How the Fog Came

   How the Fog Came

By A. Hyatt Verrill

Author of "Harpers Aircraft Book," "Harpers Wireless Book," etc.

From Everyland magazine, Legends of the Northland, March 1915. Digitized by Doug Frizzle, June 2012.

It was dreary winter time in the Arctic, and the icy gales whistled around the little group of igloos (snow houses), drifting the fine snow about them until nothing but their low, rounded tops showed above the dazzling white surfaces which stretched away for countless miles to the frozen shores of the Arctic Ocean.

Just within the tunnel-like entrances to the huts the dogs huddled together, now and then howling dismally at the storm without or snapping at one another in a wolfish, savage manner. Within the little dwellings built of blocks of frozen snow, it was warm and comfortable, with no sound or sign of the blizzard raging outside. Near the center of each house stood a rude stone lamp filled with whale-oil, and with a row of moss about its edge. This moss served as the wick, and from this primitive stove the occupants of the house received their warmth and light.

 All around the inside of the igloo was a bench of ice, covered with the skins and furs of foxes, bears, seals, and wolves. On this bench sat the women; among them old Nepaluka, her wrinkled face bent close to the deerskin shirt which she was patiently stitching with a sharp bone needle and sinew threads. Near her was Newilic, her son, busily at work upon a walrus tusk, which under his deft fingers was being transformed into a long snow-knife. Between these two sat Kemiplu, Newilic's motherless daughter, a chubby brown-eyed lass of five years, playing with a horn dipper and a handful of bright pebbles.

Finally the grandmother finished the last seam, and, placing the completed shirt aside, sank back among the furs. The little granddaughter had tired of her simple toys, and cuddling up to the old woman, begged for a story. The grandmother smiled and gathering the little bundle of fur-wrapped humanity in her arms said:

"And of what shall I tell you, little daughter? Shall it be of Ukla the great bear who made the fog; of Nowgaluk the gull who ate the whales; or why the crow is black and the loon speckled?"

"O tell me of Ukla, Ananating!" (Grandmother), cried the child delightedly, and her busy father looked up from his work and listened attentively, for the simple Eskimos love their quaint old legends and never tire of hearing them repeated.

"Many, many winters ago," began the old woman, "there was a great white bear named Ukla. He and his wife lived many days' travel to the west in a great skin house upon a rocky plain, and all about the house were the skulls of men and women; for wicked old Ukla loved human flesh, and every night he traveled far across the land to the homes of our people. He would kill those whom he could find outside their huts, or would steal the bodies of the dead, and, fastening a rope of skin about their feet, would drag them across the rocks and hills to his home.

"Sometimes he was seen by the Eskimos, but oftener they saw only his giant footprints in the moss and snow, or found the graves deserted and empty. For many years this had gone on, and, although the people held medicine feasts and asked the Great Spirit to help them, yet he seemed displeased and answered not their prayers.

"Many times also the people lay in wait and tried to kill the robber bear with their spears and arrows, but Ukla was a great anti-coot (magician), and the bone-tipped weapons fell back bent or broken from his shaggy sides. At last the Eskimos were in despair, when one day a tall fair stranger came among them and said.

" 'Take heart, for I will rid you of this Ukla.'

"Then the Eskimos danced and beat their drums and rejoiced, and the stranger said to them:

" 'Tomorrow I will pretend to die and you must wrap me in skins and bury me among the stones, and when Ukla comes let him depart in peace with me.' Then the people grew very sad and sorrowful, but he answered them saying, 'Weep not, for soon I will return, and never after shall Ukla rob the graves of the Eskimos.'

"Then the people did as the stranger told them, and, wrapping the stranger in skins, placed him among the stones and departed to their homes crying aloud as if in sorrow. In the evening the great bear, having heard their cries, came across the hills to the village and, finding the body of the stranger, he fastened his rope about the man's heels and started homeward. But the man spread out his arms and grasped at stones, and although Ukla pulled and tugged he could travel but slowly, and every few miles he was compelled to stop and rest from his labors. Then as he looked at his burden he would shake his head in wonder.

