The weekly Floridian. [volume] (Tallahassee, Fla.) 1867-19??, 1886-08-26
AN INDIAN LEGEND.

AN INDIAN LEGEND.
If You have ever spent a winters night
lost and alone in the forest wilds, you can
appreciate my feelings of despair when
found myself weary, bewildered, and
stOrm-bOund in the great woods of Can
ada.
1t was twenty years ago, to be sure,
but the recollection of that night is as
vivid in my mind as an event of yester.
day. had spent the day in the pursuit
of game, and when night began to fall
gave up the chase with the purpose of 90
ing to the settlement. An hour of hard
trudging through the snow still found
me among the whitened trees, confused.
lost.
After fully awakening to a realization
of the situation, there seemed to come a
cold wave sweeping through the great
dismal forest, and with the shudder Of ap-
prehension came a chill that seemed to
stiffen my limbs and frost my face. The
paroxysm Of fear lasted but brief period,
but the intense cold could not be over
come by mental action, and the fact be-
came forcibly impressed that must keep
moving or perish.
eff only knew which way to 60" |
muttered to myself.
gazed up through the leaAess, creak-
ing branches of the tall trees to see if the
stars had appeared, but the sky was over
cast and not twinkling object met the
anxious gaze. Night had fully come
there was no moon, but the darkness was
not intense. The earth being mantled
with f1eecy white, and the trees fringed
with the same, dark objects were visible
for several yards around.
The tramp was resumed with no idea as
to direction or what adventure lay in my
path. Perhaps l was going deeper and
deeper into the great woods, and if not
there was little hope of getting out that
night.
What a night! The wind cut as if
filled with millions of fine needles, flying
points foremost, and now began crusting
80 as to make walking more laborious.
cast about ME for some spot which
would afford shelter from the bowling
tempest, but only the sturdy trees, stud
ded in the great, white blanket could be
seen. l was weary and chilled to the
bone, but dared not stop. Hour after
hour slowl y passed, and no halt had been
made. My watch told me that half of the
night had passed, but could survive the
other half? That was the question.
did, OF course, but it seems to me now,
as it did then, that Providence guided
my weary steps to safe rescue.
AT the very moment when l was dis
cussing the possibility of enduring the
cold until dawn strange object loomed
up before me. 1t was a wigwam made of
poles and closely covered with bark.
A single wigwam buried, it proved, in
the heart of the great Canada woods. A
cloud of smoke almost as white as the
snow issued from the top. Never was
mortal more gratifed. Going close to
the fur-closed door cried out:
Hello, there!"
There was no response and l cried out
again. The skin moved and the muzzle of
a rifle appeared.
"a white hunter lost in the woods, ~
| said, getting out of the range of the
gun.
White hunter come in"
A moment later / was out of the biting
frost out OF danger
l found the only occupant of the forest
lodge to be a very aged Indian. His
face was wrinkled, his form bent, and the
light covering of hair upon his head as
white as the crystals that danced in the
winter wind outside.
The old man spoke very clearly, and
seemed glad had come.
He revived the fire, wrapped blanket
of wolf-skin about my shoulders, and at
once set about preparing some warm
drink and food. After thawing out and
partaklng of the red hermit's food, we sat
cross-legged like Turks and smoked our
pipes. The Indian was inclined to be
reticent at first, but when he learned that
l was from the Upper Mississippi he be-
came interested.
"You have been up and down the
great river?' he interrogated.
"Many times," returned.
"You have seen the great bluff on the
sunrise of Lake Pepin, then"
Maiden rock?''
eyes"
"Time and again. 1t is famous rock.
Every boat that passes up or down the
river contains people who gaze upon the
great bluff and think of Winona, who
killed herself for love by leaping from its
crest to the stony base below. All the
pilots tell the story over and over again
of the tragic end of the pretty Indian
girl"
The old man shook his head slowly.
81 have heard the story" he said
thoughtfully, "but none of the pale faces
have it right"
"How do you know ?"
81 was there at the time, and dc
know"
"Ihen is the tradition not true p
"1he brave girl did leap from the high
rock"
"You must be very DID,"
Better than 100 summers" he an
swered, rubbing his thin hand across bis
deeply furrowed brow. II was young
brave then, only boy, but have forgot,
ten nothing"
"You say the whites do not have the
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