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“There are stones in the forest with names on them. They give great power to dream. I have seen in my dreams the m’teoulin of ancient times,–the magicians, my father told me, of long ago. I have seen them diving under the waters from one island to another. I have seen them dive ten miles.

“When I was, young, J. N., who was a great m’teoulin, offered to teach me the art. I could have become one, but I would not. I did not think it was right.

“Once old J. N. and my grandfather hunted in the woods. It was near Katahdin, the Great Mountain. [Footnote: Katahdin, like the Intervale near North Conway, is haunted and enchanted ground, abounding in fairies and other marvelous beings. But there is not a mile square of New England which has not its legends.] And they wanted everything. They had got out of everything. One night old N. said, ‘I can bear this no longer. Would you like a nice pipe of tobacco? We have had nothing but meat for four weeks.’ So he went away for a short time; perhaps it was an hour. He returned with a box. There was in it three pounds of tobacco; there was cheese, rice, and sugar; there was fifty pounds of provision in all.”

This famous m’teoulin was long a popular governor of the Passamaquoddies. I have a curious old brass candlestick, said to be one hundred and fifty years old, which he owned all his life. The following remarkable reminiscences of this very clever old sagamore were given to me by Marie Sakis, a Penobscot:

“The old governor was a great m’teoulin. He had got it among the Chippewas. He said that it would come to pass that he would die before the next snow-storm. No, he did not care himself, but my husband’s mother did, when she heard this, and she cried. Then he said, ‘Well, I will try to live, or else die in a month; but it will be a hard fight.’ So he made him a bow, and strung it with his wife’s hair; [Footnote: In a Chippewa legend a boy confers magic power on a bow by stringing it with his sister’s hair.] and having done this, he shot an arrow through the smoke-hole of his wigwam. [Footnote: This is also mentioned in a legend where it is said that every arrow killed a supernatural enemy.]

All this was at Nessaik, near Eastport. Then he said to his wife, ‘Take one of your leggins and put it on my head.’ She did so. Then he took medicine. A rainbow appeared in the sky, and a great horse-fly came out of his mouth, and then a large grasshopper. He cried to his wife, ‘Do not kill it!’ And then came a stone spear-head. [Footnote: This is all in detail perfectly Shamanic. The smell of the fresh fish after such a fight is the same in an Eskimo legend. The horse-fly (gan) is Lapp.]

‘Now,’ said the governor, ‘this is all right so far, but the great struggle is yet to come. It is a wee-wilmekq’ who has done this.’ (You know what that is: the Passamaquoddies call it weewilmekq’. It is a worm an inch long, which can make itself into a horrid monster as large as a deer; yes, and much larger. It is m’teoulin; yes, it is a great magician.) ‘I am going to fight it. You must come with a small stick to hit it once, and only a mere tap.’ [Footnote: In the legend of Partridge, a mere tap stuns the water-fairy.] But she would not go. So he went and fought with the Weewillmekq’. He killed it. It was a frightful battle. When he returned he smelt like fresh fish. His wife bade him go and wash himself; but let him bathe as much as he could, the smell remained for days. The pond where he fought has been muddy, and foul ever since.