" Ah,' he would say to himself, 'who would think such a small man would weigh so much; but he must be fat and fine indeed! What a grand supper he will make!' And thus encouraged by the thoughts of the fine feast he would have, he would again start onward. At last he reached his home and dragging the man within the door threw him into a corner, and tired out with his hard work crawled into his sleeping-bag, telling his wife they would feast in the morning.

"After a time the stranger opened his eyes to look about, but Ukla's wife, who was trimming the lamp, saw him and cried out to her husband:

" 'This man is not dead—he is looking about.'

"But Ukla was very tired and answered sleepily,

" 'Oh, man dead, man frozen stiff.'

"Then the man kept very quiet indeed, and when the bear's wife turned away he caught up Ukla's knife and leaping forward killed her. As she fell the bear awoke, and the man, throwing down the knife, dashed through the door and across the rocky plain while the bear followed close at his heels, panting and growling terribly as he ran.

"At last, run as fast as he might, the man found the bear was constantly gaining and would soon overtake him. Now this stranger was a mighty magician, and as he ran he caused a great hill to rise between himself and Ukla, and as the bear climbed slowly up one side the man ran swiftly and easily down the other; but when Ukla reached the top he curled up and rolled swiftly down the side of the hill and nearly caught the man again.

"Then the stranger caused a mighty river to flow between himself and his pursuer and sat down upon a stone to rest. When Ukla reached the farther side he roared and growled with rage, and in a great voice called out,

" 'How, O man, did you cross the river?'

"And the man laughed and answered, 'I drank my way across.'

"When Ukla heard this he plunged into the stream and drank and drank until at last he made a dry path across the torrent and crawled slowly up the other bank. But his long hair was wet and heavy, and his body was greatly swollen with all the water he had swallowed, so that the man feared him not, and taunted him. Then the bear grew very angry, and with growls like icebergs clashing in a storm he cried out, 'Ugh, even though I am so sodden that I cannot overtake you, yet you shall not escape me,' and giving himself a mighty shake he burst, and the water which he had swallowed flew in all directions and caused a thick fog over all the land.

"Now the man was greatly troubled, for all the hills and plains were hidden from his eyes and he knew not which way to turn. But having skinned the bear he grasped the shaggy hide in his hands and waved it many times about his head, thus making a great wind which drove away the mist. When he reached the village of the Eskimos great was the rejoicing and the men did not work and the women did not comb their hair for three days and three nights, but danced and beat drums and feasted. For many years the stranger dwelt among the Eskimos and taught them many things, and performed many great and brave deeds, but of these I will tell you some other day, for now it is time to sleep, little daughter."

As the old woman ended her tale the little brown eyes were closing, and the grandmother laid the child tenderly among the soft rich furs to dream of the good brave stranger and mighty Ukla the "Fog Father."

How the Animals Were Made

 The original article had a lot of small drawings of animals, perhaps drawn by Beche, the Carib boy, a PDF copy of the article is here.

How the Animals Were Made

By A. Hyatt Verrill

From Everyland magazine, Sept. 1918; researched by Alan Schenker; digitized by Doug Frizzle Mar. 2012.

The following story is one that Carib mothers tell to their boys and girls. The Caribs are Indians who formerly lived in Central America and the West Indies. When the white men came to their country, they killed or captured most of the Caribs, and now a handful of people is all that remains of the ancient race.

WHEN Tuminkar, the creator, had made the earth and waters, the rivers and the land, all the forests and the mountains, the plants, the fruits, and the flowers, he tossed the remaining bits of leaves and blossoms and twigs into the air. As he did so, he gave life to them, and they became insects. The flowers became butterflies; the leaves became grasshoppers and similar things; the twigs and bits of earth became beetles, bugs, scorpions, and other crawling things; while the grains of sand became the ants.

