

I paid several visits to Fort Armstrong at Rock Island, during the summer, and was always well received by the gentlemanly officers stationed there, who were distin-

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guished for their bravery, and they never trampled upon an enemy’s rights.

The simple, polite, and positive statement in the original edition has now been transformed into a groveling, long-winded digression on the qualities of military officers on the frontier. This passage is of no small interest, since if we turn to the translation of the “dedication” we find similar content and phraseology: “The kindness I received whilst a prisoner of war, assures me that you will vouch for the facts contained in my narrative, so far as they came under your observation.” Since we are dealing here—and here alone—with an apparent bilingual, we have for comparison a Sauk equivalent with, it would seem, Black Hawk’s actual words. If genuine and, more importantly, if decipherable, the Sauk text might aid us in determining the level of interference introduced by the team of interpreter and editor. But what do we really know of the process by which the manuscript came into being? Immediately following the conclusion of Black Hawk’s expanded 1882 autobiography, Patterson (1882:129) reveals the following:

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After we had finished his autobiography the interpreter read it over to him carefully, and explained it thoroughly, so that he might make any needed corrections, by adding to, or taking from the narrations; but he did not desire to change it in any material matter. He said, “It contained nothing but the truth, and that it was his desire that the white people in the big villages he had visited should know how badly he had been treated, and the reason that had impelled him to act as he had done.”

The quotation marks are misplaced, since Patterson is citing indirect speech. Nevertheless, they do serve the purpose of emphasizing that, as far as the editor is concerned, not just the sentiments but also the words come close to those actually expressed by Black Hawk at the time. These words recall again the English version of the “dedication”: “I have determined to give my motives and reasons for my former hostilities to the whites, and to vindicate my character from misrepresentation.” It is reasonable to assume that this statement is in accord with Black Hawk’s motives in permitting himself to be interviewed in depth. But what we need is verification. Independent confirmation that the Life was dictated by Black Hawk comes from an authoritative final witness, James Hall, an Illinois judge and ethnographic historian. Hall writes, “The events of his early life we extract from a small volume published in Cincinnati in 1833, and said to have been dictated by himself, and which we know to be acknowledged by him as authentic” (1842:29).

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Although he published his biographical sketch a few years after Black Hawk’s death, Hall notes in a postscript that the article was completed while the Sauk leader was still alive. Jackson (1955:35) states that Hall was personally acquainted with LeClair. It is possible that the interpreter was the source for Hall’s claim that he knew the volume to have been acknowledged by Black Hawk. Certainly the wording implies that he had not heard it directly from the latter. In any event, Hall clearly had evidence of Black Hawk’s direct involvement in the production of the Life. Let us now turn to the remaining questions bearing on the authenticity issue. Are details in the Life in accordance with the known facts? There is general agreement among its editors and commentators that the statements with regard to events and customs as related in the text are overwhelmingly factual and accurate, and credible as opinions and perspectives expressed by the former warrior. There are remarkably few divergences from known facts, and these involve the kind of mistakes common to autobiographical accounts and memoirs—inexact statistics and dating, and an occasionally jumbled sequencing of events. For example, Jackson notes that the so-called Battle of the Sink Hole “did not occur immediately after Black Hawk returned from fighting with the British, as he says, but more than a year later—in the spring of 1815” (1955:85 n. 57). Whether this is Black Hawk’s error or simply the result of the editor’s knitting together sequentially narrated events and inadvertently telescoping the chronology, we can no longer determine at this late stage. With regard to the Battle of the Sink Hole, Hall has an interesting comment that establishes the fundamental accuracy of Black Hawk’s account: “The incident thus related by Black Hawk in his autobiography is substantially confirmed by a narrative repeated to us some years ago by one of the white men who was concerned in the affair, and who is now an affluent citizen of Illinois” (1842:33). One revealing passage in Hall (1842:37) describes, approvingly, how the judge came upon a reference to himself in the autobiography: In 1829 the writer, then occupying a civil office in Illinois, in company with a friend, who had recently filled a high post in the same state, visited Rock Island. [. . .] Black Hawk, on hearing of the arrival of two strangers, who were as he supposed chiefs in their own country, came to relate to them the wrongs of his people. He spoke of the indignity perpetrated upon himself when upon suspicion of an act that he would have scorned, he was beaten like a criminal, and, pointing to a black mark upon his face, said that he bore it as a symbol of disgrace. The customs of his nation, and their notions of honour, required that he

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should avenge the wrong he had received by shedding the blood of the aggressor; but he chose rather to submit for a season than involve his people in a war which must be fatal to them. [. . .] This interview is alluded to in the biography already mentioned; and Black Hawk says of his visiters [sic], “Neither of them could do anything for us; but they both evidently appeared very sorry. It would give me great pleasure, at all times, to take these two chiefs by the hand.”

The absence of any further comment by Hall can be taken as confirmation on his part both of the accuracy of Black Hawk’s account and of the plausibility of the sentiments ascribed to the Sauk leader— sentiments that recur in the English section of the bilingual (“The kindness I received from you”) and, for example, in the concluding passages of the Life (Jackson 1955:180):

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I make this statement of truth, to satisfy the white people among whom I have been travelling, (and by whom I have been treated with great kindness,) that, when they shook me by the hand so cordially, they did not shake the hand that had ever been raised against any but warriors. [. . .] It has always been our custom to receive all strangers [. . .]. I feel grateful to the whites for the kind manner they treated me and my party, whilst travelling among them [. . .].

Here we also find the answer to the final question bearing on the matter of authenticity: Does the published text conform in style, character, and phraseology with other statements attributed to the author by independent sources? Speeches attributed to Black Hawk are full of recurrent themes and patterns of expression reminiscent of the Life. Wallace (1970:43) notes that the warrior proudly proclaimed on meeting President Jackson, “I am a man; and you are another!” And Hall reports that, when he returned to Fort Armstrong after his tour of the East, Black Hawk angrily responded to Major Garland’s demand that he obey Keokuk from now on, “I am a man—an old man. [. . .] I am old, my hair is gray. I once gave counsels to young men—am I to be ruled by others? I shall go to the Great Spirit, where I shall be at rest!” (Hall 1842:44). After Keokuk spoke, Black Hawk sighed, “I feel [. . .] that I am an old man; once I could speak, but now I have little to say” (Hall 1842: 46). Five years later, shortly before his death in 1838, Black Hawk was honored at an Independence Day celebration in Fort Madison, where he lamented, “I was once a great warrior, [. . .]. I am now poor” (Jackson 1955:181). Compare this with the English version of the “dedication”—exaggeratedly florid, but nonetheless parallel in sentiment:

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I became your prisoner. [. . .] The changes of many summers, have brought old age upon me,—and I cannot expect to survive many moons. Before I set out on my journey to the land of my fathers, I have determined to give my motives [. . .]. I am now an obscure member of a nation, that formerly honored and respected my opinions.

In the Life, General Gaines demands to know who this Black Hawk is who dares to contradict him, to which the latter defiantly exclaims, “I am a Sac! My forefather was a SAC! And all the nations call me a SAC!!” (Jackson 1955:126). Josiah Smart, a white spy who “well understood, and perfectly spoke, the Indian language” (Armstrong 1887:236) and who was married to a Fox (Meskwaki), was hiding at one point in a lodge while Black Hawk addressed his followers: “Our nation was respected by all who came in contact with it, [. . .]. Then, indeed, was it an honor to be called a Sauk” (Armstrong 1887:259). When he appeared as a prisoner before General Street on 27 August 1832, Black Hawk is said to have declared (Willson 1847:36),

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You have taken me prisoner, with all my warriors. [. . .] That was the last sun that shone on Black Hawk. His heart is dead, and no longer beats quick in his bosom. He is now a prisoner to the white men; they will do with him as they wish. But he can stand torture, and is not afraid of death. He is no coward. Black Hawk is an Indian.

Nine years later, Willson, foreshadowing Patterson’s editorial embellishment of the Life in 1882, published a lengthier version of the same text, which takes up where the earlier left off: “[. . .] Black Hawk is an Indian! [. . .] He will go to the world of spirits contented. [. . .] Black Hawk is a true Indian. [. . .] Farewell, my nation! Black Hawk tried to save you, and avenge your wrongs. He has been taken prisoner, and his plans are stopped. He can do no more! He is near his end. His sun is setting, and he will rise no more. Farewell to Black Hawk!” (Ferris 1910:335–36, citing p. 36 of the 1856 edition of Willson’s American History). Another version appeared in Fulton’s Red Men of Iowa (1882, cited in Wallace 1970:43), yet all three versions remain essentially the same in their general tenor and content, despite editorial interference, rewording, and romanticizing embellishment. The recurrent declarations of identity (“I am a man,” “an old man,” “an obscure member of a nation,” “an Indian,” “a Sac”) and of reduced status (“I became your prisoner,” “you have taken me prisoner”) are so typical of statements ascribed to Black Hawk that we can be reasonably confident of their

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authenticity. They ring true, even if one may question much of the surrounding material. A comparison of the speeches, quotes, and autobiographical remarks attributed to Black Hawk with speeches and quotes attributed to his rival, Keokuk, will demonstrate and confirm the distinctive nature of Black Hawk’s themes and manner of expression. This brings us to our final question: Is there internal evidence that can be brought to bear on the issue of authenticity? A certain amount of layering is reconstructible in the Life. We know from LeClair’s affidavit that the idea and the basic topical and structural concept of the Life came from Black Hawk. We can suspect that the idea of adding ethnographic material on Sauk cultural patterns and practices came from LeClair, Patterson, or both, depending on when the latter became involved in the project. Patterson (1882:129) states that the material that went into the autobiography consisted of a series of “narrations,” and that Black Hawk was given the opportunity afterwards to add to, or subtract from, these dictated accounts, but chose not to. The dictation was taken down by LeClair, who provides us with a syllabic transcription for the Sauk of the “dedication” bilingual. Whether LeClair recorded Black Hawk’s words in the main body of the Life in the same manner, spelling them syllabically before undertaking the translation, can no longer be ascertained. It should be kept in mind that the project began no earlier than August 1833 and that the entire manuscript was complete by the end of October.7 It is more likely that LeClair chose in this limited time to jot down notes in French or English, the conventions of which were familiar to him, all the while translating and perhaps summarizing Black Hawk’s spoken words in his head as he went along, than that he first set down the Sauk version in an arbitrary syllabic spelling, then at a later stage went back over the same for the purpose of translation. For one thing, his syllabics would have been very difficult to read unambiguously over the breadth of an extended manuscript. For another, the time involved in a two-stage procedure would have been enormous. It is not impossible that the work was recorded in this fashion, but it seems rather unlikely. The Sauk bilingual that precedes the Life served the useful function of suggesting authenticity even to those who could only read 7. LeClair’s interviews with Black Hawk may well have been over in early September. Financial record IV.W (1114) in the LeClair collection at the Putnam Museum, dated 7 September 1833, is a receipt signed by Patterson for $12.50 in payment for LeClair’s work “[w]riting at different times.” According to legal document II.H (212), dated 13 July 1833 and addressed to the U. S. Indian Dept., LeClair had still not been paid for services as interpreter to the Sac and Fox for the period between 1 October and 31 December 1831. This might well have been an incentive in taking on the Black Hawk project soon after.

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the translation, who would have been most, if not all, of the readership. But is it really Sauk? We return to this below. Patterson’s editorial work appears to have gone through several stages. First, he polished the rough translation provided by LeClair. Then he elaborated on the text (in 1833 and again in 1882) in ways that he felt would appeal to the tastes and expectations of a literate public. After this, italics and capitalization were added to certain terms and phrases for emphasis and irony, and to highlight points of special interest. The occurrence of these devices varies considerably in the text. Finally, Patterson added explanatory details, such as the exact identity of an individual mentioned, in brackets. Here, and here alone, the editor informs the reader of his intervention. The layers detectable in the Life, ordered from the foundation upwards, can be tabulated in summary as in figure 1. Bracketed explanation (Patterson) Highlighting in the form of italics and capitalization (Patterson) Explanatory and literary elaboration (Patterson) Polished rewording (Patterson) English translation (LeClair) [Syllabic transcription (LeClair)?] Dictated narration (Black Hawk) Proposal to insert ethnographic detail (Patterson, LeClair, or both) Basic topical structure and sequencing (Black Hawk)

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Underlying concept as a perspective on the events of a lifetime (Black Hawk) Figure 1

Let us return now to the issue of the long-ignored bilingual, the one section of the Life with the potential to resolve the authenticity issue. Where Schmitz (1992:5) saw only an English-language dedication that “[r]eads as if from Caesar,”8 Sweet, one of the few to actually ac8. A rather surprising—and implausible—analogy. If anything, the proud and critical Black Hawk portrayed in the Life is more reminiscent of Calgacus, the first-century Caledonian leader defeated by Agricola. Tacitus was considerate enough to pen a worthy speech for the former that condemned Roman imperialism in no uncertain terms.

