In 2006, a white friend of ours got friendly with the staff at the Seneca Nations Museum in Salamanca. They fell to talking about folklore of all types, and the museum guide confided in him that the Jungies had actually been seen on sunny mornings near a picnic bench under the trees of the little park outside the building. They must not be easily distracted. This park is right across from the entrance to I-86 and “stripmall city.” It’s also only yards from a casino. What fortunes have they made and lost?
Supernatural folklore is common in Europe in association with the megalithic monuments. There is always some tale about a witch, dragon, or wizard to explain an earth circle or a standing stone.
The Little People vs. the Iroquois
Michael Bastine has heard people suggest that some of the mounds and earth rings in Iroquois country were constructed by the Little People for purposes that are not clear to us. He recalls hearing about an incident in which one of the Little People, possibly a young and trusting one, was captured and mistreated by some band of the Iroquois. He died in their custody.
The response of the Little People was extraordinary. They trapped the young son of the nation’s chief and penned him inside a geoglyph monument, most likely some sort of ring ditch. They altered it in such an ingenious way that his people could watch the boy thirst and starve but do nothing to get him out. They had to make a deal with the Little People, and it took a long time to patch relations up. Rumors are that this event took place with the Senecas, and that the Little People in western New York may not have gotten over it quite yet.
The Hunters and the Salt Lick
(Traditional)
A small party of Iroquois hunters was on its way home. They got into a clash in hostile territory, and one of them was wounded too badly to walk. His friends huddled around him with prayers and embraces and left him by a salt lick near a cave.
The injured man thought he was dreaming when he saw some little men come out of the underbrush. They bustled around for a few minutes, communicated withnods and gestures, and took up positions by the mouth of the cave. There they drew their tiny, powerful-looking bows and waited in ambush. The warrior just watched. So the stories about Hunters were true! His last hours on earth would be rewarded with a spectacle if he could only hold on to see it.
He must have fainted. He woke to feel the ground rumbling. Something was shaking the trees near the mouth of the cave. Two enormous, blocky animals burst forth, mowing down the trees with an awful cracking. He could only presume they were the famous Great White Buffalo. Stomping and snorting, they stood, looking with their red-rimmed eyes as if treasuring a moment of anticipation before a charge into a helpless world.
But the massive animals shook their hides and moaned as if attacked by poisonous insects. The man saw the tiny arrows of the Hunters dart in and out of shade toward their targets. In seconds one fell, then the other. The little men came up to the human warrior.
“Thanks for not giving us away,” one said. “Let’s take a look at you.” They sat with him, opened their packs, and shared a meal. He took only a few nibbles of the fairy food but felt full and very quickly better. The chill passed from his bones, and his joints felt as if he’d just come out of a peaceful sleep. His wound was by then only a scab that healed as he watched.
The little men packed up and said their farewells. The warrior made his way back to his village and, after the rejoicing, told his story. A large party of his comrades went with him back to the salt lick where his adventure had taken place. Around it were strewn the giant bones of the animals the little Hunters had killed, already starting to settle into the earth.
The Fairy Healers (Traditional)
One spring day, the members of an Onondaga community were making maple sugar in the woods. The village was empty except for one young man home sick. He stretched out on a couch, hoping to sleep away his aches.
In late morning, he woke to the sensation of something stroking his temples and forehead. He didn’t see anything when he opened his eyes and thought he was dreaming, but the feeling continued. He decided to stay still as if he were sleepingand try to sort the matter out. Soon he was sure of it: these were tiny human hands and fingers, massaging him gently.
The hands worked their way along his neck and head and patted his shoulders. Then they went down his chest, and at last as he rolled his eyes without moving, he could see a small, well-proportioned human arm coming through the wall of the wigwam. His curiosity got the best of him. He grabbed the arm and gave it a tug. It pulled out of his grasp like the tail of a running buffalo. Something hit him on the head, and everything went dark.
He came to in a few hours and noticed that his head and shoulders felt fine, but his torso and legs still ached. Wherever the little hands had touched him, he was a lot better. He told the story to his mother when she came home. She listened sadly. “My boy, I should have told you about this before. You had no way of