Then, taking a bit of clay, Tuminkar modeled it with a head and body and eyes, but he could not make good legs; so, tossing it into the river, he said, "You are too ugly to be seen; go live out of sight in the mud." Thus the manatee was made.

Again Tuminkar tried to make a creature, but still he was not successful. Each piece of clay that he formed was cast into the river and became a fish.

At last, Tuminkar made the snakes and serpents, and by adding legs, he made the frogs and toads. But they were still ugly things, until Tuminkar tried adding a tail and thus made the lizard. He was pleased at the result and made them larger and larger, first the solenodon, then the iguana, and finally the alligator. Then he said to himself, "There must be some one to rule all these creatures. Why should I not make something in my own form which they will know as the ruler of them all?" And so it came about that Tuminkar made men and women and gave them greater knowledge than all other creatures; but at first they were friendly with all things and ate only the fruits and seeds and roots which Tuminkar had provided.

Having made man and woman, Tuminkar decided to make other creatures to live upon the earth with them, for the man and woman found the toads, the frogs, the lizards, and the serpents, dull and ugly creatures, while the insects flew away or stung them and the fishes could not leave the waters to be with them.

As Tuminkar fashioned the new creatures, he gave them voices and calls and asked each where he preferred to dwell and what he would choose to eat. Then, according to their choice, he gave them teeth, claws, and colors.

The first creature he made was the monkey, for Tuminkar had just finished the man and his fingers unconsciously moulded the clay into a shape like the man. Then, in order that the monkey might be easily distinguished from man, he gave him a tail and a coat of hair.

The monkey was so proud of being like man that he strutted about on the ground and could not make up his mind where to live or what to eat; therefore, while he waited for the answer, Tuminkar went ahead with the next beast, the jaguar.

When the jaguar was asked where he would dwell and what he would eat, he glanced about, and seeing the monkey, exclaimed, "I will live on the ground and eat other creatures." With that, he sprang at the monkey. But the jaguar had not yet been given claws and teeth; so the monkey slipped from him and leaped into the nearest tree, screaming, "I will live in the trees and eat fruit.” Here, feeling safe, he chattered at the jaguar and threw fruit at him, and these, striking the jaguar's yellow coat, left black marks, which you may still see. To this day the monkeys chatter when they see the jaguar, and the jaguars love monkey meat better than any other food.

Next Tuminkar made the deer, while the jaguar and the monkey watched. When the deer was finished, he looked at the trees and seeing the monkey so like a man he feared to live there. Then, glancing upon the ground, he saw the jaguar with his cruel teeth and claws. But the deer was fleet of foot and felt sure that he could outrun the jaguar and would be safer on the ground than in the trees; so he said in a very low voice, "I will live on the ground and eat grass." Then Tuminkar gave him his teeth and his hoofs and turned him loose. Instantly the jaguar sprang at him; but the deer was almost out of reach and the jaguar's teeth closed upon the deer's tail, biting a bit of it off and leaving two white edges where the sharp fangs scraped along.

Next Tuminkar made the wild hogs, or peccaries. The hog, when asked where he would like to live, replied, "Make more of us, that we may consult together where best to live and feed." So Tuminkar made more hogs, and consulting together, they decided they would live in the forest and eat roots. As there were many of them, the jaguar feared to attack them, and grunting they ran unmolested into the forest. Ever since that time wild hogs always have lived together in herds.

Then Tuminkar made the labba, or paca. The labba chose to live on the ground, for his short legs and heavy body would not do for climbing trees. As he waddled off, the jaguar sprang upon him, but the labba rolled into the river and the jaguar let go of his hold, and you may still see the white marks of his claws upon the labba's sides and back.

