The Dark Dance
(Traditional)
Long before the coming of the Europeans, a Seneca boy looked down from a cliff in Zoar Valley and saw a strange scene. Two tiny boys at the base of a tall tree were firing needle-sized arrows at a big black squirrel. Their shafts didn’t even reach the creature’s perch. The human lad launched his own bolt from above, dropped their quarry, and climbed down to find the fairy boys examining the big mortal arrow. They were delighted when the Seneca boy presented the critter to them. The “buffalo squirrel” was their nation’s favorite prey. They invited him back to their village.
The human boy joined the family of his tiny hosts and shared their meal. No matter how many times he drained his thimble-sized bowl, it never ran out of corn soup. Their berry juice was intoxicating, and their sacred pipe hallucinogenic. Soon he barely noticed the difference in their sizes. The father of the boys told him about the three nations of the Djogao, or the Jungies. Then the drumming and the dance started, and through the smoke, the forms of many Little People joined them. They told him to learn the dance well enough to teach it, since it could bless his nation. He stayed what seemed like a few days and saw the rite enough times to remember it.
When he got back to his village, he found he’d been gone so long that everyone had given up hope of him. The boy was a leader, though, who soon had his village ready for the rite. True to his promise, the tiny father came to sit beside him during the first Dark Dance, though only the boy could see him. The Dark Dance is still held by the medicine society named for it. In honor of the invisible Little People, it is highly private and done in almost total darkness. No one but the celebrants knows what it is like.
Some Who Met the Stone Throwers
(Traditional/Contemporary)
A Seneca lad of seven was out playing with his toy bows and arrows. He longed for the day that he could use the real ones.
He was beside a stream, taking aim at birds and bugs, when he noticed something coming toward him in the water. It was so fast and small that he thought it might be an otter swimming with its head out of water. When it neared he was shocked to see that it was a tiny canoe with two men in it, each with a miniature bow and a quiver of finger-long arrows. They paddled right up to him.
“Like to trade your bow and arrows for mine?” said one of the little men.
“That’s not much of a deal,” said the mortal boy. “Look how small they are.”
“Not all big things are better than little ones,” the other paddler said. “You’ll learn that someday about life.” He took aim and fired straight above him. The arrow took off like it could hit the sun and vanished into a cloud. The tiny pair paddled off.
The boy told his grandmother about the event. “Don’t be so quick to judge things by the way they look,” she said. “Those bows are enchanted. With that bow and quiver you could have had any game in the world.”
The Ways of the Stone Throwers
Orphans are the heroes of many Iroquois tales. Centuries before Columbus, a scrawny orphan boy was cared for—as it were—by an uncle. He was so neglected and slovenly that the other kids called him Wrapped in Crap. No wonder he played by himself.
One day he was at the riverside when one of the Stone Throwers paddled byand offered him a ride. The canoe looked too small to seat him or float him, but the paddler was persuasive. At last the boy set foot in it, and the world seemed to shift. With a single mighty stroke, the little rock thrower swept the canoe off the river, up in the air, and into a cave on the side of a cliff. The boy went with it.
Inside was a whole community of Stone Thrower folk, who started their dance and song of welcome. The boy stayed for what seemed like days. He learned their songs, their dances, their mysticism, their rites, and their stories about other tribes of Little People.
Time came for him to go. He was given a bit of each bird and animal—a wing, bone, or claw—and told how to use it in ceremony. If things were done right, corn, beans, and squash would grow at his bidding. Berries and fruit would ripen, harvests would be full, and flowers would bloom as he walked the land. Even as they chanted to him, he floated down to the valley from which he had come. The vision of the Little People faded, and he was back where he’d started. Things had changed.
He’d been gone for years. He was a man so big and good-looking that folk in his village didn’t know him until he called them by name. He taught them the ways of the Stone Throwers, and they’ve passed through the generations. Hunters and fishermen know their customs. Girls hear the stories from their grandmothers and sing the songs to their dolls. The words echo still in the chants of the medicine people.
Three Little People in a Stone Canoe
Living Native Americans in Mohawk country refer to this Stone Thrower group as “real ugly when you look at them.” Though not ill tempered, they have skinny, fishy faces.
While canoeing on the Sacandaga Reservoir, some of Abenaki author Joe Bruchac’s Native American friends were shocked to find themselves overtaking three Little People. They usually move faster in their stone canoes than any human boat and even slip under the water when they choose. This trio was clearly up for a little fun with the humans.
“Look at those guys behind us,” said one of the Little People in the Mohawk