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knowledge, and comment on, the existence of the Sauk text, writes (1993:481–82),

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Patterson makes a point of including on facing pages both a phonetic transcription and a translation (the English version is labeled a “Dedication”) of Black Hawk’s opening address to the victorious General Atkinson. This address calls on Atkinson to “vouch for the facts contained in my narrative, so far as they came under your observation” (L, 37). The facing-page layout would have been far too cumbersome to carry through the entire book, but its use here indicates a desire to represent the voice of the text as Black Hawk’s own. Thus, despite the Jacksonian-progressivist context, a Native American (in this instance, Sauk) worldview is acknowledged through language, [. . .].

It is surprising that the commentator did not raise the possibility of investigating the Sauk text, instead of simply quoting from the English translation. If we consult the original edition of 1833 (and most subsequent ones) we discover that the Sauk and English sections of the bilingual are not arranged in facing-page format, but rather one after the other. Since such a short bilingual was not arranged in this fashion, it appears fair to conclude that the idea of preparing a parallel edition of the Life as a whole, with the Sauk on the left and the English on the right, never occurred to Patterson. This arrangement of the bilingual is, however, prominent in Jackson’s excellent edition of 1955, the one Sweet consulted. The error committed by Sweet (and by others before and after him, including the present author) in assuming that the Jackson edition of Black Hawk’s autobiography faithfully reproduces the layout of the 1833 bilingual is instructive. We should recall that Patterson has often been hauled over the coals for suppressing, and even falsifying, information on the manner in which he obtained, and elaborated on, Black Hawk’s words. Ironically, the same error is being repeated. In the prefatory pages to his much-cited recent edition of the Life, Roger L. Nichols informs us that “the Iowa State University Press persuaded me that the time for a new edition had come and that I should do it. [. . .] In 1916 Milo M. Quaife issued an edition based on the 1834 printing being used here” (1999:ix, xv). Thus, we are told that the Nichols edition is, like Quaife’s, a direct republication of the derivative 1834 Boston “printing” published by Russell, Odiorne, and Metcalf. The 1834 “printing” must, however, be a new edition rather than a reprinting, since Jackson notes one change in wording from the 1833

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edition.9 An irritating feature of his introduction is Nichols’s repeated citation of pages in the 1916 Quaife edition rather than in his own volume when referring to the Life. A comparison of Nichols’s six references (in footnotes 15–20) to the 1916 edition with the actual publication will, however, establish no correspondence with the 1916 pagination. If we consult the 1994 Dover reprint of Quaife’s edition, on the other hand, we find such a correspondence, although the page references are inexact in three of the cases. Thus, it appears likely that Nichols is based neither on the 1834 edition, nor on the 1916 edition, but instead on the easily accessible 1994 paperback, which is nowhere cited in his volume. Even if we leave aside issues of copyright and misattribution, we are left with a serious academic problem: scholars depending on the veracity of an editor will frequently cite an edition such as that published by Nichols, rather than go to the (often considerable) trouble of tracking down the original edition. As a result of errors introduced by an editor who has unwittingly reproduced changes from an intermediate edition, or who has for other reasons created his own, assertions can be made about the original which have, in fact, no validity. A case in point: In his incisive new essay on the Life, Krupat (2010:18) draws attention to the different type sizes on the lengthy title page of the 1833 edition and remarks, “This is not true, however, of the edition of the Life published in Boston the following year. The title page of the 1834 edition, as its modern editor Roger Nichols reproduces it, uses only one font size, and it sets the words—exactly the same as those of the 1833 edition—in block paragraphs.” Curiously enough, neither the 1834 edition nor the 1916 Quaife edition has the title page arranged in this fashion. This is simply a feature introduced by Nichols, along with a minor error or two, on his own version of the alleged 1834 title page. Those seeking an accessible new edition of the 1833 volume, the one that should always be the foundation for a study of Black Hawk and his Life, can now turn to Kennedy (2008). It is rather unusual for an edition of the Life not to reproduce the Sauk text of the bilingual (although it is not actually the case that, as many authors have assumed, the facing-page format of the Sauk and English texts in the Jackson edition of 1955 reflects the format of the 9. According to a letter written by Patterson to LeClair from Boston (Correspondence IV.B (241) in the LeClair collection of the Putnam Museum), dated 6 February 1834, the editor wrote in enthusiastic terms of the reception the autobiography was getting there and of the high esteem he and LeClair were held in. It is presumably as a result of this reception that the Boston edition was negotiated.

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NE-KA-NA-WEN.

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MA-NE-SE-NO OKE-MAUT WAP-PI MA-QUAI. WA-TA-SAI WE-YEU, Ai nan-ni ta co-si-ya-quai, na-katch ai she-ke shehe-nack, hai-me-ka-ti ya-quai ke-she-he-nack, ken-echa we-he-ke kai-pec-kien a-cob, ai we-ne-she we-heyen; ne-wai-ta-sa-mak ke-kosh-pe kai-a-poi qui-wat. No-ta-wach-pai pai-ke se-na-mon nan-ni-yoo, ai-ke-kai na-o-pen. Ni-me-to sai-ne-ni-wen, ne-ta-to-ta ken ai mo-he-man tà-ta-que, ne-me-to-sai-ne-ne-wen. Nin-à-kài-ka poi-pon-ni chi-cha-yen, kai-kà-ya hama-we pa-she-to-he-yen. Kài-nà-ya kai-nen-ne-naip, henok ki-nok ke-chà-kai-ya, pai-no-yen ne-ket-te-simmak o-ke-te-wak ke-o-che, me-ka ti-ya-quois na-kach mai-quoi, à-que-qui pà-che-qui ke-kan-ni tà-men-nin. Ke-to-tà we-yen, à-que-kà-ni-co-te she-tai-hai yen-nen, chai-chà-me-co kai-ke-me-se ai we-ke ken-ne-tà-mowàt, ken-na-wà-ha-o mà-co-quà-yeai-quoi. Ken-wenna àk-che-màn wen-ni-ta-hài ke-men-ne to-tà-we-yeu, [vi] ke-kog-hài ke-ta-shi ke-kài nà-we-yen, he-na-cha wàiche-we to-mo-nan, ai pe-che-quà-chi mo-pen mà-me-co, mài-che-we-tà nà-mo-nan, ne-ya-we-nan qui-a-hà-wa pe-ta-kek, a-que-yeàr tak-pa-she-qui à-to-tà-mo-wat, chi-ye-tuk he-ne cha-wài-chi he-ni-nan ke-o-chi-tà mowtà-swee-pài che-quà-que. He-ni-cha-hài poi-kài-nen nà-na-so-si-yen, ai o-sà-kewe-yen, ke-pe-me-kai-mi-kat hài-nen hac-yái na-na-cosi-peu, nen-à-kài-ne-co-ten ne-co-ten ne-ka chi-a-quoi ne-me-cok me-to-sai ne-ne-wak-kài ne-we-yen-nen, kàishài mà-ni-to·ke ka-to-me-nak ke-wa-sài he-co-wai mià-me, kà-chi pài-ko-tài-hear-pe kài-cee wà-wà-kià hepe hà-pe-nach-he-chà, na-na-ke-nà-way ni-taain ai wepa-he-weà to-to-nà cà, ke-to-ta-we-yeak, he-nok miàni ai she-ke-tà ma-ke-si-yen, nen-a-kai nà-co-ten ne-kàhe-nen é-ta-quois, wà-toi-na-ka che-mà-ke-keu nà-tache tài-hài-ken ai mo-co-man ye-we-yeu ke-to-towé. E-nok mà-ni-hài she-kà-tà-ma ka-si-yen, wen-e-cha-hài nài-ne-mak, mái-ko-ten ke-kà-cha mà-men-na-tuk weyowé, keu-ke-nok ai she-me ma-nà-ni ta-men-ke-yowé. MA-KA-TAI-ME-SHE-KIA-KIAK. Ma-tàus-we Ki-sis, 1833. Figure 2. Sauk text of the bilingual “dedication.” Line breaks as in original.

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[vii] [TRANSLATION.] DEDICATION.

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TO BRIGADIER GEN’L. H. ATKINSON. SIR,—The changes of fortune, and vicissitudes of war, made you my conqueror. When my last resources were exhausted, my warriors worn down with long and toilsome marches, we yielded, and I became your prisoner. The story of my life is told in the following pages; it is intimately connected, and in some measure, identified with a part of the history of your own: I have, therefore, dedicated it to you. The changes of many summers, have brought old age upon me,—and I cannot expect to survive many moons. Before I set out on my journey to the land of my fathers, I have determined to give my motives and reasons for my former hostilities to the whites, and to vindicate my character from misrepresentation. The kindness I received from you whilst a prisoner of war, [viii] assures me that you will vouch for the facts contained in my narrative, so far as they came under your observation. I am now an obscure member of a nation, that formerly honored and respected my opinions. The path to glory is rough, and many gloomy hours obscure it. May the Great Spirit shed light on your’s—and that you may never experience the humility that the power of the American government has reduced me to, is the wish of him, who, in his native forests, was once as proud and bold as yourself. BLACK HAWK. 10th Moon, 1833. Figure 3. English text of the bilingual “dedication.” Line breaks as in original. The bracketed word “[TRANSLATION.]” appears as such in the original.

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1833 original). However, in a departure from the 1834 edition, neither the Quaife editions nor the Nichols edition based on them includes the Sauk text. The 1833 bilingual is presented in figures 2 (Sauk) and 3 (English). The texts are given in parallel formats to assist our purposes of comparison and analysis; line breaks are as in the original text. The first thing we notice is the difference in length, the Sauk being considerably longer. This might, however, be due to a difference in the average length of words in the respective languages, given the fact that German and English bilinguals exhibit a similar discrepancy. Indeed, this is in accordance with what we know of Algonquian languages in general. Although no Sauk texts, dictionaries, or grammars were available until recently for comparison, extensive materials and modern editions of texts in the closely related Meskwaki language (or dialect) have been readily available for some time. Recent years have seen the publication of Meskwaki (Goddard 1994) and Sauk (Whittaker 2005) dictionaries and of a Sauk phrasebook (Whittaker 1996b), which, together with a series of Meskwaki text editions, facilitate a comparative analysis of our bilingual. The Sauk and English texts also differ in the number of paragraphs. The Sauk has three, the English four. This in itself is an argument for authenticity. A falsified Sauk text, or even a text in another language passed off as Sauk in the style of Hollywood,10 would surely tend towards parallelism in length and text division. Both texts of the bilingual begin with a single-word heading (“Dedication”), followed by a single line of four words naming the addressee, after which comes a title of address (two words in Sauk vs. one in English). Then comes the main text, which is signed off with a name and a date. Let us start with the name at the end of the document. The English identifies the author as Black Hawk. The Sauk equivalent gives us ‫ۃ‬MA-KA-TAI-ME-SHE-KIA-KIAK‫ۄ‬. We already know this is Black Hawk’s Sauk name because the equation is also found in the title of the Life. The uncapitalized form of the name is written with accents in LeClair’s affidavit as ‫ۃ‬Mà-ka-tai-me-she-kià-kiàk‫ۄ‬. The name is still current among the Sauk of Oklahoma today, where it takes the form Mahkatê(w)imeshikêhkêhkwa (mahkatêwi- ‘black’; meshikêhkêhkwa, from meshi- ‘great’ and kêhkêhkwa ‘hawk’). Which hawk this refers to is uncertain, but there is some indication that it is the peregrine falcon. 

10. It is high time that an enterprising scholar published a parallel edition of the Navajo original and English subtitles of the “Cheyenne” dialogues in the John Ford film Cheyenne Autumn (1964), which, according to Tony Hillerman (1994[1993]:112– 13), differ dramatically in content and register, yet appear on the surface to be equivalent.