Tuminkar next made the kinkajou. As he formed him, the monkey cried out that all the beasts were choosing the ground and he would be left alone in the trees; so because Tuminkar's ears were filled with the monkey's words, he absent-mindedly formed the kinkajou partly like a monkey. As soon as the kinkajou was finished, and before Tuminkar could ask him where he would live, the monkey screamed, "Say you will live in the trees and eat fruit." Then, being a very greedy creature and fearing there might not be enough for two, he added "and insects and honey." The kinkajou still lives with the monkeys in the trees and eats fruits and insects and honey.

When Tuminkar began to make the agouti, he was interrupted by the monkey, who wanted another companion. Tuminkar became angry this time, and raising his hand, he threw a bit of clay at the monkey. Now this happened to be the clay for the agouti's tail and so the agouti has always had to do without a tail.

After the agouti, Tuminkar made the tapir, and as the monkey looked on from the trees and saw the great beast taking form, he said to himself, 'Suppose that fellow should decide to live in the trees. He is so big and heavy, he will break the branches, and to fill his big stomach would take all the fruit. Of course, he should live on the ground; but if he sees that hungry jaguar, he never will."

But the monkey was afraid to call down to the tapir, as he had done to the kinkajou, for fear Tuminkar would throw clay at him, and, thought he, "Suppose it should strike me; it would be a great nuisance to have a tail or a leg sticking out of my head or my back."

So seeing Tuminkar was busy, the monkey climbed down from the tree, and getting out of sight behind the tapir's back, he whispered in his ear, "Don't say anything." When Tuminkar asked the tapir his choice, the creature was silent for, thought he, "This fellow whispering in my ear is so like a man he must know more than I." Again Tuminkar asked the question, but once more the monkey whispered, "Don't answer," and again the tapir was silent.

Then Tuminkar became vexed and cried out, "You are a stupid beast. Go live where you please and eat what you can get. Be off with you!" So saying, he grasped a stick and struck the tapir across the rump. The stick, hitting the tapir's new-made tail, broke it off; so today the tapir lives on the ground and is silent, while he eats leaves from the trees as well as grass and weeds, and has but a stump of a tail.

Tuminkar saw the monkey scrambling away and guessed he had been up to mischief. Becoming disgusted with the choices of the creatures, he exclaimed, "None of you know what is best for yourselves; so hereafter I'll leave you no choice, but settle the matter myself." "And as for you," he continued, addressing the monkey, "you're a meddler and a mischievous fellow; but I'll soon settle that."

So he made the ocelot, and giving him sharp teeth and claws, he said to him, "Go after that rascally monkey. If you cannot catch him for your food hunt on the ground." The ocelot sprang after the monkey, but the latter had been listening and leaped off and the ocelot's fresh coat was rubbed and blurred and streaked in spots, as he knocked against the branches while chasing the monkey. So, even to-day the ocelot is the monkey's enemy, but when he cannot catch him, he feeds on other creatures on the ground.

So Tuminkar continued to make the animals. He made the coati and the raccoon, the opossum, and the hacka, the fox and the rat, the otter and the squirrel, and many other creatures. At last nearly all the claws were used, and when he came to the sloths, he could spare but three claws for one and two for the other for fear none would be left for the other animals. Then he found he had used the last of the teeth; so, when he made the anteater, he was obliged to let them go without teeth. But he placed so much hair on the ant-bear that none was left, and as he had no teeth and only a few claws, he made the birds, giving them feathers instead of fur and hair, and beaks in place of teeth, and two legs in order to save claws.

Finally only a lump of dirty clay and a few claws were left. Tuminkar formed these into the armadillo; but it was such a naked, helpless thing that he took pity upon it. Rising, he took the basket which had contained the clay, and clapping it over the armadillo, he exclaimed, "You have no teeth with which to bite and no hair to protect you; so live in holes in the earth and hide yourself beneath the basket when you come forth."

To this day, the armadillo lives in a burrow and never is seen without the basket-like covering on his back.