The Dog-Rib legend of Ithenhiela, as recounted by James Mackintosh Bell in 1903, tells of Naba-Cha, an enormous and cruel man from Canada’s Northwest. He mistreats Ithenhiela, a young Wood-Cree boy known as the Caribou-Footed. The tale explores themes of power, cruelty, and the natural world’s mysteries, offering insight into the Dog-Rib people’s rich oral traditions.
Source:
The Fireside Stories of the Chippwyans
by James Mackintosh Bell
The American Folklore Society
Journal of American Folklore
Vol.16, No.61, pp. 73-84
April-June, 1903
► Themes of the story
Creation: The narrative explains the origin of the Rocky Mountains.
Hero’s Journey: Ithenhiela embarks on a transformative adventure to confront Naba-Cha.
Cultural Heroes: Ithenhiela serves as a foundational figure shaping the natural landscape.
► From the same Region or People
Learn more about the Chipewyan people
The first religious ceremony at which I was present with the Dog-Ribs and Hare-Skins remains vividly in my memory, and shows how thoroughly they mix the picturesque of their old religion with that of the new. It was at the celebration of the midnight mass at a northern Roman Catholic mission. The Indians had travelled long distances across the snow, from the depths of the forest to the southward, from the wind-swept Barren Lands to the eastward, and from the lonely lake country to the northward, to be present at the ceremony. Some 600 in all had assembled, and, dressed in fur costumes, knelt upon the floor of the rude log church as the priest, a Frenchman of old France, sang the majestic service. When he reached the Adeste fideles, he sang one verse through in his rich Gascon voice, and then all the Indians joined with him, and finished the beautiful hymn in Dog-Rib.
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I stood at the door of the church as the Indians came out and noted the impression the service had left on their countenances. The sky was bright with a thousand colors, the ever-changing beauty of the northern lights, which flickered and faded and relighted as the Indians passed me. Looking up to the heavens, they saw that strange phenomenon which is to them the most mysterious thing of nature. “Ah,” they said with their faces bowed before this great light, “’tis the fingers of Ithenhiela beckoning us to the home beyond the sky. Now some of us will pass to that great country which we know not.” Later I heard the story of Ithenhiela, and to me it was the most beautiful of all the Dog-Rib stories. It is as follows:
In the great Northwest of Canada there flows one of the mightiest rivers of the earth, known to the whites as the Mackenzie, and to the Northern Indians as the Too-cha-Tes or Big Water. On the very border of the Arctic Circle another great river joins the Big Water from the southwest. This river the Dog-Ribs still know as “the river that flows from the country of the Big Man.”
Naba-Cha, or the Big Man, was one of the most enormous men who ever lived. His wigwam was made of three hundred skins of the largest caribou that could be killed on the vast plains far to the northward. It had taken the bark of six huge birch-trees to make the onogan from which he daily ate his meals. And it took one whole moose, or two caribou, or fifty partridges, to feed him each day. Famous indeed was Naba-Cha throughout the whole North Country, and many were the expeditions of war he had made into distant lands to the north, east, south, and west. He had travelled northward to the mouth of the Big Water to fight the Snow Men or Eskimo, eastward across the Great Lake of Many Slaves to the country of the Yellow Knives, where he had seen the pure copper shining in the sands of mighty rivers, southward away on to the great plains to the country of the Crees, where there were so many large animals, — but westward he had never ventured far, because in that direction it was said that a bigger man than Naba-Cha dwelt. Now Naba-Cha was not only big, but he was also cruel and wicked, especially to a young Wood-Cree boy whom he had brought back from the South once when on the warpath, and who had neither father nor mother nor sister nor brother to help fight. Ithenhiela, the Caribou-Footed, as the boy was called, had, however, one great friend at the wigwam of Naba-Cha. This was Hottah, the two-year-old moose, the cleverest of all the northern animals. Truly he was clever, for he had travelled all the distance from the mouth of the Too-Cha-Tes to the wigwam of Naba-Cha in three days, and this was very far indeed. Now Hottah had long thought of a plan by which he might help Ithenhiela. He knew that far to the westward, much beyond where Naba-Cha had ever gone, flowed another river almost as great as Too-Cha-Tes, and that safety for a hunted man or beast lay on its farther side, because there dwelt Nesnabi, the Good Man.