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The Sauk, including the present-day bearer of the name, Wallace McClellan, affirm that this was Black Hawk’s name, and indeed this is the one he is known by in other documents from the nineteenth century, for example in the contemporary writings of Prince Maximilian and Catlin, although spellings vary. So far, so good. The English date is given in romanticized form as “10th Moon, 1833.” The Sauk equivalent reads Ma-tàus-we Ki-sis, 1833 . Again we find a match for the terms in modern Sauk: metâthwi (older metâswi) ‘ten’ and kîshethwa (kîsheswa) ‘moon; month’, for ‘Month 10’. This is a good sign that the text is indeed Sauk. Turning now to the title, we find NE-KA-NA-WEN . According to the English version, this should mean “DEDICATION,” as countless editors and commentators have assumed. The term is, however, quite transparent. It is simply the neutral Nekanawîni ‘My (ne-) Words’ or Nekanawi(w)eni ‘My Speech’. This is the first significant contradiction of Patterson’s English. It exposes the editor as a manipulator of Black Hawk’s intent, for it makes the latter appear to bow to a white military officer, the general named in the following line: “TO BRIGADIER GEN’L H. ATKINSON.” The Sauk text reads: MA-NE-SE-NO OKE-MAUT WAP-PI MA-QUAI . We know that Atkinson was called White Beaver (in translation) by the Sauk, because he is referred to repeatedly as such in the Life. The last two words in the Sauk line resemble the expected Wâpamehkwa, from wâpi- ‘gray, whitish’ and amehkwa ‘beaver’, but the final syllable is quai , not qua . It would appear that a handwritten exclamation mark has been misread by the typesetter as an i. At this point we expect to find a title in the preceding Sauk words, and we are not disappointed: manesenôw-okimâwa ‘war chief’, an appellation to which Black Hawk was also entitled. Thus, we see that Black Hawk addresses his former opponent as an equal: ‘My Words to War Chief Wâpamehkwa (White Beaver)!’ The main body of the speech is introduced by the title of address WA-TA-SAI WE-YEU , translated succinctly as “Sir.” This is (Old) Sauk Wêtâsêwiyane ‘O [you who are a] warrior’. The published version presumably departs from LeClair’s transcription, which surely read * Wa-ta-sai-we-yen (or * Wai-ta-sai-we-yen ). The typesetter, or perhaps Patterson himself, misread LeClair’s handwriting, taking an n to be a u. Here it would be appropriate to comment on LeClair’s syllabics. The first thing which catches the eye is the abundance of syllables resembling French spelling: maut with silent t is one example, another is the convention of writing ai for what an English speaker would typically render as ay or a . Silent h is found in hai for the verbal prefix êh-. The use of the grave accent over the vowel a in such

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spellings as mà and tàus is again highly suggestive of a French convention, as is the acute on the vowel e (and twice, apparently as a mistake for the grave, over a) in é-ta-quois , ke-to-towé , we-yowé , and ta-men-ke-yowé . The rare disyllabic sequences towé and yowé are, incidentally, the only such examples in LeClair’s transcriptional system. In Black Hawk’s name the final two syllables are rendered inaccurately as kià-kiàk , surely a typesetter’s mistake for * kàikàik . The syllable kài occurs with and without the accent several times in the text. Yet, if French conventions are clearly recognizable throughout, so too are English ones such as we for wi and she for shi, indicating a transcriptionist of mixed background. Antoine LeClair was such an individual. His father was French Canadian, his mother of Potawatomi descent, and he was married to the granddaughter of the Sac and Fox chief Acoqua (Ahkohkwa).11 Typical of the Old Mines dialect (Missouri French), the dialect he would have been most familiar with, is the preservation of we for Standard French wa (Carrière 1941:510–11). The former is reflected in LeClair’s quois for kwe, more frequently replaced by the unambiguous quai . LeClair links syllables with hyphens if they are part of the same word. Sometimes there is no such link. This may be an error on the part of the typesetter or may simply be due to the lack of standards for the transcription of indigenous texts. It should be noted that, until recently, the Sauk were accustomed to writing their language with each syllable separated from the next without hyphens, regardless of whether a morpheme or word boundary was involved. Spaces and hyphenation occur without any particular regularity in LeClair’s transcription or, better, in Patterson’s edition, but we are far better off with the hyphens that do occur than if we had none. The first Sauk paragraph turns out to be equivalent to the first two English paragraphs. Both sections are of equal length. The Sauk contains easily recognizable sequences such as hai-me-ka-ti ya-quai for êhmîkâtiyakwe ‘(when) we fought’, which is a loose match for Patterson’s “vicissitudes of war,” and ne-wai-ta-sa-mak ke- for newêtâsêmaki ‘my warriors’, which mirrors perfectly “my warriors” in the English section. Both words consist of several morphemes, each correctly joined to the preceding and each in correct sequence: thus, the above verb can be broken down as êh- ‘(aorist preverb)’, mîkâtî‘fight’, -yakwe ‘you and I (conjunct mode)’. This is a further indicator that the text as a whole contains grammatical Sauk and is not simply a 11. As an example of the kind of error that can be introduced by misreading a handwritten note, or even by downright, obstinate carelessness, it is worth mentioning that, while Acoqua’s name, which means ‘Kettle Drum’, is usually translated faithfully as ‘The Kettle’, I have also seen it rendered as ‘The Kitten’.

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collection of words strung together for the purpose of legitimizing the edition. The central theme of the autobiography is found towards the end of the section. The second English paragraph begins with: “The story of my life is told in the following pages,” paralleling, but also expanding, the Sauk Ni-me-to sai-ne-ni-wen, ne-ta-to-ta nemehtosêneniwiweni netâtota ‘I tell of my life’. The Sauk continues: ken ai mo-he-man tàta-que, ne-me-to-sai-ne-ne-wen , a difficult passage that begins clearly enough with kîna ‘you’ and ends with tâtaki ‘as it were, and in some measure, to some degree’ and nemehtosêneniwiweni ‘my life’. The problem lies in the middle: the badly garbled mo-he-man must be a verb, because it is preceded by ai , the verbal prefix êh-, but which verb it is remains uncertain. A glance at the English section reveals that this is the crucial point where Black Hawk appears to dedicate his story to Atkinson. Patterson has: “it is intimately connected, and in some measure, identified with a part of the history of your own: I have, therefore, dedicated it to you.” Ives Goddard (p.c. 2008) suggests reconstructing the verbal sequence as * ai-a-to-te-man , for êhâtotamâni ‘I tell’, and replacing the initial possessive prefix of the following word, ne (for ne- ‘my’), with * ke , for ke- ‘your’. This has the advantage of delivering a coherent sentence from which the Pattersonian equivalent could be derived: ‘To some degree I tell of your life (as well)’. The stress on ‘your’ is supplied by the emphatic pronoun ken at the beginning of the sequence. As for the ne , the typesetter probably copied it by accident from the previous occurrence of the noun just above. However, there is one other instance in which an n occurs where a k is expected, so there is always the possibility that LeClair’s handwriting is at fault. Here we have a glaring example of manipulation and literary embellishment by Patterson of what is, in fact, a short declaration in Sauk, no matter how we reconstruct the actual words. The editor gives the impression of seeking to ingratiate himself with Atkinson by presenting Black Hawk as overly submissive to, and overawed by, his former opponent. Whatever the reading of the Sauk text, there is nothing to suggest that Black Hawk had any intention of dedicating his life story to the general. If the text were an invention of LeClair’s it would be hard to explain this discrepancy. The second and third paragraphs of the Sauk correspond to the third and fourth English paragraphs respectively. The second paragraph opens with Nin-à-kài-ka poi-pon-ni chi-cha-yen, kai-kà-ya ha-ma-we pa-she-to-he-yen , which seems to reflect Nîna kakapâhi-penâwe shîshâyâni, kêkayâh êhmawipashitôhiyâni ‘I have hunted for many summers; at last I have gone and become an old man’. This is a rea-

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sonable approximation of Patterson’s free “The changes of many summers, have brought old age upon me.” Black Hawk adds Kài-nàya kai-nen-ne-naip ,12 for Kêkayâh kêh nîna nîhnepe ‘What’s more, at last I am going to die’. This matches Patterson’s Indianizing flourish, “—and I cannot expect to survive many moons.” Black Hawk expresses his motivation for telling his life story in the following manner: he-nok ki-nok ke-chà-kai-ya,13 pai-no-yen ne-kette-sim-mak o-ke-te-wak14 ke-o-che, me-ka ti-ya-quois na-kach maiquoi, à-que-qui pa-che-qui ke-kan-ni tà-men-nin , which can be reconstructed as Înoki, înoki châh êyêhp(w)â(w)inowîyâni nekehtesîmaki otôhkimwâki [kîhâchimohene] kî(wi)ochimîkâtiyakwe—nâhkachi mêkwêh âkwi kî(wi)peshikwikehkênetamanini ‘So now,15 before I set out for the land of my forefathers, I will tell you why you and I were fighting in a number of places—and I think you do not truly know about these things’. Patterson’s English, “Before I set out on my journey to the land of my fathers, I have determined to give my motives and reasons for my former hostilities to the whites,” suppresses the translation of the appended Sauk comment, which, if retained, could have been interpreted as a mild criticism of Atkinson, or at least of the quality of his information. Moreover, it replaces the direct reference to fighting Atkinson (‘you and I were fighting’), which, here at least, levels blame at neither party, with an admission of responsibility for “my former hostilities to the whites”—again presumably to avoid offending Atkinson’s sensibilities and to fulfill the expectations of Patterson’s readership. The final paragraph of the Sauk text begins with what is known to have been a typical lament of Black Hawk’s: He-ni-cha-hài poi-kàinen16 nà-na-so-si-yen,17 ai o-sà-ke-we-yen , a somewhat garbled sequence that can nonetheless be interpreted as Îni châh êhpônikehkênetâkosiyâni, êhosâkîwiyâni! ‘So now I am no longer known, I am a Sauk!’ This corresponds to Patterson’s vaguely paraphrased “I am now an obscure member of a nation.” However, in the Life itself we 12. Here Kài-nà-ya presumably should be Kài-kà-ya . 13. ke-chà-kai-ya presumably should be ke-chà-hài-yai . 14. o-ke-te-wak presumably should be o-to-ke-wak , and a missing word ke(h)à-che-mo-hen should be supplied after it. The typesetter seems to have jumped from the original sequence beginning * ke-(h)à-che- to the following ke-o-che . I gratefully adopt Goddard’s recommendation on the missing verb and on the following preverb. 15. The repetition of the word înoki ‘today, now’ appears to be a rhetorical device, since Black Hawk has a predilection for parallelisms. Several examples can be found in this speech alone. Here its purpose is to add emphasis. 16. poi-kài-nen presumably should be poni-kài-ken . 17. nà-na-so-si-yen presumably should be nà-ta-co-si-yen .

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find Black Hawk exclaiming “I am a Sac!” and we have seen that this is quite characteristic of him, since it turns up in various forms in a number of speeches and interviews attributed to him. Overlooking the existence of the bilingual, Pratt (2001:113) commented not so long ago, Since no original Sauk manuscript [of the Life] exists, it is impossible to check either the accuracy of the translation or the process of selection used in collecting and arranging the material. Despite questions about the authenticity of the text at its first publication, however, the apparent tacit approval offered by Black Hawk in not objecting to its publication during his lifetime [. . .], the testimony of Black Hawk’s close acquaintance, James Hall, and the acknowledgement of the work by Black Hawk’s children, all strongly suggest that the text is largely a translation of Black Hawk’s own words.

We are now fortunately in a position to test the accuracy of the translation, even if the test is limited to a relatively short text that precedes the main body of the autobiography. A linguistic analysis and commentary for the bilingual is appended to this study as an illustration of the amount of material that has so far been gleaned from the text. The inescapable conclusion is that, as Pratt and others have argued, we are indeed dealing with Black Hawk’s own words. These words have now, for the most part, been recovered and a new translation of the Sauk text, with the 1833 English text alongside for ease of comparison, is given below. Translation of Sauk text

1833 English text

[v]

[vii]

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[TRANSLATION.]

MY WORDS

DEDICATION.

TO WAR CHIEF WHITE BEAVER!

TO BRIGADIER GEN’L. H. ATKINSON.

O WARRIOR, What the one who created us had in mind for you, and created you for, was that, when we fought, you would keep blocking my path, and that, in the end, you would overpower me. My warriors were, of course, completely exhausted. I resolved to surrender myself, and I

SIR,— The changes of fortune, and vicissitudes of war, made you my conqueror. When my last resources were exhausted, my warriors worn down with long and toilsome marches, we yielded, and I became your prisoner.

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became your prisoner. I tell of my life, and, in some measure, I tell of your life. I have hunted for many summers, and finally I have gone and become an old man. And finally I am to die. So now, now, before I set out for the land of my forefathers, I will tell you why you and I fought in a number of places. And I think you do not truly know about these things. As to how you treated me, I think nothing [bad] of it. This, then, is so that all shall know about these things, all you hat-wearing whites. As for you, however, I am greatly pleased that you treated me well, [vi] while I was a prisoner in your house. So that is why I am telling you this—telling it accurately, you see, is why I am telling you. However, those who observed these things precisely seem not to have told it accurately. So that is why I am saying this to you. For that reason may you report how accurate it is.

