The Birth of Maine
We have all heard old things referred to
as "old as the hills." If it were said "old as the hills of
Maine," it would signify that the thing was very old indeed!
Much of what is now our State became
solid rock and cliff and mountain in the Cambrian and Lower
Silurian periods. When we look at its gray old ledges of slate
and shale and the volcanic rocks which were pushed up through
this first layer from the heated masses beneath, we are
impressed most of all with the great age of these rocks.
Much of the soil, loose boulders and
pebbles, was brought here later by the great sheet of ice which
moved over this part of our continent forming the newer soil of
our State. Then, little by little, living things appeared, which
have left their fossil or petrified forms in some of the rocks.
To the eyes of scientists, these fossils
tell the history of millions of years, and from them and the
rocks, in which they are found, is read a wonderful story.
Slowly life increased and developed,
until the sea had its multitudes of plant and animal forms, and
on the land first simple little plants grew; then higher and
more varied forms. Animal life gradually appeared on the land,
developed and increased, until myriads of live things had home
here.
For many years there were no human
inhabitants. The birds sang as sweetly as now, while the animals
of field and forest loved and enjoyed this land, smiling in the
sunshine and greenness of summer, or glittering with the frosts
and snows of winter.
As History is the story of mankind upon
the earth, it cannot begin until man has appeared. We do not
know when or how the first people came, but after long ages
there were fierce warring tribes in various parts of the
continent and they began to visit our beautiful streams and
rugged shores.
Deposits of shells of this prehistoric
age, on the beaches, with spots of charcoal here and there, show
that fire was known and used by these savages who roasted and
ate the shell-fish. Among the shell heaps are found rude weapons
of stone and human bones, charred and cracked for the marrow,
showing that these people were cannibals, eating their enemies
or prisoners of war, like the fiercest African savages or some
of the South Sea Islanders.
Above this deepest layer of shells is a
layer of mold, showing that these fierce cannibal tribes had
wandered away, perhaps had come only in great war parties for a
season and without bringing their families or making homes here.
The layer of earth shows that many years had elapsed before
other tribes came, finding these same favored spots, the most
remarkable being on some beaches between the lower Kennebec and
the Penobscot Rivers. These newer people began also to live upon
the shell fish and game of the region, making other shell heaps,
among which are found weapons and ornaments of better and more
skillful designs. The charcoal and bones of later fires are
found there, but no charred human bones, cracked by cannibals in
their horrid feasts. These people no longer ate human flesh and
were no longer mere untaught savages.
The Indians found by the whites dwelling
within the confines of Maine, the Norridgewocks (or Abnakis),
Penobscots (or Tarratines), Passamaquoddy and Malecite tribes,
all have traditions of a great hero who taught them much, gave
them abundant food, cleared their streams and paths for them and
was good even to all the animals of the forest, to the birds and
the fishes.
He is known as "Clote Scarp" among the
Male-cites, as "Klas Kom Beth,'' among the Penobscots and an old
Penobscot Indian gave me yet another name and version told him
by a descendant of the Norridgewocks, the tribe whose remnants
fled, some to Canada and some to the Penobscot tribe, when the
English attacked and destroyed Norridgewock in 1724.
This old Penobscot told me of "Waban"
(The Morning) of the Norridgewocks and of his deeds of might and
magic very like those of Clote Scarp but he also told that Waban
was the first child born on the Maine shores after the Abnakis
(or Wabanakis, meaning people of the east or the dawn) migrated
from central Canada, the original home of all the great Algonkin
family.
One day in spring a fleet of canoes had
come filled with Indians whose descendants are still left here
and there over our State. There were many men, some old and
crafty, some young and ardent. And they brought with them their
families and goods and the skins which should cover their summer
tents on the seashore, while their winter lodges were to be
built up the rivers in the denser sheltering forests. The braves
dressed their canoes for fish-ing and sailing, or fitted bows
and arrows for hunting, while the squaws set up the tents and
arranged their fires and hung up their pots and kettles, smiling
their stolid smiles in their joy at finding this new homeland.
And one morning of the spring a young
Indian mother brought her little son from her wigwam to see for
the first time the sunlight and the beautiful world. He was the
son of a great chief, fierce and brave, and his baby fists were
clenched as if he already felt fierce and brave himself, ready
to kill all his foes and even to eat their hearts as his
ancestors had often done in their wrath. But when he looked at
the trees bending above him, at the fleecy white clouds which
tempted him to grasp at them, and at his mother's face, proud
and loving near him, he reached only the nearest with his chubby
hand and patted it softly and crowed like any little baby of the
twentieth century.
His mother's heart must have rejoiced at
the caress, even though she hoped he would grow fierce and
blood-thirsty and kill his enemies or any who opposed him. As
the child grew, he was fierce and brave; but he was different
from all others. Whereas his play-mates wrung the necks of the
baby gulls which never learned to run away, he stroked their
downy bodies and set them free. Whereas others broke the
sparrow's eggs, or crushed the field mouse children, he spared
them, and he talked with all the wild things of the woods, to
each in its own language.
When, in the hunt, he had killed his
prey, joy of the chase seemed his, but there was neither hate
nor violence in his grasp of the dead deer or waterfowl. And
when as a brave he grew mightier than all others and became the
greatest chieftain of them all, he taught some 'measure of mercy
to the vanquished and forbade others to hate or devour the
helpless dead.
So great was his power and magic that he
did not die like all other old chiefs but walked away through
the forests to the Great Spirit, still stalwart and strong after
many, many moons of life among his people, leaving as his
descendants all the tribe of Maine, strong braves and dutiful
squaws, keeping always in memory their great ancestor - Waban,
The Morning, the first of their race born on these shores.
He still clears the streams and forest
paths for his people till the end of time and helps the wild
things of the woods. He taught the young part-ridges to crouch
perfectly motionless, looking like leaves among the leaves at
the approach of an enemy, and when the lynx complained that all
the other animals were better off than he because his eyes could
not see prey unless it was moving. Waban gave him, not new eyes,
but such a soft, shadowy gray coat that the other animals could
not distinguish him from the shadows of the forests. "Waban"
seems ''Clote Scarp," ''Klas Kom Beth" and "Hiawatha" in one.
And this Abnaki legend tells the birth
of Maine with the coming of its first home-makers and its first
hero who was a great warrior, but also a teacher of mercy and
the ancestor of the great Bashaba of the Penobscots, of Samoset
of Pemaquid and of Squanto, who prayed he might go to the "white
man's heaven." Maine, as the home of mankind, had begun her long
history; her first story that of the Red Man or Indian.
Mary Dunbar Devereux
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