MALLERY.] NA-WA-GI-JIG’S STORY—TRANSLATION. 517 
(133) Pointing toward the sun first, he placed palms of both hands in 
* opposition vertically, a space of only an inch or two intervening, with 
a glance sideways at the height thus indicated—the sun just setting. 
(134) Made three vigorous strokes with the imaginary paddle—three 
more paddle-strokes. 
(135) Moved both hands (flat and extended, backs upward) evenly 
and horizontally toward the left, terminating the movement by turning 
hands almost perpendicularly upward at wrist, thus arresting them 
suddenly—the ice-raft runs up against the shore. 
(136) Lastly threw up the hand perpendicularly above head, and bring- 
ing it down, placed the palm gently over the heart with an air of solem- 
nity—we are saved. 
Free translation of the story. 
Many years ago—my hair, then black and smooth, has since turned 
gray; I was then in the prime of life; you, I suppose, were a young lad 
at that time—the following incident occurred to me: 
Yonder on the ice, two miles eastward, I was one day fishing in com- 
pany with two others, the old Gabiwabikoke and his son John Baptist. 
It was about ten o’clock in the morning—a fresh breeze from the south- 
west had previously been getting up—when the hook-line which I was 
playing up and down began to take an oblique course as though it were 
moved by a current. Surprised, [looked up and around me. When 
glancing toward the south I saw a dark streak stretching from shore to 
shore across the bay; the ice had parted and the wind was carrying it 
out toward the open lake. Inan instant I had wound up my hook-line, 
picked up my hatchet and snow-shoes, which I put on my feet, and hur- 
ried—the others following my example—toward the nearest point of 
land, yonder where the light-house stands. The wind was increasing 
and we traveled as fast as we could. There we arrived at the very edge 
of the ice, a streak of water about one hundred yards in width extend- 
ing northward along the shore as far as we could see. What to begin 
with, nothing but a single hatchet? We wereina bad situation. Well, 
something had tobe done. I measured off a square piece on the ice and 
began cutting it off with the hatchet, a hard and tedious labor. The ice 
was only eight inches thick, but slush and water covered it to the depth 
of a foot. Isoon had my mittens and trowsers wringing wet and begat 
to feel cold and tired. The old Gabiwabikoke was in a worse state than 
I. His son next took the hatchet and we all worked by turns. It was 
about two o’clock in the afternoon when we finished our work. With 
the help of our snow-shoes (stemming their tail-ends against the edge 
of the solid ice), we succeeded in pushing off our raft. Turning our 
snow-shoes the other way (using their tails as handles), we commenced 
paddling with them toward the shore. It was a very slow progress, as 
the wind drifted us outward continually. John Baptist managed to twist 
