HIAWATHA'S FISHING by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
Hiawatha sets out alone on a vast lake to confront the formidable King of Fishes, Mishe-Nahma the sturgeon.
The poem
Forth upon the Gitche Gumee, On the shining Big-Sea-Water, With his fishing-line of cedar, Of the twisted bark of cedar, Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma, Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, In his birch canoe exulting All alone went Hiawatha. Through the clear, transparent water He could see the fishes swimming Far down in the depths below him; See the yellow perch, the Sahwa, Like a sunbeam in the water, See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish, Like a spider on the bottom, On the white and sandy bottom. At the stern sat Hiawatha, With his fishing-line of cedar; In his plumes the breeze of morning Played as in the hemlock branches; On the bows, with tail erected, Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo; In his fur the breeze of morning Played as in the prairie grasses. On the white sand of the bottom Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma, Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes; Through his gills he breathed the water, With his fins he fanned and winnowed, With his tail he swept the sand-floor. There he lay in all his armor; On each side a shield to guard him, Plates of bone upon his forehead, Down his sides and back and shoulders Plates of bone with spines projecting Painted was he with his war-paints, Stripes of yellow, red, and azure, Spots of brown and spots of sable; And he lay there on the bottom, Fanning with his fins of purple, As above him Hiawatha In his birch canoe came sailing, With his fishing-line of cedar. "Take my bait," cried Hiawatha, Down into the depths beneath him, "Take my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma! Come up from below the water, Let us see which is the stronger!" And he dropped his line of cedar Through the clear, transparent water, Waited vainly for an answer, Long sat waiting for an answer, And repeating loud and louder, "Take my bait, O King of Fishes!" Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma, Fanning slowly in the water, Looking up at Hiawatha, Listening to his call and clamor, His unnecessary tumult, Till he wearied of the shouting; And he said to the Kenozha, To the pike, the Maskenozha, "Take the bait of this rude fellow, Break the line of Hiawatha!" In his fingers Hiawatha Felt the loose line jerk and tighten; As he drew it in, it tugged so That the birch canoe stood endwise, Like a birch log in the water, With the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Perched and frisking on the summit. Full of scorn was Hiawatha When he saw the fish rise upward, Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, Coming nearer, nearer to him, And he shouted through the water, "Esa! esa! shame upon you! You are but the pike, Kenozha, You are not the fish I wanted, You are not the King of Fishes!" Reeling downward to the bottom Sank the pike in great confusion, And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish, To the bream, with scales of crimson, "Take the bait of this great boaster, Break the line of Hiawatha!" Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming, Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, Seized the line of Hiawatha, Swung with all his weight upon it, Made a whirlpool in the water, Whirled the birch canoe in circles, Round and round in gurgling eddies, Till the circles in the water Reached the far-off sandy beaches, Till the water-flags and rushes Nodded on the distant margins. But when Hiawatha saw him Slowly rising through the water, Lifting up his disk refulgent, Loud he shouted in derision, "Esa! esa! shame upon you! You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish, You are not the fish I wanted, You are not the King of Fishes!" Slowly downward, wavering, gleaming, Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, And again the sturgeon, Nahma, Heard the shout of Hiawatha, Heard his challenge of defiance, The unnecessary tumult, Ringing far across the water. From the white sand of the bottom Up he rose with angry gesture, Quivering in each nerve and fibre, Clashing all his plates of armor, Gleaming bright with all his war-paint; In his wrath he darted upward, Flashing leaped into the sunshine, Opened his great jaws, and swallowed Both canoe and Hiawatha. Down into that darksome cavern Plunged the headlong Hiawatha, As a log on some black river Shoots and plunges down the rapids, Found himself in utter darkness, Groped about in helpless wonder, Till he felt a great heart beating, Throbbing in that utter darkness. And he smote it in his anger, With his fist, the heart of Nahma, Felt the mighty King of Fishes Shudder through each nerve and fibre, Heard the water gurgle round him As he leaped and staggered through it, Sick at heart, and faint and weary. Crosswise then did Hiawatha Drag his birch-canoe for safety, Lest from out the jaws of Nahma, In the turmoil and confusion, Forth he might be hurled and perish. And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Frisked and chatted very gayly, Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha Till the labor was completed. Then said Hiawatha to him, "O my little friend, the squirrel, Bravely have you toiled to help me; Take the thanks of Hiawatha, And the name which now he gives you; For hereafter and forever Boys shall call you Adjidaumo, Tail-in-air the boys shall call you!" And again the sturgeon, Nahma, Gasped and quivered in the water, Then was still, and drifted landward Till he grated on the pebbles, Till the listening Hiawatha Heard him grate upon the margin, Felt him