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Back in the days when Maine was only knee-high as a state, when the
caribou roamed its North woods, and oysters thrived in the Damariscotta,
when the woodsmen had scarcely seen the tall virgin pines of the Allegash,
there came into the forests a huge giant of a man. Whence he came nobody
knows, nor took the trouble to find out. He was a timber chopper such as
had never been seen before, more than a rod tall he stood in his moosehide
moccasins and his shoulders were three regular axe handles wide. A heavy
square-cut black beard decorated his chin, and his eyebrows resembled birds-nest.
Stories of his fame and deeds soon were told from the Saco to the Saint
John, of how his mighty axe with the two-foot blade could drop a tall pumpkin
pine with one clean blow, and how he could clear ten acres in a day, and
forty teams and eighty men were unable to yard the logs after him. Behind
him, the squirrels wore a hungry look, and the beavers were a loss for
food and building materials. The quiet trout streams either roared like
torrents or dried up altogether.
The Spirit of the Forest was worried - really worried. With this Giant
in action, there would soon be no trees left. With no trees, the water
would soon wash away the earth, the winds blow away the topsoil, and the
land would be left only barren rocks and sand. No gardens, no food, no
people, no fish, no birds, no animals, no anything. So the Spirit of the
Forest decided to call a council of all the other Spirits to decide how
they should best stop the destruction. The whole awful matter was discussed
in the best Spirit fashion, and it was agreed the only probable weakness
of the Giant was in his stomach. From all his exercise, of course, he worked
up a tremendous appetite and the tales were being told of the cartload,
or so, of food that he ate every evening when his day's work was done,
so around this the Spirits laid their plan.
As he chopped to the South, one day he came to the ocean. Now mind you,
he was a backwoodsman and had never tasted shellfish or Maine lobsters,
so the Spirits had arranged a huge clambake for his meal. There were clams
and oysters, crabs and lobsters, and with some misgivings probably, the
Giant fell to eating with both fists. The oysters, clams and crabs he found
to be hardly worth the trouble for one of his size and appetite, but the
lobsters pleased him to no end, after he got used to the looks of the strange
creatures.
Now, to a giant, one lobster is scarcely a taste. He was delighted by
this new food, but bored by the task of picking out the meat, so, before
long, he just popped a whole one in his mouth and crunched it up. This
was much easier, and he kept roaring and calling for more and more until
he had gobbled up two dory loads. Then he stretched out by the fire and
went to sleep.
This was just what the Spirits had planned for! They had begged the
help of an Imp of Mischief, whose golden eyes gleamed for fun. Over his
long nose they put a large lobster claw, and two more over his pointed
ears. Another slipped one over his beard, and his face was painted sea-green.
The Giant twisted and rolled in his sleep, for lobster shells are hard
to digest, especially two dory loads. The Imp of Mischief, whose name,
by the way, was Kattywumpus, sat on the Giant's chest and tweaked his nose.
The Giant moaned in his sleep, dreaming of huge waving claws, bulging eyes,
probing feelers and many crawling legs like those of the strange creatures
he had stuffed himself with.
Suddenly he awoke and when he saw Kattywumpus crouched on his chest,
he leaped to his feet with a roar that was heard from Cape Neddick to Monhegan.
He crashed off through the forest heading westward at top speed. Years
later, tall tales of a similar giant who had a pet blue ox filtered back
to the State of Maine from beyond the Great Lakes. Perhaps that is where
he went, for he never was seen in these parts again.
Kattywumpus was so pleased with himself that he continued to wear his
disguise and to prowl the forests as a protector. Many of the weird stories
from lumber camps, such as the one about the footprints in the snow that
suddenly vanished into the air, of the piercing screams from the top of
the bunk house in the dead of night, and others are perhaps his doings.
No one has ever caught a glimpse of him, but sometimes we see the gleam
of his golden eyes on the outer circle of the campfire light. He is ever
on the watch for those who would destroy the forests, land, and game by
careless or wanton cutting or fire.
By: E. R. Andrews |