The story of my life is told in the following pages; it is intimately connected, and in some measure, identified with a part of the history of your own: I have, therefore, dedicated it to you. The changes of many summers, have brought old age upon me,— and I cannot expect to survive many moons. Before I set out on my journey to the land of my fathers, I have determined to give my motives and reasons for my former hostilities to the whites, and to vindicate my character from misrepresentation. The kindness I received from you whilst a prisoner of war, [viii] assures me that you will vouch for the facts contained in my narrative, so far as they came under your observation.

So, now I am no longer known—I am a Sauk! The time has passed when I was well known. Yet once, once people thought very highly of me whenever I spoke. May God bless you and shed light on your path. It is very dark, they say, and very winding. So always [. . .]. I would have treated you as you are treating me—and this is how poor I am today. But once I [. . .]; that is what I think. You, who are an American, are speaking out—and this is how poor I am today. That, then, is the wish for you of him who was once as proud of himself as you are of yourself today.

I am now an obscure member of a nation, that formerly honored and respected my opinions. The path to glory is rough, and many gloomy hours obscure it. May the Great Spirit shed light on your’s— and that you may never experience the humility that the power of the American government has reduced me to, is the wish of him, who, in his native forests, was once as proud and bold as yourself.

MAHKATÊWIMESHIKÊHKWA.

BLACK HAWK.

Month 10, 1833.

10th Moon, 1833.

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It is clear that this long-ignored bilingual is a coherent, and historically significant, document with much to say about Black Hawk’s perspective on war and fate. And much still remains to be unearthed, given the difficulties posed by the final paragraph of the text. What can be said unequivocally at this stage is that the Sauk text has all the hallmarks of an authentic speech by Black Hawk. At the same time it sheds considerable light on the editorial style and practices (and, of course, ethics) of its publisher. As a document, the bilingual of 1833 serves well its intended purpose of authenticating the Life of Black Hawk.

Abbreviations and conventions Abbreviations. AOR aorist preverb; CC changed conjunct; CMP preverb of completion; CND conditional; CNJ conjunct; EM emphatic; FUT future; IC initial change; INC inclusive; ITR iterative; NEG negative; PL plural; PPL participle; SG singular; VOC vocative. Sauk text of 1833 is in angle brackets ; Conventions of presentation. emendations to this text are in square brackets [ ], with emended syllables in bold type; phonemic transcription of Sauk is in italics; the modern translation is in roman type; Patterson’s original English text of 1833 is in roman type with double quotation marks “ ”; reconstructed forms are marked by an asterisk *. Transcription. In the phonemic transcription, ch and sh are [þ] and [š] respectively; â ê î ô are long vowels. Old Sauk s is given for present-day

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th (phonetic [ș]) throughout.

References Armstrong, Perry A. 1887 The Sauks and the Black Hawk War. Springfield: H. W. Rokker. Bellin, Joshua David 2000 How Smooth Their Language: Authenticity and Interculturalism in the Life of Black Hawk. Prospects 25:485–511. Black Hawk 1833 Life of Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak or Black Hawk. Cincinnati: J. B. Patterson. Boelhower, William 1991 Saving Saukenuk: How Black Hawk Won the War and Opened the Way to Ethnic Semiotics. Journal of American Studies 25:333–61.

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Brumble, H. David, III 1988 American Indian Autobiography. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. 2008 American Indian Autobiography. 2nd edition. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Carrière, J.-M. 1941 Missouri French: A Historical Study (Continued). The French Review 14:510–15. Ferris, Ida M. 1910 The Sauks and Foxes in Franklin and Osage Counties, Kansas. Kansas State Historical Society, Collections 11:333–95. Topeka: Kansas State Historical Society. Forsyth, Thomas 1974 An Account of the Manners and Customs of the Sauk Nation of Indians [1822]. In American Indian Ethnohistory: North Central and Northeastern Indians; Sac, Fox, and Iowa Indians I, edited by David Agee Horr, 187–236. New York: Garland. Goddard, Ives 1993 Two Mashpee Petitions, from 1752 (in Massachusett) and 1753 (in English). In American Indian Linguistics and Ethnography in Honor of Laurence C. Thompson, edited by Anthony Mattina and Timothy Montler, 397–416. University of Montana Occasional Papers in Linguistics 17. Missoula: Linguistics Laboratory, University of Montana. 2004 Meskwaki Verbal Affixes. In Papers of the Thirty-Fifth Algonquian Conference, edited by H. C. Wolfart (ed.), 97–123. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba. Goddard, Ives, ed. 1994 Leonard Bloomfield’s Fox Lexicon. Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics, Memoir 12. Winnipeg: Algonquian and Iroquoian Linguistics. Hagan, William T. 1980 The Sac and Fox Indians. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. First published 1958. Hall, James 1842 Makataimeshekiakiah, or Black Hawk. In History of the Indian Tribes of North America, with Historical Sketches and Anecdotes of the Principal Chiefs.Vol. 2, edited by Thomas L. McKenney and James Hall, 29–48. Philadelphia: Daniel Rice and James G. Clark. Hallwas, John E. 1981 Black Hawk: A Reassessment. Annals of Iowa 45:599–619. Hillerman, Tony 1994 Sacred Clowns. London: Penguin Books. First published 1993.

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Hodge, Frederick W. 1907–10 Handbook of American Indians North of Mexico. Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin 30. Washington: Government Printing Office. Jackson, Donald 1955 Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak / Black Hawk: An Autobiography. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Jung, Patrick J. 2007 The Black Hawk War of 1832. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Kennedy, J. Gerald, ed. 2008 Life of Black Hawk, or Mà-ka-tai-me-she-kià-kiàk: Dictated by Himself. London: Penguin Books. Krupat, Arnold 1989 For Those Who Come After: A Study of Native American Autobiography. Berkeley: University of California Press. 2010 Patterson’s Life; Black Hawk’s Story; Native American Elegy. American Literary History 22(3):1–26. Mielke, Laura L. 2008 Moving Encounters: Sympathy and the Indian Question in Antebellum Literature. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press. Newquist, David L. 2002 A Rereading of Black Hawk’s Autobiography. Midamerica: The Yearbook of the Society for the Study of Midwestern Literature 29:78–90. Nichols, David A. 2000 Lincoln and the Indians: Civil War Policy and Politics. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. First published in 1979. Nichols, Roger L. 1992 Black Hawk and the Warrior’s Path. Arlington Heights: Harlan Davidson. Nichols, Roger L., ed. 1999 Black Hawk’s Autobiography. Ames: Iowa State University Press. (Ostensibly a republication of the 1834 Boston edition, but actually a republication of Quaife [1994].) Patterson, John B., ed. 1882 Autobiography of Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak, or Black Hawk; Life, Death and Burial of the Old Chief, Together with: A History of the Black Hawk War. Oquawka: J. B. Patterson. Quaife, Milo Milton, ed. 1916 Life of Black Hawk / Ma-Ka-Tai-Me-She-Kia-Kiak. Chicago: The Lakeside Press. 1994 Life of Black Hawk. New York: Dover Publications. (Republication of the 1916 edition with new pagination.)

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Pratt, Scott L. 2001 The Given Land: Black Hawk’s Conception of Place. Philosophy and Geography 4(1):109–25. Scheckel, Susan 1998 The Insistence of the Indian: Race and Nationalism in NineteenthCentury American Culture. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Schmitz, Neil 1992 Captive Utterance: Black Hawk and Indian Irony. American Quarterly 48(4):1–18. Sweet, Timothy 1993 Masculinity and Self-Performance in the “Life of Black Hawk.” American Literature 65:475–99. Trask, Kerry A. 2006 Black Hawk: The Battle for the Heart of America. New York: Henry Holt. Verlato, Micaela, ed. 2013 Wilhelm von Humboldt: Nordamerikanische Grammatiken. Paderborn: Schöningh. Walker, Cheryl 1997 Indian Nation: American Literature and Nineteenth-Century Nationalisms. Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press. Wallace, Anthony F. C. 1970 Introduction: Prelude to Disaster; The Course of Indian-White Relations Which Led to the Black Hawk War of 1832. In The Black Hawk War, 1831–1832. Vol. 1, edited by Ellen M. Whitney, 1–51. Springfield: Illinois State Historical Library. Wallace, Mark 1994 Black Hawk’s “An Autobiography”: The Production and Use of an “Indian” Voice. American Indian Quarterly 18:481–94. Whittaker, Gordon 1996a The Sauk Language: A First Look. In Papers of the TwentySeventh Algonquian Conference, edited by David H. Pentland, 362–401. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba. 1996b Conversational Sauk: A Guide to the Language of Black Hawk. Stroud: Sac and Fox National Public Library. 1996c Deciphering the Black Hawk Bilingual. Paper presented at the Twenty-Eighth Algonquian Conference, Toronto, 26 October. 1999 On the Sauk Future Conjunct Preverb êwîhi-. Paper presented at the Thirty-First Algonquian Conference, Lafayette, Indiana, 26 October. 2003 Humboldt und seine Rezeption indianischer Rhetorik. Paper presented at the conference “Humboldts Sprachwissenschaft. Wissenschaftsgeschichtliche Kontexte und Probleme der Edition,” Rheinisch-Westfälische Technische Hochschule, Aachen, Germany, 24 July. 2005 A Concise Dictionary of the Sauk Language. Stroud: Sac and Fox National Public Library.

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Sauk

Black Hawk on Black Hawk. Paper presented at the Fortieth Algonquian Conference, University of Minnesota–Twin Cities, Minneapolis, 25 October. Willson, Marcius 1847 American History. New York: Mark H. Newman.

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Sauk text The Nekanawîni (‘My Words’) of Mahkatêwimeshikêhkêhkwa Earlier stages of work on the Sauk text have been presented in Whittaker (1996a, 1996c, 1999, 2003, and 2008). The following represents the results of that analysis, with a series of valuable emendations recommended by Ives Goddard (p.c. 2008). In a number of cases I have discarded a previous interpretation in favor of one proposed by Goddard, and in other instances I have decided not to adopt Goddard’s emendation. Goddard’s proposals (whether I have adopted them or not) and other issues of analysis and interpretation are discussed in the comments accompanying the text; I hope these give the reader a sense for the manner in which decipherment and interpretation of this kind proceeds and unfolds, as a fruitful and running dialogue among scholars.

[p. v] 1

NE-KA-NA-WEN. Ne-kanawîni my-words My words (1833 English: [p. vii] “DEDICATION.”)

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2

MA-NE-SE-NO OKE-MAUT WAP-PI MA-QUAI. [MA-NE-SE-NO OKE-MAUT WAP-PI MA-QUA!] Manesenôwokimâw[a] Wâpamehkwa! war-chief whitish.beaver to War Chief [General] Wâpamehkwa [White Beaver]! (1833 English: “TO BRIGADIER GEN’L. H. ATKINSON.”) I have adopted Goddard’s suggestion to take lines 1 and 2 together as a title rather than an address, which, of course, reads well and makes good sense in this context. Strictly speaking, though, the line division and punctuation, plus the syllable QUAI (always for Sauk kwe) at the end of the second line, imply a reading Nekanawi(w)eni. Manesenôwokimâwe Wâpamehkwe ‘My Speech. O General White Beaver!’—the -e suffix being the Sauk vocative ‘O’, the inflection of address. I had originally preferred keeping the two lines separate, as in the 1833 text, and interpreting them in this fashion. Emendations should not be undertaken without need, so I was

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reluctant to remove the period after the first line and reduce the QUAI to *QUA, given the fact that the text already made sense as it stands. My solution to the problem of the final syllable is to propose that the second line ended in a handwritten * QUA! , which was then mistaken by the typesetter for QUAI . This removes a serious obstacle to Goddard’s emendation. We now have only one address, that in line 3. Line 1: LeClair’s syllabic spelling is ambiguous. An alternative would be to take the sequence as informal nekanawieni (from ne-kanawi-weni) ‘my speech’, which was my original interpretation, rather than as nekanawîni ‘my words’. There are a number of clear instances of informal pronunciation in the text, including the parallel construction me-to-sai-ne-ni-wen and me-to-sai-ne-ne-wen for mehtosêneniwi(w)eni ‘life’. However, my preference is now to interpret the word as nekanawîni and to take it as part of a larger phrase, as in the comment above. Line 2: The elided form manesenôkimâwa is well attested as the term for a member of the War Chief clan. In his rendition of Atkinson’s Sauk name, WAP-PI MA-QUAI , it appears that LeClair committed his own error of oversight in addition to the typesetter’s error assumed above: the PI in the sequence WAPPI , where we should expect * PA , gives the impression that LeClair accidentally wrote ‘O White Bear’ (Sauk Wâpimahkwe) for the intended ‘O White Beaver’. As it stands, then, the text can be rendered ‘O White Bea(ve)r’. 3

