Dawnland Voices: An Anthology of Indigenous Writing from New England

Henry Lorne Masta

288 Henry Lorne Masta (1853–?) Like Joseph Laurent and their relative Peter Paul Wzokhilain before him, Henry Lorne Masta transcribed and translated Abenaki oral traditions into written form. His Abenaki Indian Legends, Grammar and Place-Names was first published in 1932, but Abenaki people have continued to circulate and use the book for language revitalization, among other purposes—a fact driven home by Joseph and Jesse Bruchac’s recent reissue of this primer through Bowman Books.³ Masta’s book is also much more than a “primer”: as the passages below illustrate, it contains lively dialogues that reveal a good deal about Abenaki relationships to place, cultural beliefs, travel, and humor. Natanis and Sabadis nat: My friend Sabadis can you tell me which is the river called Connecticut and its course? sab: Is it possible that you do not know Kwenitekw and its course! nat: It is true, it is because I have never lived around here very much. sab: Where then do you keep yourself? nat: I live mostly in Australia; now tell me if you please what I have asked you. sab: Yes, and very willingly too. You know that in our language a word beginning with the prefix Kwena, Kweni, Kweno or Kwen8 it means long and the suffix tells what is long.⁴ The suffix “tekw” means river. Kwenitekw means long river. Kwena plus Kwam means long stick. Kwene plus gisgad means long day. Kweni plus tbakad means long night. But the English instead of saying Kweni-tekw-ok say Connecticut. However, the Indian is more to blame for this than anyone else, because he speaks too low and does not open his mouth wide enough so as to articulate his words properly. Henry Lorne Masta 289 nat: Well is Kwenitekw really a long river? sab: Assuredly. It would not be so called if it were not so. nat: Where, then, is its source, course and mouth? sab: Its source is in New Hampshire; its course between New Hampshire and Vermont and across Massachusetts and Connecticut and empties into Long Island Sound. It is about 400 miles long. Wijokamit and Ma8wat wij: Hallo! Hallo! Cousin Ma8wat how glad I am to see you. You have been away quite a while. ma8: Yes, it is seven years since I left this place and I thought, old as I am, it would be better for me to return to St. Francis [Quebec], that is where I belong anyway. wij: Cousin what you say is right. How old are you? ma8: I am past seventy-five years of age. wij: Cousin, then I am older than you. I am seventy-nine years old. Cousin I would like to ask you something. ma8: Say what you want, I am not busy now. wij: Well, then I must first tell you my story though it is a little bit long. When I was about ten years of age, I went with Lol8 Ta8mont muskrat hunting and every day after supper he would tell me things of old. He was then eight-one years old so the things referred to must have taken place two hundred years ago. Our forefathers lived and died at this place where we are living, now called Odanak. They owned a few houses and many birch-bark wigwams. Once upon a time, while they were dancing and drinking “bitter-water” rum, a white man of great nobility came in there and for some time only observed the place and people, but at last asked permission to dance with them. He was so polite that they could not refuse to allow him to dance with them, but they soon remarked that he paid special attention to the women; when he spoke to the men it was only to encourage them in their frolic and drinking. For instance as soon as they were short of liquor he furnished the money for some more from St. Francois, across the river, but he did not drink much of it himself, and when that was all gone too, he 290 abenaki told the man to go for some more liquor, and Joseph who used to get it said, “We have no money,” and the gentleman said to him, “Make haste and get some more whiskey, you have some money in your pocket.” And Joseph did truly find some in his pocket, and after that he got some more and more all night...