strand upon the pebbles, Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes, Lay there dead upon the margin. Then he heard a clang and flapping, As of many wings assembling, Heard a screaming and confusion, As of birds of prey contending, Saw a gleam of light above him, Shining through the ribs of Nahma, Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls, Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering, Gazing at him through the opening, Heard them saying to each other, "'T is our brother, Hiawatha!" And he shouted from below them, Cried exulting from the caverns: "O ye sea-gulls! O my brothers! I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma; Make the rifts a little larger, With your claws the openings widen, Set me free from this dark prison, And henceforward and forever Men shall speak of your achievements, Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers!" And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls Toiled with beak and claws together, Made the rifts and openings wider In the mighty ribs of Nahma, And from peril and from prison, From the body of the sturgeon, From the peril of the water, They released my Hiawatha. He was standing near his wigwam, On the margin of the water, And he called to old Nokomis, Called and beckoned to Nokomis, Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma, Lying lifeless on the pebbles, With the sea-gulls feeding on him. "I have slain the Mishe-Nahma, Slain the King of Fishes!" said he; "Look! the sea-gulls feed upon him, Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea-gulls; Drive them not away, Nokomis, They have saved me from great peril In the body of the sturgeon, Wait until their meal is ended, Till their craws are full with feasting, Till they homeward fly, at sunset, To their nests among the marshes; Then bring all your pots and kettles, And make oil for us in Winter." And she waited till the sun set, Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun, Rose above the tranquil water, Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls, From their banquet rose with clamor, And across the fiery sunset Winged their way to far-off islands, To their nests among the rushes. To his sleep went Hiawatha, And Nokomis to her labor, Toiling patient in the moonlight, Till the sun and moon changed places, Till the sky was red with sunrise, And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, Came back from the reedy islands, Clamorous for their morning banquet. Three whole days and nights alternate Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma, Till the waves washed through the rib-bones, Till the sea-gulls came no longer, And upon the sands lay nothing But the skeleton of Nahma. IX
Hiawatha sets out alone on a vast lake to confront the formidable King of Fishes, Mishe-Nahma the sturgeon. After being swallowed whole, he battles his way out from within the fish. With assistance from a squirrel and a group of sea gulls, he manages to escape and brings the massive catch back to his grandmother, Nokomis. This tale highlights a hero's journey to prove himself against an enormous adversary, as well as the connections between humans, animals, and the natural world.
Line-by-line
Forth upon the Gitche Gumee, / On the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Through the clear, transparent water / He could see the fishes swimming
At the stern sat Hiawatha, / With his fishing-line of cedar;
On the white sand of the bottom / Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma,
"Take my bait," cried Hiawatha, / Down into the depths beneath him,
And he said to the Kenozha, / To the pike, the Maskenozha,
And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, / Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish,
From the white sand of the bottom / Up he rose with angry gesture,
Down into that darksome cavern / Plunged the headlong Hiawatha,
Crosswise then did Hiawatha / Drag his birch-canoe for safety,
And again the sturgeon, Nahma, / Gasped and quivered in the water,
"O ye sea-gulls! O my brothers! / I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma;
He was standing near his wigwam, / On the margin of the water,
Three whole days and nights alternate / Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls
Tone & mood
The tone has a ceremonial, rhythmic quality — almost like a drumbeat—thanks to Longfellow's strict trochaic tetrameter. It resembles a story being shared around a fire, told by a narrator who clearly cherishes the world he describes. There’s a genuine awe for nature, and moments of warm humor, like the squirrel sitting on the upturned canoe, add to the charm. The narrative maintains a quiet dignity, treating every creature — whether fish, bird, or rodent — as deserving of a name and a part to play. The overall vibe is epic but remains warm; it stays connected to the physical world and human experience, even when the events delve into the fantastical.
Symbols & metaphors
- Mishe-Nahma, the sturgeon — The King of Fishes represents the wild, unyielding power of nature. He isn't evil—he's ancient, armored, and patient. Overcoming him isn’t about conquering but about finding your place in the natural order. Even in death, his body nourishes both the community and the birds, sustaining life through his sacrifice.
- The birch canoe — The canoe represents Hiawatha's link to the surface world—it's how he moves and defines himself as a hunter. When both he and the canoe are swallowed, he loses his ground in every way possible. Using the canoe to wedge it inside the fish's mouth and block its jaws is a clever move that saves him, demonstrating that the tools of civilization hold significance even in the most basic of survival scenarios.