WA-TA-SAI WE-YEU, [WA-TA-SAI-WE-YEN,] Wêtâsêwi-yan[-e], be.a.warrior-you.PPL-VOC O warrior,

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(1833 English: “SIR,—”) The final consonant of the conjunct suffix in LeClair’s text was probably misread by the typesetter, who confused cursive n with u. This happens again in lines 27, 38, 53, and 57. 4

Ai nan-ni ta co-si -ya-quai, [Ai-nan-ni-ta-co-si -ya-quai,] Ênênetâkosi-yêkwe, be.thought.of/meant.for.IC-you.PL.PPL What you [and your troops] were meant for,

5

na-katch ai she-ke she-he-nack, [na-katch ai-she-ke-she-he-nack,]

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nâhkachi êshi-kîshih-enâkwe, thus.IC-create-(s)he.you.PL.PPL and and what you were created for, (1833 English: “The changes of fortune,”) Line 4: Goddard proposes Ênênetâkosiyakwe ‘What we were ordained to do, you and I’. Since the thrust of the sentence is directed towards Atkinson’s actions, I interpret ‫ۃ‬-ya-quai‫ ۄ‬as conjunct -yêkwe ‘you (pl.)’, rather than as -yakwe ‘you and I/we’. This avoids a shift in focus. Black Hawk is simply saying that it was Atkinson’s destiny to win the conflict. Line 5: Goddard proposes êshi-kîshihenakwe ‘what we [. . .] were created (destined) to do by [him]’. Here, too, I prefer to see a reference to Atkinson and his troops. Thus, -enâkwe ‘you (pl.)—by him/her’, rather than -enakwe ‘you and I/we—by him/her’. 6

‫ۃ‬hai-me-ka-ti ya-quai ke-she-he-nack,‫ۄ‬ [hai-me-ka-ti-ya-quai ke-she-he-nack,] kîshih-enakw-a, êh-mîkâtî-yakwe AOR-fight-we.INC.CNJ create-(s)he.us.INC.PPL when we fought, by the one who created us,

7

‫ۃ‬ken-e-cha we-he-ke kai-pec-kien‫ۄ‬ [ken-e-cha we-he-ke-kai-pech-kien] kîna châh wîhi-kekyêpishkaw-iyani, you.SG.EM so FUT-block.path-you.SG.me.CNJ was that you would keep blocking my path,

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(1833 English: “and vicissitudes of war,”) Line 6: I adopt Goddard’s kîshihenakwa ‘the one that created us’. The ‘us’ is inclusive, referring to the creator of indigenous and white Americans alike. David Costa (p.c. 2010) informs me that the cognate Miami-Illinois term, keešihelankwa, “is a commonly seen term for ‘God’ stretching all the way from the Allouez/Râle prayer book to the early twentieth century.” Here Black Hawk is saying that God has ordained a destiny for Atkinson that would affect his own. Later on in the text (line 42) Black Hawk is careful to use a further term for God that would be acceptable to a Christian such as Atkinson. Line 7: Use of the independent pronoun kîna adds emphasis and contrast. Note the contrast between Atkinson’s and Black Hawk’s fate, as expressed in lines 7 and 10 with the help of these pronouns. 8

‫ۃ‬a-cob, ai we-ne-she we-he-yen;‫ۄ‬ [a-coo, ai-we-ne-she-we-he-yen;]

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ahkowe êh-wîh-neshiwih-iyani. in.the.end AOR-FUT-overpower-you.SG.me.CNJ and that, in the end, you would overpower me. (1833 English: “made you my conqueror.”) The form êwîh(i)-, first discussed as a future conjunct preverb in Whittaker (1996a:390–91; 1999), has now been shown to be a combination of the aorist and future preverbs êh- and wîhi- (Goddard 2004:102–5). 9

ne-wai-ta-sa-mak ke-kosh-pe kai-a-poi qui-wat. [ne-wai-ta-sa-mak-ke-kosh pai-ke ai-a-yai-qui-wat.] ne-wêtasêm-aki kochi pêhki êh-ayîhkwi-wâchi. my-warrior-PL of.course very AOR-be.tired-they.CNJ My warriors were, of course, completely exhausted. (1833 English: “When my last resources were exhausted, my warriors worn down with long and toilsome marches,”) I agree with Goddard in reconstructing the aorist preverb here. I had originally assumed a preverbless plain conjunct.

10

No-ta-wach-pai pai-ke se-na-mon nan-ni-yoo, [No-ta-wach ai-pa-ke-se-na-mon nen ni-yoo,] Natawâchi êh-pakisenam-âni nîna nîyawi, with.resolve AOR-surrender-I I.EM myself I resolved to surrender myself, (1833 English: “we yielded,”)

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I agree with Goddard that êh-pakisenam-âni provides a better reading than my original pêkisenam-âni (changed conjunct). 11

ai-ke-kai na-o-pen. [ai-ke-kai-na-o-yen.] êh-kîkênâwi-yâni. AOR-be(come).prisoner-I.CNJ and I became your prisoner. (1833 English: “and I became your prisoner.”)

12

Ni-me-to sai-ne-ni-wen, ne-ta-to-ta [Ni-me-to-sai-ne-ni-wen, ne-ta-to-ta]

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Ne-mehtosêneniwi(w)eni net-âtota, my-life I-tell.of I tell of my life, (1833 English: “The story of my life is told in the following pages;”) 13

ken ai mo-he-man tà-ta-que, ne-me-to-sai-ne-ne-wen. [ken ai-a-to-te-man tà-ta-que, ke-me-to-sai-ne-ne-wen.] kîna êh-âtotam-âni tâtaki ke-mehtosêneniwi(w)eni. you.EM AOR-tell.of-I in.some.measure your-life and, in some measure, I tell of your life. (1833 English: “it is intimately connected, and in some measure, identified with a part of the history of your own: I have, therefore, dedicated it to you.”) The verb plus possessive prefix ke-, as reconstructed and emended by Goddard, have the advantage of providing a better relationship both to the foregoing statement and to the English version of 1833 than my original reconstruction, which read kîn êh-me(s)he(na)m-ani tâtaki nemehtosêneniwiweni ‘since you have taken hold, in a way, of my life’.

14

Nin-à-kài-ka poi-pon-ni chi-cha-yen, [Nin-à kà-ka-poi-pen-nai chi-cha-yen,] Nîna kakapâhi-penâ(w)e shîshâ-yâni, I.EM many-summers hunt-I.CNJ I have hunted for many summers,

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(1833 English: summers,”)

“The

changes

of

many

Goddard suggests Nîna kêkayâh êh-pôni-shîshâ-yâni ‘I have now reached the point that I no longer hunt’, but I feel this has the disadvantage of weakening the relationship to the meaning conveyed by the English of 1833. The kài-ka of line 14 may have been influenced by the kai-kà of line 15. 15

kai-kà-ya ha- ma-we pa-she-to-he-yen. [kai-kà-ya hai- ma-we- pa-she-to-he-yen.] Kêkayâh êh-mawi-pashitôh-iyâni. finally AOR-go.and-be(come).old.man-I.CNJ and finally I have gone and become an old man.

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(1833 English: “have brought old age upon me,”) 16

Kài-nà-ya kai-nen-ne-naip, [Kài-kà-ya kai nen ne-naip,] Kêkayâh kêh nîna nîh-nepe. finally and I.EM I.FUT-die And finally I am to die. (1833 English: “—and I cannot expect to survive many moons.”) Goddard, whose kêkayâh replaces my original kêkeyâh, informs me that a variant with medial a is known from several Meskwaki writers and has been confirmed by Meskwaki speaker Adeline Wanatee. We see in several places in this text that one feature of Black Hawk’s rhetoric is the repetition of particles relating to the passage of time, either introducing parallel clauses, as here (kêkayah . . ., kêkayah . . .), or immediately following each other in a single clause (line 17: înoki, înoki; line 39: nekotenwi, nekotenwi). Furthermore, he achieves the same effect of emphasis by repeating whole clauses (lines 29–31: Îni châh wêchiwîtamônâni . . ., wêchiwîtamônâni; lines 49–54: înoki mani êshiketemâkesiyâni . . . înoki mani êshiketemâkesiyâni). Line 15: The use of mawi-, in place of anemi-, with the meaning ‘go and’ in a developmental sense is attested for twentieth-century Sauk. Black Hawk’s characterization of himself as an old man is well known from other sources.

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17

henok ki-nok ke-chà -kai-ya, pai-no -yen [henok ki-nok-ke chà hai-yai-pai-no -yen] Înoki, înoki châh êyêhp(w)â(w)i-nowî-yâni Now now so before-set.out-I.CNJ So now, now, before I set out (1833 English: “Before I set out on my journey”) The repetition of înoki ‘today, now’ is a rhetorical device seen again in the repetition of nekotenwi ‘once’ in line 39. The form pâi- is informal for standard pwâwi-. Black Hawk’s speech incorporates several features derived from informal speech. I was originally tempted to take the sequence kai-ya, pai-no-yen as representing * hai-yai-pai-pa-no-yen , for êyêh-pwâwi-penoyâni ‘before I go home’, but this is a less attractive option since it involves more emendation of the 1833 text and less similarity to the printed English rendition.

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ne-ket-te-sim-mak o-ke-te-wak [ne-ket-te-sim-mak o-to-ke-wak] ne-kehtesîm-aki ot-ôhkim-wâki, my-forefather-PL their(ot-...-wâki)-land for the land of my forefathers, (1833 English: “to the land of my fathers,”)

19

ke-o-che, me-ka ti-ya-quois [ke-a-che-mo-hen, ke-o-che-me-ka-ti-ya-quois] kîh-âchimoh-ene kî-ochi-mîkâti-yakwe. I.FUT-tell-you.SG around-why-fight-we.INC.CNJ I will tell you why you and I fought in a number of places. (1833 English: “I have determined to give my motives and reasons for my former hostilities to the whites,”)

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An otherwise difficult passage has been resolved by Goddard’s reconstruction of a missing verb in the main clause and of the following preverb. LeClair or, more likely, the typesetter, would have jumped from the sequence * a-che- to the following o-che . The same thing occurs in line 35 with a probable original sequence * o-chi-à-chi- . 20

na-kach mai-quoi, Nâhkachi mêkwêh and I think And I think

21

à-que qui pà-che-qui ke-kan-ni tà-men-nin. [à-que qui-pà-che-qui ke-kan-ni-tà-men-nin.] âkwi kî-peshikwi-kehkênetam-anini. not around-straight-know it/these-you.NEG you do not truly know about these things. (1833 English: “and to vindicate my character from misrepresentation.”) I am indebted to Goddard for recognizing the preverb kî(wi)- ‘around’, a recurrent feature here. Another characteristic of this text, and indeed of other published quotes from Black Hawk, is the stress placed on the value of truth. This is seen in the occurrence of peshikw(i)- ‘straight, true, forthright’ no less than four times in the middle paragraph.

22

Ke-to-tà we-yen, [Ke-to-tà-we -yen,]

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Kî-tôtaw-iyani, around-treat-you.SG.me.CC As to how you treated me, 23

à-que-kà-ni-co-te she-tai-hai yen-nen, [à-que-kài-co-e-she-tai-hai-yen-nen,] âkwi kêkôh ishitêhê-yânini. not anything think.so-I.NEG I think nothing (bad) of it. This is the beginning of an extended section, lines 22 to 35, without a running English equivalent in the text of 1833. Patterson would seem to have summarized and reworded the section. Thus, we see that, just as the editor is known to have expanded sections of the Life without changing the topic or basic message, he was also willing to compact a section if, apparently, it seemed too repetitive. Here we have the first evidence for this practice.

