The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1874-05-07

LESdklu8 up CaI1p
The red buds were beginning to tiE
, the spray of the mapie-trees, showing
f that the sugar-making season was
near its close. The flow of sap had
{ already begun to dimiAish, and some
: of the smaller camps in the valley
: were breaking up. The close of the
: season was period of visiting and
; merry y-making among the sugar-mak-
j ers, many of whom were Germans,
/ who had their families, wives, and
: daughters, with them, and every night
there was a frolic in some of the
camps. Occasionally we had friendly
visits from our neighbors, but, as a
general thing, our camp was avoided.
especially by the young boys and girls.
in consequence of certain supersti-
tlous associations connected with its
/. history.
1 haye before alluded to the fact
that mysterious tragedy had occur
s red in our camp. An old squaw, the
wife of a noted Indian chief, who had
been left alone in the camp for short
tiAle--so the story ran--was, on the
return of her friends, found dead, her
head and shoulders resting in kettle
of boiling syrup. By some it was
supposed that she had fallen into the
kettle. But there were also suspic-
ions of foul play, and white man, a
trapper, Of notorious bad character,
between whom and the chief there
existed an old feud, was strongly sus-
pected of having murdered his wife
in revenge. Shortly after the death
of the squaw, the trapper mysterious
ly disappeared, and it was uncertain
whether he had fed or had been dis
posed of by the Indians. The grave
of the squaw, marked by mouhd of
earth and logs, was situated only a
short distance from our boiling-place,
and was passed by the sugar-makers
i'm the twilight, or later in the night,
with feelings of superstitieus dread,
/ while it was strictly maintained by
many that the old squaw's ghost did
notrest quietly, but roamed through
the camps, especially in dark and
stormy nights. Several had seen her
apparition, and the stories that were
related of her appearance were of the
most frightful and narrowing charac-
| ter.
One evening two or three young
men from the adjoining camps paid
us visit. After supper, while they
were seated before the fire on the
rough puneheon benches, enjoying
their pipes and the contents of a stone
Jug, conversation turned on the mys-
terious death of the old squaw, and
the strange stories that were in cireu-
lation about her spirit-wandering
through the camps, None of the par
ty present had ever seen her ghost
with their own eyes, but other per-
sons, friends of theirs, III whose as
sertions they placed the fullest reliance
had seen her more than once, on dark,
stormy nights. riding at full speed
through the thick woods, on the white
horse which she rode in her lifetime, |
and which, it was said, was killed I'd
buried with her. The descriptions |
which they gave of her frightful ap-
pearance, and the shrieks which she |
uttered, as, on her phantom-steed, she |
dashed through the dark forest, her |
long, grizzly hair streaming out, and |
her garments tapping in the wind, |
made my hair stand on end, and the |
blood chill IN my veins.
1t was said that the family to which /
the old squaw belonged were rich,a |
as it was the custom of the Indians to |
bury the personal property of their /
dead with them, it was generally be-
lieved that her grave contained a
large amount OF treasure.
'It would be good thing" said
one, "'to dig up the old squaw, and
get the money that they buried with
her."
ssAnd the silver bands and rings, |
and brooches, as big as pewter plate,
that she used to wear" remarked an
other.
eyes, that would be very nice, and |
all that silver is no good in the old /
woman's grave. But I'd like to see
the chap that would run the risk of |
being haunted all the rest of his life,
by digging her up"
"Pooh nonsense r. exclaimee Nut
finger, knocking the ashes from his
pipe. "Dat ish all nonsense, all fool
talk. IF [ be sure dere vas money in
de old voman's grafe, I.wouldn't mind /
to go for it, no more dan smokin'
mine bipe."
s.But, suppose her ghost was to
come after you, Mating what then ?"
s.Ghost der tuyfeII ain'd afraid of
no old woman spooks, vat scare .leetle
chiIdrens in de night time"
Muttinger had been soldier in the
war, and had, according to his account,
been in many battles, aud one of his
weaknesses was to boast of his brav-
cry.
A long and rather excited discus
sion was closed with wager of jug
of whisky that Muttinger would not
dare, on the following day, to dig up
and bring away the relics of the old
squaw. This bet, having been duly
ratified and attested by general
shaking of hands, the young men left
for their respective camps.
On the following day, Muttinger
was evidently reluctant to perform
W hat he had undertaken, but, impelled I
by his bet and the hope of plunder,
after vainly endeavoring to persuade
others to accompany him, he hraoed
his wavering courage With stiff
drink of whisky. and set out alone on
his sacrilegious enterprise.
An hour afterward he returned to
camp with his plumber, which con-
sisted of an old, battered, brass kettle,
a rusty rifle barrel, some brass mount
ings, tomahawk. several clay pipes,
pair of silver arFnlets, number of sill
yer rings. brooches, and other tFinkets,
with the jawbone of the old squaw,
which latter he exhibited in spirit of
triumphant bravado.
The news of the robbery of the old
SQudW , SFaNG SOOtt
camps, and, during the afternoon,
many came to view the relics. All
reproached Muttinger for what he
had done, but especially for bringing
away the jawbone, which they urged
him to replace in the grave. But
Muttinger seemed to grow reckless
under the circumstances of his friends,
and exercised his wit in ridiculing
their sensibility.
sTaSe it back, Muttinger, if you
don't want to see the old squaw's
ghost this very night said enc,
"Der tuyfell !" exclaimed Muttinger,
evat de old womaA want nit her jaw
bone? She can do mitout dat, lust
like she don't want no more her brass
kettle"
"Look out IL she don't come after it
before to morrow morning"
"Vel, maybe" said Muttinger. "Den