- Darkness inside the fish — The belly of Nahma is a classic descent into darkness — a place where the hero loses his sight, status, and advantages. It mirrors the myth of Jonah and the whale. In this darkness, Hiawatha must rely on instinct and touch alone, and it is only in that state of helplessness that he discovers and strikes at the heart of his enemy.
- The naming of animals — Every time Hiawatha names an animal — Adjidaumo "Tail-in-air," Kayoshk "the Noble Scratchers" — he shows mutual respect. In this poem, names are gifts rather than mere labels. They connect the human and animal realms and reveal the reasons behind the world's nature, in line with the tradition of origin stories.
- War-paint on the fish — Describing Nahma's natural coloring as war paint and his scales as armor connects the fish to the imagery of a human warrior. This isn't mere decoration; it indicates that the contest between Hiawatha and Nahma is a fair fight between equals, rather than just a man catching a fish.
- The oil rendered by Nokomis — The fish oil that Nokomis spends three days making symbolizes how a mythic event turns into a means of survival. The great battle becomes food for the winter. This ties the poem to the practical realities of life in nature, where nothing, not even a legendary victory, goes to waste.
Historical context
Longfellow published *The Song of Hiawatha* in 1855, drawing inspiration from Henry Rowe Schoolcraft's ethnographic research, which documented Ojibwe oral traditions in the 1830s and 1840s. He adapted the meter—trochaic tetrameter—from the Finnish epic *Kalevala*, giving the poem its unique, rhythmic flow. "Hiawatha's Fishing" is Canto IX of this larger work. The poem emerged during a time when American writers sought to create a distinctly American mythology, and Longfellow's incorporation of Native names, landscapes, and narrative structures contributed to that endeavor. The poem enjoyed immense popularity in its era, although later audiences have justifiably questioned whether it accurately and fairly portrays Indigenous cultures, considering Longfellow was a white New England academic relying on secondhand accounts.
FAQ
Hiawatha sets out to catch the largest fish in the lake, but ends up getting swallowed whole. He fights his way out from inside the fish and takes it back home for his grandmother, who will turn it into oil for the winter.
He came specifically to catch Mishe-Nahma, the King of Fishes—the biggest and strongest creature in the lake. Accepting a smaller fish would mean settling for less than the challenge he set for himself. His pride is a key part of his heroic character, even if the poem lightly teases him by referring to his shouting as "unnecessary tumult."
The image of a hero being swallowed by a giant fish and managing to survive inside has ancient roots and shows up in various traditions, including the Biblical tale of Jonah. Longfellow likely recognized that connection. Scholars continue to debate whether the Ojibwe oral traditions that Schoolcraft recorded feature a similar story independently or if this similarity is just a coincidence.
Trochaic tetrameter consists of lines with four feet, where each foot follows a STRESS-unstress pattern (for example, "OUT-ward" or "FORTH-upon"). This rhythm produces a powerful, driving beat reminiscent of paddling or drumming. Longfellow took this rhythm from the Finnish epic *Kalevala*, contributing to the poem's ceremonial, chant-like feel. Once you hear it, it sticks with you.
Nokomis is Hiawatha's grandmother, who raised him. She appears throughout *The Song of Hiawatha* as a wise and practical elder. In this canto, she takes on the humble yet crucial task of turning fish into oil while Hiawatha sleeps — a gentle reminder that survival relies on hard work, not just acts of heroism.
The naming of animals is a common aspect of origin stories across the globe. When Hiawatha names the squirrel and the sea-gulls as a reward for their assistance, he reveals the reasons behind their names. This also illustrates that in this world, humans and animals share a relationship of mutual obligation — you help me, and I honor you.
Not really, and this is a crucial point. Longfellow based his work on Schoolcraft's notes, which were interpreted through a non-Native lens. He also mixed figures from various tribal traditions and applied a European epic structure to the material. Many Indigenous scholars and writers have pointed out that the poem romanticizes and distorts Ojibwe culture. It reveals a lot about 19th-century American perceptions of Native peoples, but provides less insight into the actual Ojibwe oral tradition.
The poem illustrates the deep connections between humans, animals, and the landscape. Hiawatha doesn’t overpower nature; instead, he confronts it, gets engulfed by it, and only manages to escape through the assistance of other beings. He honors those creatures in return. Even the lifeless fish serves a purpose; it sustains the sea-gulls and transforms into oil for the winter. The overall message emphasizes reciprocity over conquest.