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Line 23: The reconstruction of âkwi kêkôh . . . -yânini (for my âkwi kêhi . . . -yanini ‘but you did not think about it’) and of mani in the next phrase, is adopted from Goddard. 24

chai-chà-me-co kai-ke-me-se ai we-ke ken-ne-tà-mo-wàt, [mani-chà-me-co kai-ke-me-se ai-we-ke-ken-ne-tà-mo-wàt,] Mani châh meko kekimesi êh-wîh-kehkênetam-owâchi, this so EM everyone AOR-FUT-know.about-they.CNJ This, then, is so that all shall know about these things,

25

ken-na-wà-ha-o mà-co-quà-yeai-quoi. [ken-wa-wà-ke-o-mà-co-quà-yeai-quoi.] kînwâwa kî-omakohkwâ-yêkwe. you.PL.EM around-wear.hat-you.PL.PPL [all] you hat-wearers [whites]. I am grateful to Goddard for the ingenious interpretation of the verb in line 25. He remarks (p.c. 2010) that, according to Hodge (1907–10, vol. 2:349– 50), the Eskimo name for whites, kabloona, is said to have referred to ‘wearing a cap or hat covering their foreheads down to their eyebrows’, while one Kiowa name for whites is ‘cap wearers’. I would also like to thank David Costa for his note (p.c. 2010) that an archaic Miami term for a white person, atehtolenia (also eetéhtolenia), literally means ‘one wearing a hat’.

26

Ken-wen-na àk-che-màn wen-ni-ta[Ken-wen-ne-kà-che-màn-wen-ni-ta]

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Kîna wîna, ne-kehchi-menwêneta you.SG.EM however I-greatly-like.it As for you, however, I am greatly pleased hài ke-men-ne to-tà-we-yeu, [hài-ke-men-we-to-tà-we-yen,] êh-kî-menwi-tôtaw-iyani, AOR-around-well-treat-you.SG.me.CNJ that you treated me well,

27

[p. vi] 28

ke-kog-hài ke-ta-shi ke-kài nà-we-yen, [ke-keg hài-ke-ta-shi-ke-kài-nà-we-yen,] k-îk-eki êh-kî-tashi-kîkênâwi-yâni, your-house-in AOR-around-there-be.prisoner-I.CNJ when I was a prisoner in your house. (1833 English: “The kindness I received from you whilst a prisoner of war,” [p. viii]) Line 26: Goddard’s kîna wîna is preferable to my original kenawîna ‘very much’.

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Line 28: Goddard’s solution, k-îk-eki êh-kî-, is adopted here. The expression kîkeki means as much ‘at your place’ as ‘at your house’. It is to be understood as an ironic reference to being Atkinson’s ‘guest’ while in imprisonment. 29

he-na-cha wài-che-we to-mo-nan, [he-ne-cha wài-che-we-to-mo-nan,] Îni châh wêchi-wîtamô-nâni, that so why.IC-tell-I.you.SG So that is why I am telling you,

30

ai pe-che-quà-chi mo-pen mà-me-co, [ai-pe-che-quà-chi-mo-yen mà-me-co,] êh-peshikwâchimo-yâni mâh meko, AOR-tell.it.straight-I.CNJ you see EM telling it accurately, you see,

31

mài-che-we-tà nà-mo-nan, [wài-che-we-tà-nà-mo-nan,] wêchi-wîtamô-nâni. why.IC-tell-I.you.SG is why I am telling you.

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Here again the repetition in line 31 serves as a rhetorical device, in this case to stress Black Hawk’s forthrightness. 32

ne-ya-we-nan qui-a-hà-wa pe-ta-kek, [ne-yai-we-na qui-a-nà wa-pa-ta-kek,] Îniyêka wîna kwîyena-wâpata-kiki those however precisely-observe-they.PL.PPL However, those who observed these things precisely

33

a-que-yeàr tak-pa-she-qui à-to-tà-mo-wat, chi-ye-tuk [a-que-yeàr-tuk pa-she-qui à-to-tà-mo-wat-chin-ye-tuk] âkwi yêtoke peshikwi-âtotam-owâchini yêtoke. not perhaps straight-tell.it-they.NEG perhaps seem not to have told it accurately. Line 32: Goddard proposes Îniki wîna kîyânâni wâpatakiki ‘But as for those (others) that observed us’. I prefer îniyêka ‘those (not present, previously)’ to îniki ‘those’, partly because it requires less emendation of the text and partly because there is no trace of the initial î in the 1833 text. Since Sauk (as opposed to Meskwaki) stress falls on the third syllable from the end, a missing stressed î in îniki would be troubling, whereas in the case of îniyêka its absence is less significant since it was the ni that would have been stressed.

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Line 33: Alternatively, instead of -owâchini one could emend the verbal suffix to * [m]o-wat-e-hi and reconstruct a preterite in -owâtehe for the sequence [m]o-wat, chi , as Goddard proposes, but I am hesitant to do so since I am not aware of such preterites in Sauk and since the line makes sense without emendation. 34

he-ne cha-wài-chi he-ni-nan [he-ne-cha wài-chi he-ni-nan] Îni châh wêchi-in-enâni. that so why.IC-thus.say-I.you.SG So that is why I am saying this to you.

35

ke-o-chi-tà mow-tà-swee-pài che-quà-que. [ke-o-chi-à-chi-mow tà-swee pài-che-quà-que.] Kîh-ochi-âchimo taswi pêshikwâ-ki. you.FUT-thence-tell/report that.much be.straight.IC-it.PPL For that reason may you report how accurate it is. (1833 English: “assures me that you will vouch for the facts contained in my narrative, so far as they came under your observation.”)

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Line 35: In Goddard’s interpretation of the phrase, adopted here, the typesetter tripped up over an original sequence * o-chi-à-chi- . 36

He-ni-cha-hài poi-kài-nen nà-na-so-si-yen, [He-ni-cha hài-po-ni-kài-ken-nà-ta-co-si-yen,] Îni châh êh-pôni-kehkênetâkosi-yâni, now so AOR-no.longer-be.known-I.CNJ So, now I am no longer known,

37

ai o-sà-ke-we-yen, [ai-o-sà-ke-we-yen,] êh-osâkîwi-yâni! AOR-be.Sauk-I.CNJ I am a Sauk!

38

ke-pe-me-kai-mi-kat hài-nen hac-yái na-na-co-si-peu, [ke-pe-me-kai-mi-kat hài-men-kac-gài-na-ta-co-si-yen,] Kîh-pemehkêmikat(-wi) êh-menwi-kehkênetâkosi-yâni. CMP-go.past-it AOR-well-be.known-I.CNJ The time has passed when I was well known. (1833 English: “I am now an obscure member of a nation,”) Line 36: Goddard suggests Îni châh, êh-pwâwi-kehkênetâkosiyâni ‘So that is how it will be, as I am not famous’. However, what Black Hawk is lamenting is rather the fact that he is no longer famous (now that his Eastern tour has ended), since he clearly had been a celebrated figure. In the following passage he again stresses his recent decline in stature.

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Line 37: This is one of the most frequently quoted sentences ever to have been uttered by Black Hawk. It occurs prominently in the Life and is echoed in speeches and other published quotes attributed to the warrior. Line 38: In informal pronunciation the suffix -wi is dropped here. I owe the reconstruction of the second verb as menwi-kehkênetâkosi- to Goddard. Likewise, I adopt his identification of the verbs in 40, 41, 43, and 45. 39

nen-à-kài-ne-co-ten ne-co-ten [nen-à-kài ne-co-ten ne-co-ten] Nîna kêh nekotenwi, nekotenwi I.EM but once once Yet once, once (1833 English: “that formerly”)

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40

ne-ka chi-a-quoi ne-me-cok me-to-sai ne-ne-wak[ne-ka-chi-a-quoi-ne-me-cok me-to-sai-ne-ne-wak] ne-kehchi-âhkwênem-ekôki mehtosêneniwaki I-greatly-think.highly.of-by.them people people thought very highly of me

41

kài ne-we-yen-nen, [kài-ne-we-yen-nen,] kênawi-yânini. speak.IC-I.ITR whenever I spoke. (1833 English: “honored and respected my opinions.”) Line 39: Again, as we have seen, the repetition of a particle of time is a favored rhetorical device of Black Hawk’s.

42

kài-shài mà-ni-to·ke ka-to-me-nak [kài-shài-mà-ni-to ke-ka-te-me-nak] Keshê-manetôwa kîh-keteminâ-kwa gentle-numen you.SG.FUT-bless-by.him May God bless you (1833 English: “May the Great Spirit”)

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43

ke-wa-sài he-co-wai mi-à-me, [ke-wa-sài-ta-co wai-mi-à-me-yen,] kîh-wâsêhtâ-kwa wêmyêmi-yani. you.SG.FUT-shed.light.on-by.him have.path.IC-you.SG.PPL and shed light on your path. (1833 English: “shed light on your’s”) The 1833 English rendering of these two lines follows that of lines 44–45. Line 42: This is the Christian god, often specifically equated with Jesus, in contrast to Black Hawk’s, who was known as Kehchimanetôwa, literally ‘Great Spirit/God/Numen’ or the like. This relates back to the opening statement, in lines 4–8, that Keshêmanetôwa, the creator who created Atkinson, had ordained a specific destiny for the general that sealed Black Hawk’s own fate. The warrior is being magnanimous in affirming the validity and relevance of Atkinson’s religious beliefs. While Black Hawk, like many Sauk past and present, was willing to accept and accommodate the Christian deity alongside, in place of, or as equivalent to, their own allpervading supernatural, he cannot have expected Atkinson to have

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accepted a blessing from what for Christians would have been a false, nonexistent, god (that is, Kehchimanetôwa). The 1833 English text incorrectly translates the theonym as if it were the latter. 44

kà-chi pài-ko-tài-hear-pe [kà-chi-pài-ko-tài-year-pe] Kehchi-pehkotêyâ-(w)’ ipi, very-be.dark-it one.says It is very dark, they say,

45

kài-cee wà-wà-kià he-pe [kài-che-wà-wà-kià he-pe] kehchi-wawâkyâ-(w)’ ipi. very-be.winding-it one.says and very winding. (1833 English: “The path to glory is rough, and many gloomy hours obscure it.”)

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The rendering of lines 44–45 in the 1833 English version not only reverses their order, but also places them before the translation of lines 42–43 above. 46

hà-pe-nach-he-chà, [hà-pe-nai-che-chà,] Ahpenêchi châh, always so So always

47

na-na-ke-nà-way ni-taain ai we-pa-he-weà [. . . . . . ai-. . .] . . . . . . êh-. . . . . . . . . that/when-. . . (?) (1833 English: “—and that you may never”) The content of these two lines remains obscure. There need not be a contradiction in the ‘always’ of the Sauk and the ‘never’ of the English texts. This depends on what we have in the following Sauk line. Line 47: It would appear that two clauses are separated by the aorist preverb êh-. The subject of the first verb may have been ne- ‘I’. Perhaps nîna ne-kanawi ‘I am speaking; I have spoken’, but this is very uncertain.

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Sauk

535

48

to-to-nà cà, ke-to-ta-we-yeak, tôtô-nakâha kî-tôtaw-iyêkwe, treat-I.you.CND around-treat-you.PL.me.CNJ I would have treated you as you are treating me,

49

he-nok mià-ni ai she-ke-tà ma-ke-si-yen, [he-nok mà-ni ai-she-ke-tà-ma-ke-si-yen,] înoki mani êshi-ketemâkesi-yâni. today this how.IC-be(come).poor-I.CNJ and this is how poor I am today. (1833 English: “experience the humility that the power of the American government has reduced me to,”) Line 48: I owe the identification of the suffix as -nakâha to Goddard. The Sauk conditional (Whittaker 1996a:387–90) is equivalent to the potential mood in Meskwaki.

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Line 49: The verb ketemâkesi- varies in meaning depending on context: ‘be(come) humbled, poor, miserable, pitiful, wretched’. Typical features of Algonquian rhetoric in petitions—and Black Hawk’s speech can, indeed, be understood as a petition—are references to oneself as ‘poor’ and to the addressees as ‘honorable’ and ‘kindly’ (see Goddard 1993:398–99) and repetitive sequences (Goddard 1993:401–2), both of which we see in the Sauk text. Black Hawk is employing these devices to appeal to Atkinson’s good offices (and conscience). 50

nen-a-kai nà-co-ten Nîna kêh nekotenwi I.EM but once But I once

51

ne-kà-he-nen é-ta-quois, [?] (?) (?) (?)

52

wà-toi-na-ka che-mà-ke-keu nà-ta-che tài-hài[. . . . . . nà-ta-che-tài-hài] . . . . . . net-eshitêhe. . . . . . . I-so.think . . . . . ., so I think.

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536

WHITTAKER

A very difficult section for which no cogent solution can be proposed at present. 53

ken ai mo-co-man ye-we-yeu ke-to-towé. [ken ai-mo-co-man-e-we-yen ke-to-towé.] Kîna êh-môhkomâniwi-yani ket-otowe, you.EM AOR-be.American-you.CNJ you-speak.out You, who are an American, are speaking out,

54

E-nok mà-ni-hài she-kà-tà-ma ka-si-yen, [E-nok mà-ni hài-she-kà-tà-ma-ka-si-yen,] înoki mani êshi-ketemâkesi-yâni. today this how.IC-be(come).poor-I.CNJ and this is how poor I am today.