One day Hottah came to Ithenhiela, and said to him, “We will go away. You get a stone, a clod of earth, a piece of moss, and a branch of a tree, and we shall escape from the cruel Naba-Cha.” Ithenhiela got what he was told to get, and soon they were ready to be off. Hottah took Ithenhiela upon his back, and before long they were out on the great plains which lie many days beyond the Too-Cha-Tes. Hardly had they started when they saw coming behind them Naba-Cha on his great caribou. Then said Hottah, “Fling out behind you your clod of earth.” Hottah did so, and immediately there rose up behind them, and between them and Naba-Cha, great hills of earth so wide and so high that it was many days before Naba-Cha again came in sight. And during this time Ithenhiela ate the ripened berries, while Hottah chewed the sweet grass which grew beyond the hills.
When Naba-Cha once more appeared in sight, Ithenhiela flung out behind him the piece of moss, and a great muskeg-swamp lay behind them. And for days the great man and his caribou floundered in the thick sphagnum. Meanwhile, on and on towards the country of the Setting Sun passed Hottah and Ithenhiela. And when once more Naba-Cha appeared, Ithenhiela dropped the stone, and great indeed were the high rocky hills which intervened between them and Naba-Cha, Up to the very clouds rose the hills, white with snow, and magnificent, such as had never been seen before. Long was it before the fugitives again saw Naba-Cha and the great caribou, and far had they gone towards the West before Ithenhiela had to throw the branch of the tree from him. Then arose a great and mighty forest of which the trees were so thick that Naba-Cha could not pass between them, and had to cut his way through, while the caribou was left behind because his horns had stuck in the branches, and he could not pass on. All this delay helped Ithenhiela; and when he once more saw the cruel Naba-Cha, he and his moose-friend had already crossed the Great Western River which they had tried so hard to reach. Away into the Northwest wound Tes-Yukon, through the high rocky hills to the northward, foaming as it flowed. Soon came Naba-Cha to the other side of the Tes-Yukon, and called aloud, “Help me, Hottah, across this mighty river. Help me to reach the country that lies beyond, and I shall do no harm to Ithenhiela.” Then across for him went Hottah; and as he brought him back across the great Tes-Yukon, he overturned him, and down he swept through the swirling rapids of the river, and was lost. This was the last of the wicked Naba-Cha.
Then came Hottah to Ithenhiela standing upon the bank, and, turning to him, he said, “Ithenhiela, I must leave you now, and return whence I came. Go you and follow this great river, and soon you will come to a great tepee. This is the home of Nesnabi, the Good Man. Great indeed is he, and far has he travelled, into our country to the eastward, among the golden rivers lost in mountains to the southward, to the great water which has no ending to the westward, and to the silent plains, all snow-covered, to the northward, where live the Snow-Men. He, like Naba-Cha, is big, but he is not cruel, and harms no one. He will aid you.” Then departed Ithenhiela, and following the bends of the great Tes-Yukon through the high spruce forest, he came to the wigwam of Nesnabi, who stood silent beside his home. “Whence have you come, young man,” said he, “and where are you going?” At this, up spoke Ithenhiela, “Great Chief, I have come from far. I have neither father nor mother nor brother nor sister. My home was with my own people away in the South Country, and there I lived happily until the coming of Naba-Cha, who took me away with him to the cruel North Country, where the snow lasts long in winter, by the sweeping waters of the Too-Cha-Tes. Hard indeed was Naba-Cha to me, and many a season passed I in misery with him, until I came away with Hottah, the two-year-old moose who brought me to your country, O Great Nesnabi, and but now has he left me.” To this answered the kind Nesnabi, “Ithenhiela, I have long known that you would come to me. Stay with me as long as you like, but if at the end of the week you wish to journey away, I will then prepare you for your journey farther into the West Country.”
