KU-GO-GE, THE WILD GOOSE. 



CHIEF PO-KA-GOX.* 



In early childhood I learned from my 

 parents' conversation, that the flight of wild 

 geese Southward, in autumn, heralded icy 

 blasts and storms of snow; while their 

 flight Northward, in spring, brought singing 

 birds, sunshine, flowers and corn. Hence I 

 felt in my heart when awakened at night by 

 the discordant chattering of these passing 

 pilgrims, or when by day I saw them sweep 

 across the heavens in great triangular flocks, 

 that they were sent as messengers by the 

 Great Spirit, to warn us of winter's approach 

 or to assure us that summer was near. 



A boyish anxiety to become acquainted 

 with these celestial creatures, as I regarded 

 them, and to learn their ways and language 

 took possession of me. Our wigwam stood 

 on the bank of a lake in which wild rice 

 grew in abundance. Into this lake I had 

 seen these geese descend like meteors from 

 the sky. 



I begged my father to try and catch me 

 a pair of these birds alive, that I might raise 

 a flock of them. He finally promised he 

 would try, and made me pledge myself to 

 kindly care for them. He made me a stock- 

 ade park to put them in, enclosing y 2 acre of 

 land. One corner ran into the lake, so as 

 to furnish plenty of water for the prospective 

 captives. He then made a brush box, 3 feet 

 square, trimming it with rice straw from the 

 lake and left it at the water's edge for future 

 use. He then waded into the lake where 

 geese were in the habit of feeding, finding 

 the water nowhere above his chin. Having 

 made all these arrangements he explained to 

 me his plan. It was to place the rice box 

 over his head, wade out among the geese 

 while they were feeding and when within 

 reach to grab one by the feet, pull it under 

 water and put it in the box alive. 



On the following morning a flock was 

 seen feeding in the lake. We went quietly 

 to the shore; father placed the box over his 

 head and waded carefully into the water. 

 Soon I could see only the box; it appeared 

 to be floating and drifted by the wind toward 

 the geese. At length it moved in among 

 the great birds. I held my breath fearing 

 they would fly away. Soon I saw one disap- 

 pear, then another; both sinking like lead 

 into the water. Not a sound could I hear. 

 The rice box began to slowly drift back. 

 On nearing the shore father emerged from it 

 with a live goose under each arm. They 

 seemed the most beautiful creatures I had 

 ever seen. 



He carried them into the park and put 

 them down after clipping the ends of the 

 quills on the right wing of each bird so they 

 could not fly away. 



As they struggled for liberty I began to 

 realize they were my captives; hence my joy 

 of possession became mixed with bitterness. 

 Stroking their heads and backs with my 

 hand, I said in my mother tongue: " Poor 

 ku-go-ge, how I pity you. I will not treat 

 you as prisoners of war, but will be kind to 

 you as a mother to her children, and if you 

 will raise little ones I will treat them ten- 

 derly." I soon taught them to eat corn from 

 my hand. In 3 years I had the finest flock 

 of geese I ever saw. I would keep one goose 

 at a time away from the flock until it 

 learned the name I gave it; and so it was 

 each one knew its name and when called 

 would leave the flock and follow me. After 

 the first year I gave them their liberty, ex- 

 cept in fall and spring, when they were de- 

 termined to migrate. If I let them out, with 

 wings clipped, so they could not fly, they 

 would start on the journey afoot for the 

 South or Northland according to the time of 

 year. 



Often while admiring these great birds 

 have I felt sick at heart because they could 

 not sing, and wondered why the Great Spirit 

 should have given the power of song only to 

 the smaller birds and to man. I learned 

 much of the strange habits and language of 

 the goose family. Their way of courtship 

 and marriage is especially interesting. 



In early spring each gander selects the 

 oldest goose in the flock to be his bride, age 

 being considered the best qualification for a 

 good wife. With so many suitors for the 

 oldest dame, matters can be satisfactorily 

 settled only by a series of single contests 

 between the ardent swains. Everything 

 must be fair on both sides. The 2 ganders 

 first in their choice, talk over the terms of 

 combat. When they are agreed they march 

 out before the flock, straighten up in front 

 of each other, and each holding fast with his 

 bill to the feathers on his rival's neck, they 

 begin boxing in the most determined man- 

 ner, cheered on by the flock with wild 

 screams of admiration. 



When one gives up the contest, another 

 suitor takes his turn, and so on until there 

 is but one acknowledged champion in the 

 flock. He, amid shouts and cheers, marches 

 off with the oldest dame, who congratulates 

 him on his success; telling him how long 

 and well he boxed, and how proud she is of 

 him. The combats go on until each gander 

 in turn is the best boxer of the dwindling 

 flock, and selects the oldest unwedded female 

 as his bride. The last and youngest goose, 

 no matter how handsome she may be, is ac- 

 cepted reluctantly by the last gander: while 

 she, poor maiden, longs for the day when she 



The author of this story is a full-blood Indian, and an hereditary chief of the Pottowattomies- 



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