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Here Black Hawk is contrasting the relative statuses of Atkinson and himself in the aftermath of the recent conflict. 55

wen-e-cha-hài nài-ne-mak, [wen-e-cha hài-nài-ne-mak,] Wîna châh ênênem-ehki he.EM thus so.think.for/of.IC-he.you.SG So, it is the wish for you of him

56

mái-ko-ten ke-kà-cha mà-men-na-tuk we-yowé, [nài-ko-ten ke-kà-cha-men-wà-na-tuk we-yowé,] nekotenwi kêkyêhchi-menwêneta-ka owîyawi, once very.greatly-think.well.of.it-he.PPL himself who was once as proud of himself

57

keu-ke-nok ai she-me ma-nà-ni ta-men-ke-yowé. [ken he-nok ai-she-me-man-wà-ni-ta-men ke-yowé.] kîna înoki êshi-mêmenwênetam-ani kîyawi. you.SG.EM today as-think.very.well.of.it-you.SG.CC yourself as you are of yourself today. (1833 English: “is the wish of him, who, in his native forests, was once as proud and bold as yourself.”) Line 55: The pronoun wîna in Wîna châh ênenem-ehki ‘so it is the wish for you of him . . .’ emphasizes that the good will is emanating from Black Hawk. I take wîna here to contrast with kîna in line 57. Goddard, on the other hand, suggests reconstructing * man-e (Sauk mani ‘this’) for wene , so that the resultant phrase would read ‘So, this is the wish for you of

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Sauk

537

one . . .’. This is not quite as good a fit for the 1833 spelling but is certainly a feasible alternative. Line 56: The participle and following pronoun, as well as the matching verb in the final phrase of the text, are here as ably reconstructed by Goddard. 58

MA-KA-TAI-ME-SHE-KIA-KIAK. [MA-KA-TAI-ME-SHE-KAI-KAIK.] Mahkatê(w)i-meshikêhkêhkwa. black-hawk.sp. Black Hawk (1833 English: “BLACK HAWK.”)

59

Ma-tàus-we Ki-sis, 1833. [Ma-tàus-we Ki-shis, 1833.] Metâswi Kîsheswa, 1833 ten month 1833 Month 10, 1833 (1833 English: “10th Moon, 1833.”)

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Line 59: The uncompounded appositive construction is similar to the way one month name was recorded for Sauk in the nineteenth century: Chuckee Mucqua Kees-his (for * Kee-shis ) representing Chakimahkwa Kîsheswa “Little Bear moon, Jany” (Forsyth 1974[1822]:215).

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

Contributors TERRY BROCKIE Hays/Lodgepole Schools, Lodgepole, Montana DAVID J. COSTA Language Research Office, Myaamia Center, Miami University of Ohio ANDREW COWELL Department of Linguistics, University of Colorado AMY DAHLSTROM Department of Linguistics, University of Chicago IVES GODDARD Department of Anthropology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution LUCY THOMASON Department of Anthropology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution

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LAURA WELCHER The Long Now Foundation GORDON WHITTAKER Institut für Ethnologie and Seminar für Romanische Philologie, GeorgAugust-Universität, Göttingen

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Index

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Page numbers in italic indicate illustrations affirmative order: in Arapaho, 99, 114; in Gros Ventre, 10–11, 16 Ahenakew, Freda, 118 Algonquian languages, 126, 128, 229, 510; study of, 2–3, 118 Anglican Prayer Book: animate syntactic object in, 229–30; Munsee translation of, 201, 205, 206–7, 213, 214, 217, 231 animacy discord, 319–20 annotation, 2, 59–60, 206; importance of, 59–60 Anthony, Albert, 231, 232 Arapaho language: glottal stops in, 93, 97–98, 99, 103; and Gros Ventre, 9, 10, 12, 13– 14, 15, 17; morphology and phonology of, 93; orthography of, 91n4, 92, 103, 113; transcription of, 90, 103 Arapaho texts, 90–104; “A NameChanging Prayer,” 105–13; “Nih’oo3oo and His Friend the Beaver Catcher,” 113– 17; reservation format of, 90, 102; structure and features of, 4, 100–101, 102 Armstrong, John, 199, 215, 228, 230, 232; “Moshkim” told by, 252–66; “Origin Myth” told by, 200, 266–314 Arthur, Fremont, 90, 91 assimilation, forced, 1–2, 492 Atkinson, Henry, 495n3, 506, 509, 511, 513–14, 515–16, 522– 37

Autobiography of Maka-tai-me-shekia-kiak, or Black Hawk. See Black Hawk’s Life Battle of the Sink Hole, 501 Bellin, Joshua D., 490 Bierhorst, John, 200 Black Elk, 494 Black Hawk: interpretations and appraisals of, 491–92; motivations of, 498–99, 514; rhetorical style of, 502–4, 514n15, 527, 531, 533; Sauk name of, 510–11 Black Hawk and the Warrior’s Path (Nichols), 497 Black Hawk’s Life: accuracy assessment of, 494–95, 515–16; authenticity question about, 497, 500– 504, 510, 515; Black Hawk’s reasons for preparing, 498–99, 514; central theme of, 513; editions of, 490–91, 499– 500, 506–7; layering of, 504, 505; Patterson’s manipulative editing of, 499–500, 506, 511, 513; preparation of manuscript, 504, 505; syllabics of, 511– 12, 523; Whittaker on, 5–6, 490–521; witnesses to preparation of, 497–98, 500–501 Black Hawk’s Life (bilingual), 509– 10, 515–17, 522–37; as “dedication to Atkinson,” 495n3, 500, 502–3, 505–6, 513; English-Sauk

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540 FRQW  comparison, 510–11, 512–

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15; as overlooked text, 494–95, 507, 510 Black Hawk War, 495–96; Battle of the Sink Hole in, 501 Bloch, Bernard, 199 Bloomfield, Leonard, 118, 199 Boas, Franz, 3, 495 Boelhower, William, 492 Book of Common Prayer, 91 Brinton, Daniel G., 201 Brockie, Terry, 4, 9–20, 21–33 Brumble, H. David, III, 493, 494 Bullard, Jack, 315, 329 Bureau of American Ethnology, 1, 34 burnt-moccasins motif, 400, 401n137, 403n147 Calgacus, 505n8 Caradoc Reserve, 201 Cattaraugus Reservation, 199, 224 Chafe, Wallace L., 267 changed conjunct forms, 215–17 Cheyenne Autumn, 510n10 chiasmus, 126–27, 131 Chipps, Capt., 201 Chomsky, Noam, 199 Christian deity, 533–34 Chuck, Charley H., 315, 329 Clark, Lewis, 491n2 clause construction, 119, 120–21, 129 Clements, William, 102 consonants: in Gros Ventre, 10; in Meskwaki, 316; in Munsee Delaware, 201–2, 206 Cooper, James Fenimore, 495n4 “copying to object,” 126 Costa, David J., 1–8, 34–62, 63–89, 529 coup tales, 493 Cowell, Andrew: and Arapaho, 4, 10, 90–104, 105–17; and Gros Ventre, 9–20, 27–33

INDEX

“Crane Boy,” 463–64, 465, 466–68, 470–89 Cree language, 118 “critical editions,” 198 cultural revitalization programs, 2 Cuoq, Jean-André, 210n13 Curtin, Jeremiah, 200; and “Moshkim,” 252–66; new and unusual words in, 225– 27; orthography of text by, 209–11 Dahlstrom, Amy, 4–5, 118–133, 134–97 demonstratives: in Meskwaki, 121, 130, 317, 349, 350, 373, 404, 436, 439; in Munsee Delaware, 214, 301; in Potawatomi, 470n1 dictation, 212, 468; by Armstrong, 199, 200, 209; of Black Hawk’s story, 498–99, 500, 504; as task, 219n20, 456, 459 diminutives, 223, 225, 369, 386 “diplomatic editions,” 198 direct imperatives, 94–95 direction-of-action markers, 11 discontinuous structures, 125, 328 Dunn, Jacob, 47–48; and Finley, 35, 38, 41; and Gatschet, 34, 35, 43–44, 49–57 enclitics: in Meskwaki, 329, 338, 349n3, 404n151; in Munsee Delaware, 213–15 false starts, 320–23, 337–38 fieldwork, 1, 36, 47, 199, 200, 201; reconstructing setting of, 5, 455–59 Finley, George Washington, 35–36, 41, 43, 49; “Wiihsakacaakwa Story” by, 63–89

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INDEX

541

fishers, 351n10, 352, 355, 356 focus, 122–23 formulaic openings and closings, 101 Fort Belknap Reservation, 9 Fox, Absalom, 219 Fox Clan, 315 Fulton, Alexander Robert, 503

text of, 21–33 Gros Ventre texts, 9–20; “The Gros Ventres Go to War,” 21– 33; “The Mouse and the Frog,” 9; “Tangled Hair and Found-in-the-Grass,” 9; “White Man and the Burrs,” 9

Gaines, General, 503 Gatschet, Albert, 3, 34, 63, 92; Dunn text versus, 49–57; and Finley, 35; transcription by, 36–37, 38, 41–45; translation by, 45–47 Geronimo, 494 glottal stops, 11, 469; in Arapaho, 93, 97–98, 99, 103; in Gros Ventre, 17–18 Goddard, Ives, 55n20, 333; and Black Hawk’s Life, 513, 522–37; fieldwork by, 201, 335; and Munsee Delaware texts, 5, 198–240, 241–314 Goggles, John, 97, 113–17 Graham, John A., 499 Gravier, Jacques, 48, 49, 78n28 Gros Ventre language: and Arapaho, 9, 10, 12, 13–14, 15, 17; consonants of, 10; inflections in, 10–11, 16; modern usage and speakers of, 9, 12, 17; narrative style of, 16–17; orthography of, 9–10; previous documentation of, 9–11; pronunciation of, 11, 18; syntax of, 17; transcription of, 12–13; verb stems in, 13–14; vowel phonemes of, 9–10 “The Gros Ventres Go to War”: Brockie and Cowell editing of, 12–16; Kroeber transcription of, 11, 17–18;

Hagan, William T., 491 Halfmoon, Charles, 201, 214, 228 Hall, James, 500–502, 515 Hallwas, John E., 493 The Handbook of North American Indians, 322 Harrington, Mark R., 201 Heckewelder, John G. E., 210 Hewitt, J. N. B., 200, 201; emendation of, 221–22; new and unusual words in text of, 227–33; “Origin Myth” as told to, 266–314; orthography of text by, 209–11 Hillerman, Tony, 510n10 Hinton, Leanne, 102 Hockett, Charles, 3, 453; fieldnotes of, 40, 457, 458; Potawatomi texts told to, 453–89; on task of dictation, 456 Hodge, Frederick W., 529 Huff, John, 227 Humboldt, Wilhelm von, 495 Hymes, Dell, 1, 100, 101, 118 inflection: affirmative-order, 10–11, 16, 99; changed conjunct, 215–17; independent, 461; locative, 98, 99; person and number, 98; transitive inanimate, 213 Introduction to the Study of Indian Languages (Powell), 209

New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

542

Jackson, Andrew, 496, 502 Jackson, Donald, 491, 499, 501, 506–7 Jonah, Book of, 463 Jung, Patrick J., 495–96

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Kaskaskia, 34 Kennedy, J. Gerald, 507 Keokuk, 492, 502, 504 Kilbourn, Elijah, 499 Kiyana, Alfred, 118, 315, 318, 329; illustrations by, 120, 136, 137, 144, 149, 151, 152, 159, 160, 167, 185; “A Man Who Fasted Long Ago,” 134–97; and “RedLeggins,” 336, 341–44; as story-teller, 317, 344–45 Kroeber, A. L.: Arapaho texts collected by, 90, 92–93, 96; Gros Ventre texts collected by, 9, 21, 105; interlinear glosses by, 12, 13, 15; transcriptions by, 11, 17– 18, 92–93 Krupat, Arnold, 493, 495n4, 507 Labov, William, 101 language teaching programs, 2 Last of the Mohicans (Cooper), 495n4 Leaf, Bill, 315; demonstrative system of, 317, 349, 350, 373, 404, 436, 439; editing difficulties with, 317; other authors compared to, 335– 45; “Red-Leggins,” 349– 452; spelling by, 317–18; as storyteller, 315–16; words used by, 316. See also “Red-Leggins” LeClair, Antoine, 496, 497–98, 501, 504, 512; syllabics of, 511– 12, 523 LeSourd, Philip, 230n31

