So he had made a canoe which was exactly like a nest, or
perfectly round. And this idea had greatly amazed the honest feathered
folk, who were astonished that so simple a thing had not occurred to
all of them.
But what was their wonder when Partridge, having entered his canoe and
proceeded to paddle, made no headway at all; for it simply turned round
and round, and ever and again the same way, let him work it as he
would. And after wearying himself and all in vain, he went ashore, and,
flying far inland, hid himself for very shame under the low bushes, on
the earth, where he yet remains. This is the reason why he never seeks
the sea or rivers, and has ever since remained an inland bird.
[Footnote: Having met Mr. Louis Mitchell, the Indian member of the
legislature in Maine, one day in Eastport, I asked him to occupy the
few minutes which would pass before I should take the steamboat for
Calais by telling me a story. He complied by narrating the foregoing.
It is very remarkable that the Indian story-tellers of ancient days
should have taken it into their heads to satirize an idea which has
been of late carried out completely by the Russian Admiral Popoff, in
his celebrated circular war steamer. The story and all the Indian words
in it are Passamaquoddy.]
_The Mournful Mystery of the Partridge-Witch; setting forth how a
Young Man died from Love.
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