Thus it was that Ithenhiela stayed at the wigwam of Nesnabi; but when the week was done, he came to his protector, and said to him, “I must now leave you, and travel farther. Give me that preparation for my journey that you have promised me.” Then took Nesnabi seven arrows from his wigwam, and said to him, “This is enough to help you, Ithenhiela, but should you shoot at any bird or beast in a spruce-tree and the arrow stick in the branches, take you care that you go not after it, for if you do, surely something will happen to you.” Hardly had Ithenhiela left the good Nesnabi, when he saw a squirrel in the branches of a red spruce-tree, and, raising his bow, he shot an arrow at it, Down fell the squirrel, but the arrow lodged in the branches. At once, Ithenhiela, forgetting what Nesnabi had told him, started to climb after the arrow. As he mounted, the arrow went up, too. Up, up, they went, until at last they came to the sky, and the arrow passed through, and he after it. Great was Ithenhiela’s surprise when he entered the Sky Country. It was so different from what he had expected. He had imagined a glorious country, where the sun always shone, and where herds of musk oxen, caribou, and moose roamed at large in plenty, with many of his own people camped in large wigwams here and there. But instead, the air was damp, dreary, and cold; no trees or flowers grew; no herds of animals ran on the silent plains; the smoke of no wigwam greeted his anxious eyes; the war-whoop or hunting-cry of no Indian of his own people was heard; only, far in the distance against the sky shimmered a great white mass, like a pile of snow, when the sun shines upon it in the early summer. Towards this great white thing ran a winding path from the very spot where Ithenhiela stood. “I will follow it,” thought he, “and see what I come to, and find out what lies in that blazing wigwam over there. As he passed along, he met an old woman who said to him, “Who are you, and where are you going?” “I have come from far,” said Ithenhiela. “I am the Caribou-Footed, Can you tell me who lives over there in that big white wigwam?” “Ah,” said Capoteka, “I know you, Ithenhiela. Long have I thought you would come here. But you have done wrong; this is no country for man. In that great wigwam over there lives Hatempka; and unhappy is he because he has lost his belt of medicine, and until he gets it again, no one will be happy in the Sky Country. The belt is at the tepee of the two blind women who live far beyond the wigwam which shines so white, and no one can get it from them. Whoever finds it, and gets it from the bad blind women, will have the daughter of Hatempka, the beautiful Etanda, for his wife.” Off then started Ithenhiela, and, travelling hard, soon came he to the home of the two old blind women. And as he entered the wigwam, he saw hanging upon the side the belt of Hatempka, and many indeed were the skulls which hung about it, for many had gone to seek the belt, but none had returned. The blind women bade him welcome, and said to him, “When you leave, Ithenhiela, tell us, so that we may bid you good-by.” Now Ithenhiela had noticed that each of the two old women had behind her back a knife of copper, long and sharp. “Ah!” thought he, “when I leave, they mean to kill me,” for one sat on either side of the door in readiness, “but I shall fool them.” In one part of the wigwam lay a muskamoot (or bag) of bones and feathers. To this he tied a string, which he pulled over the pole above the door. Then said he, “I am going now, blind women. Remember I am old and fat, and when I leave, I make much noise.” At this he pulled the string, and towards the door passed the bag of bones and feathers. Immediately the two old blind women stabbed; but striking only feathers, the long knives passed through them into each other, and both were killed. Then took Ithenhiela the belt of medicine, and went he unto the shining white home of Hatempka, and said to him, “Great chief, be you happy now, I have brought to you your healing” belt. Give me now my wife, your daughter, the beautiful Etanda, that I may leave you.” Then said Hatempka, “Oh! much pleased am I, Ithenhiela. You have saved my people. Now shall the sun shine again. Now shall musk oxen, caribou, moose, and bear live once more in our country. Again shall we see the smoke of many wigwams. Once more shall we hear the voice of many hunters. Take you now my daughter, the fair Etanda, but leave me not. Stay with me, and be a great man after me.” So Ithenhiela remained at the shining white home of Hatempka.
Hence was derived the name and country of the Big Man. Still the Indians in that distant country, when the northern lights flit across the sky, see in them the fingers of Ithenhiela, beckoning them to the home he has found for them so far away.
The influx of fur-traders into the Mackenzie River region, and even to Great Bear Lake within the last two years, since my return, has, I believe, very much altered the character of the Northern Indians.
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