INDEX

lexical families, 127–28 Life of Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak or Black Hawk. See Black Hawk’s Life Lincoln, Abraham, 496n5 long distance agreement, 126 Luke, Book of, 92 manitous, 338, 366–68, 371, 383, 386–87, 408, 413, 424–26, 428–31, 433 “A Man Who Fasted Long Ago,” 119–20, 134–97; illustrations in, 120, 136, 137, 144, 149, 151, 152, 159, 160, 167, 185 matrix verbs, 124, 126 McClellan, Wallace, 511 Meskwaki language: chiasmus in, 126–27; “copying to object” matrix verbs in, 126; discontinuous structures in, 125, 328; enclitics in, 329, 338, 349n3, 404n151; false starts and narrative sequence in, 320–23; focus in, 122–23; lexical families in, 127; literacy in, 315; and Meskwaki history and customs, 322–23, 414n190, 418n199; noun phrases in, 120, 318, 328–29, 334, 340, 394, 407; number and animate discord in, 318–20; obliques in, 123–24; obviation in, 128–29, 130, 131; overt topics in, 121– 22; postverbal constituents in, 124–25; pronoun and narrative tracking in, 333– 35; punctuation in, 119, 316–17, 346, 383n90; quotative =ipi in, 130, 329– 33; reduplication in, 127–

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INDEX

28, 326, 351, 407; repetition in, 127–28, 131, 324–29; rhetorical and narrative structure of, 126; spelling of, 5, 317–18, 335n16; syllabary of, 118, 119, 316; syntax in, 120– 21, 398n127; textual constituents and narrative voice in, 129–30; verb stems in, 127, 335, 424n218; vowels in, 316 Meskwaki texts, 4–5, 118–33, 315– 48; “A Man Who Fasted Long Ago,” 134–97; modern editions of, 510; “Red-Leggins,” 349–452 Methodist hymnbook, Munsee translation, 201, 205, 206– 7, 213, 225, 227, 231, 233 Miami-Illinois. See Peoria (MiamiIllinois) language; Peoria (Miami-Illinois) texts Michelson, Truman, 3; and Arapaho texts, 90, 92, 97, 98–100, 102, 113; and Meskwaki texts, 4, 315; Munsee fieldwork by, 201; and Peoria texts, 34, 35, 36, 40, 49, 83n34; quality of work by, 97, 98–100, 102 Minisink band, 200 Missionary Hymn, 201 Montour, Nelles, 199, 200, 218; emendation of text by, 220– 21; orthography by, 205–9; word use by, 222–25; “A Youth and His Uncle,” 241–52 Moraviantown Reserve, 201; dialect of Munsee spoken at, 202, 204–5, 212, 213, 214–17, 218, 222–33 morphology: of Arapaho, 10, 13–14, 91, 93; of Gros Ventre, 10,

543

12, 13–14; of Meskwaki, 120, 123, 346, 424n217; of Peoria, 47, 53–55; of Potawatomi, 464–65; of Sauk, 512 morphosyntax, 10, 16, 460 Moses, Nelson, 219 “Moshkim,” 199–200, 252–66 Moss, Alonzo, Sr., 10, 91n4 Munceytown, 201, 224, 227 Munsee Delaware language: absence of obviative suffix in, 218– 19; changed conjunct inflection in, 215–17; consonants in, 201–2, 206; dialect diversity and variation in, 201; documentation of, 200– 201; enclitics in, 213–15; orthography of, 205–11; phonemes of, 201–3; pronominal plural suffixes in, 212–13; pronunciation of, 201, 202, 203–4, 207–8, 209–10, 222, 231; reduplication in, 224, 226, 228, 230; regularized TI(2) inflections in, 213; speakers of, 200–201; use of subordinative mode in, 217; vowels in, 202, 206; worldfinal variation in, 203–5 Munsee Delaware texts, 198–231; emendation of, 220–22; grammatical features of, 211–19; “Moshkim,” 252– 66; new and unusual words in, 222–33; “Origin Myth,” 266–314; recovery of features of, 5; “A Youth and His Uncle,” 241–52 “A Name-Changing Prayer,” 94–97, 101, 105–13 narrative structure and style: in

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544 FRQW  Arapaho, 4, 100, 101;

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dictation’s effect on, 456; in Gros Ventre, 16–17; in Meskwaki, 126, 129–30, 320–23, 333–35; in Potawatomi, 470n1 Newquist, David L., 493 Nichols, Roger L., 491, 493, 495n3, 497, 506–7 “Nih’oo3oo and His Friend the Beaver Catcher,” 97–99, 100, 101, 113–17 noun phrases, 120, 318, 328–29, 334, 340, 394, 407 number discord, 318–19 obliques: and chiasmus, 126–27; position of in Meskwaki, 123–24 obviation, 455, 456; in Meskwaki, 128–29, 130, 131 obviative: Arapaho inflections, 98; Munsee suffixes, 218–19; and proximate, 55, 98, 128– 29 Old Mines dialect, 512 O’Meara, John, 201, 229 “Origin Myth,” 199–200, 266–314 orthography, 198; of Arapaho, 91n4, 92, 103, 113; of Gros Ventre, 9–10; of Meskwaki, 5, 317–18; of Munsee Delaware, 205–11; of Potawatomi, 460n3 overlay, 333 paragraphing: in Meskwaki, 118, 316–17, 346; in Munsee Delaware, 241, 253, 267 parallelism, 94, 95, 510, 514n15 participles of time, 217 particle finals, 203–4 particle phrases, 325–26 Patterson, John B., 490, 492, 504; editorial work by, 505;

INDEX

manipulative editing by, 499–500, 506, 511, 513; as witness to Black Hawk project, 498–99 Peoria (Miami-Illinois) language: metrical rules of, 41; phonemicization in, 36–40; speakers of, 34, 35; syntax of, 57–59; vowel alternation rules of, 42–43 Peoria (Miami-Illinois) texts, 4, 34– 62; challenges of working with, 34–35; format used for presenting, 36; Gatschet’s versus Dunn’s, 49–57; original translations of, 45–49; transcriptional problems in, 40–45; unusual lexical items in, 47–49; “Wiihsakacaakwa Story,” 63–89 performative structure, 97, 100, 101, 102 perspective shifts, 456 Peters, Jim, 315, 329, 421n211 Peters, Nicodemus, 219, 230, 231 Peters, Sam, 315, 323, 329 Pheasant, Anderson, 212, 215–16, 223, 231–33, 241, 266 phonemes: in Gros Ventre, 9–10; in Munsee Delaware, 201–3, 210–11; in Peoria, 36–40 Piankashaw, 34, 35 Pickering, John, 495 pitch accent, 93n7; in Gros Ventre, 18 Plenty-coups, 494 plural suffixes, 212–13 polysynthetic structure, 4, 93 postverbal constituents, 124–25 Potawatomi language: number of speakers, 453, 454; yadsokanen (folktale) genre of, 459–61 Potawatomi texts, 453–69;

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INDEX

challenges in presenting and editing, 453–54; “Clever Rabbit Outwits Himself,” 464–65; “Crafty Raccoon and Gluttonous Wolf,” 465–66; “Crane Boy,” 463–64, 465, 466– 68, 470–89; determining representativeness of, 459– 61; filling in contextual gaps of, 461–68; “The French Story,” 461–62; reconstructing fieldwork setting about, 455–59; reconstructing provenance information about, 454–55; “Tale of a Whale,” 462–63 Powell, John Wesley, 209 Pratt, Scott L., 515 Prince, J. Dyneley, 200, 241 pronoun tracking, 333–35 pronunciation: in Gros Ventre, 11, 18; in Meskwaki, 335n16; in Miami-Illinois, 38; in Munsee Delaware, 201, 202, 203–4, 207–8, 209–10, 222, 231; in Sauk, 523, 532 proximate-obviative relationship, 55, 98, 128–29 proximate shifts, 334, 335, 409, 416, 426, 431, 448 punctuation: in Meskwaki texts, 119, 316–17, 346, 383n90; in Miami-Illinois text, 36, 45; in Sauk text, 522 Quaife, Milo M., 506–7 quotative =ipi, 130, 329–33 “Red-Leggins” (Leaf): false starts and narrative sequence in, 320–29; grammar of, 318– 20; Kiyana telling of, 336, 341–44; pronoun and narrative tracking in, 333–

545

35; Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha telling of, 336, 339–41, 421n211; text of, 349–452; use of quotative =ipi in, 329–33. See also Leaf, Bill Red Men of Iowa (Fulton), 503 reduplication: in Meskwaki, 127–28, 326, 351, 407; in Munsee Delaware, 224, 226, 228, 230 relocation, 34 repetition: as Black Hawk rhetorical device, 514n15, 527, 531, 533; in Meskwaki, 127–28, 131, 324–29; in Munsee Delaware, 224 representativeness, 5, 459–61 rhetorical structure. See narrative structure and style Riley, Mary, 226 Roberts, John, 90, 91 Rowlodge, Jesse, 92 Sa·kihtanohkwe·ha, 315, 318, 329, 336, 339–41, 344–45, 421n211 Salzmann, ZdenČk, 90 Sapir, Edward, 201, 495 Sauk, 490–521; Black Hawk bilingual text, 509–10, 515–17, 522–37; Old Mines dialect of, 512 Saukenuk, 492, 495 scalping, 491n2 Scheckel, Susan, 492 Schmitz, Neil, 491–92, 505 Seneca, 200, 222, 228, 230, 232, 267 Siebert, Frank T., Jr., 201, 219 Sifton, John, 10, 12, 14, 90–91 Six Nations Reserve, 201, 224 Smart, Josiah, 503 Spear, Jim and Alice, 456, 468, 453; “Crane Boy” told by, 470– 89; notebooks of, 454–55, 457–58, 460

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546

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Speck, Frank G., 201, 219, 230 St. Michael’s Episcopal Mission, 90 Street, General, 503 stress, 11, 513; in Munsee Delaware, 203; in Sauk, 531 structuralism, 199 St. Stephen’s Catholic Mission, 90 St. Vrain, Charles, 496 subjunctive, 205, 211, 215–16, 217, 233 subordinative mode, 217 Sweet, Timothy, 492, 505–6 syllabary: of Black Hawk’s Life, 504, 511–12, 523; of Meskwaki, 118, 119, 316 Tacitus, 505n8 Taylor, Allan, 9–10, 12, 13 temporal clauses, 17, 215–16 temporal sequencing, 101 Tesson, Joe, 323 textual criticism, as term and concept, 198–99 Thomason, Lucy, 4–5, 217, 315–452 Timothy, Ida, 231 tobacco, 385n95 topic shifts, 121–22 transcription: of Arapaho, 90, 103; of Black Hawk, 506, 511– 12, 517; of Gros Ventre, 12–13; by Kroeber, 11, 17– 18, 92–93, 97; of MiamiIllinois, 40–45; by Michelson, 98, 99; of Munsee Delaware, 234; of Potawatomi, 460n3, 469; of Pretoria, 60 Trask, Kerry A., 491 Treaty of 1804, 495 Trowbridge, Charles C., 201

INDEX

Meskwaki, 127, 335, 424n218; in Munsee Delaware, 211, 229 Voegelin, C. F., 201 vowel alternation, 42 vowel deletion, 35–40 Wadsworth, Sarah, 49 Walker, Cheryl, 493 Walker, Theresa Lame Bull, 12 Wallace, Mark, 490, 502 Warden, Cleaver, 105 Wea tribe and dialect, 34, 52 Welcher, Laura, 5, 453–89 White Clay. See Gros Ventre language; Gros Ventre texts Whitehawk, Michael, 90, 92 Whittaker, Gordon, 5–6, 490–537 Wiihsakacaakwa Story, 35, 63–89; Gatschet vs. Dunn versions of, 49–57; original translations of, 45–47; syntactic problems with, 57–59; transcriptional problems with, 40–45 Willson, Marcius, 503 Wilson, Edward F., 201 Wolfart, H. C., 118 word-finals: in Arapaho, 99; in Gros Ventre, 10, 11; in Munsee Delaware, 203–5, 207, 210, 212, 214, 218; in Peoria, 36–37, 38 “A Youth and His Uncle,” 199–200, 241–52 Zeisberger, David, 228

Vallier, Elizabeth, 48, 49 verb phrases, 98, 319 verb stems: in Arapaho, 102; in Gros Ventre, 13–14; in

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New Voices for Old Words: Algonquian Oral Literatures Edited by David J. Costa

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New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest

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New Voices for Old Words : Algonquian Oral Literatures, edited by David J. Costa, University of Nebraska Press, 2015. ProQuest