Sacramento daily record-union., 1889-09-29
WONA, THE MICMAG MAID.

Written for the SUNDAY UNIoN-By LEM
In the early ages of Acadia, after the
massacre of the white settlers at Chebucto,
number of Indians of the Micmac tribe
lived In the valley of Aspotogan. Their
Chief was "Mooseslayer," a man of fine
physique and a great and skillful hunter.
But this remnant of the tribe was more
ruled by Wona, the Chiefs only child
Tall and graceful as a young maple, pos
sessed of rare beauty and goodness, she was
reverenced by all, from the oldest squaw
to the youngest papoose. Many young
warriors had laid their hearts and bow
and arrows at her feet-these last signify
ing she might as well shoot them on the
spot if she would not accept their hearts.
These implements were always laid care
fully outside, with arrows reversed, which
meant, in Micmac, no." decidedly, till
Leonta, a young Chief, who was a fine,
brave fellow, came; and he calling her his
starlight, his flower of the valley, won her
heart and all the homage from her that
she exacted from the tribe.
Her bright. dark eyes always gave him
welcome, and his many gifts of skins ac-
| cepted, also the meats of the chase, choice
morSels, found their way to Mooseslayer's
wigwam; If accepted, so was he, and they
were mutually happy, and her untutored
soul bowed to Leonta as chief of her heart
1t was the moon of snow and ice, and
the wigwams were covered with the glist-
ening gems of Winters king the setting
sun shed rosy glow over the mountains
snowy mantle; Aspotogan, whose crest rose
high above the sea, as if bidding defiance
to all invaders as he guarded the valley.
| A lovely cove, an arm of the blue Allan
| tic, extended to the base of the mountain !;
on either side thick, dark pines, whose
branches were heavy with glittering ice
pendants, were reflected in the clear ice
that lay like FURNISHED buckler of sill
yer. Wona stood in the doorway of her
| fathers wigwam shading her eyes from
| the suns glare the back ground of pines,
| throwing in relief her picturesque garb; a
scarlet skirt, with tunic of soft mink
skins, leggings Of sealskin, and bear skin,
lined with crimson, over her shoulder, to
protect her from the cold air. A round
cap of fur, with birds wings on each side,
surmounted her small, well-shaped head,
and her long glossy hair was braided. A
leather girdle at her waist supported a
bowie knife and quiyer of arrows also a
small hatchet. The scene around her was
weird and varied to an unaccustomed
eye. The evening camp fires were all
blazing brightly, throwing a warm glow
over the white wigwams, dotted here and
there, ihterspersed with the darker ones of
bark, or poles covered with skins of beasts
slain in the chase, the fires reflection form
ing mimic rainbows in the crystals pend
ant from the pines. The dark-skinned
little ones were laughing and tumbling
over the small dogs that frisked around
and old and young squaws were coming
and going with cooking utensils, intent on
preparing the evening meal for the absent
ones momentarily expected.
An aged squaw was sitting near the
center camp fire grooming monotonous
chant. Wona, seeing her, glided over to
| her side and said, in low musical voice in
Micmac, Sumach, why is the Chief, my
father, SO late? A big storm is brewing.
They have long way to paddle The
| white faces have taken all the moose near
here. River De Der has treacherous cur
rants. The Chief no camp; only blank
| ets"
The old crone muttered curse on the
pale faces as she arose and put her bony
hands over her eyes to peer down the
valley; but there was no sign of the Chief
or Leonta, and the others who had left
that morning on hunt, for provisions
were getting very scarce in the camp. The
1 y,,,ta j
severe one, even to the hardy Mlcmac
Wona returned to her wigwam, drawing
the curtains of skin behind her. A bright
fire burned on the big stones that formed
the hearth. Over the fire hung pot sup
ported by two sticks; in this bubbled a
savory stew of moose meat and porcupine
flesh. On either side of the camp were
beds of boughs with bear skin coverings.
A curtain of skins divided Wona's couch
from the Chiefs bed. Her mothers bed
was at the foot of the mountain under
snowy sheets The Great Spirit had called
| her, and the daughter mourned and missed
| her.
Night came down on the valley bearing
on its black pinions the long-threatened
storm. The roar of the waves were heard
in the open bay beyond as they beat in
impotent fury on the iron-bound coast ::
black clouds, wind laden, hurried across
the moons path, obscuring her rays, and
the wind whirled the light, late fallen
snow about like sea foam. The air was
| intensely cold, and the Indians piled on
the fuel in the center camp fires till the
snow had melted, in wide circle, showing
the frost-bound earth The hours passed
and still no sign of the Chief or Leonta, or
the three who accompanied them.
Wona came to the tent door and beck
oned to young Paul. He came swiftly to
her side, and She said: paul, want YOU
to come to the three pines beyond the
hill. Perhaps if we light fire there my
father and Leonta will see it from the
head Of the cove" The boy nodded
assent, and swiftly they went over the
hard packed snow on their snow shoes,
taking little pack of dry pine twigs with
them for kindling. But once there they
waited patiently, but no sign or call from
the absent ones. 1t was their custom on
returning from the hunt, if successful, to
give looms call, or curlew cry, to tell
those IN camp to come and assist them
drag the game-loaded canoes over the ice
after they left the open water. But the
night wore on, cold and stormy and Wona
and Paul returned to camp heartsick and
anxious. And the news went around the
camp that their canoes must have upset
in the heavy sea oecasioned by the storm.
Stoical and silent they bore the sorrow
that left the camp desolate. The DAYS
passed, and provisions grew scarce, and a
fever broke out-famine and fever, twin
sisters-that brought them to deaths door
and crossed the threshold with many of
the tribe.
Wona went from camp to camp helping
the poor Indians and bringing portions Of
whatever she had been provided with,
often going without herself, to put NOR
sal in some famished, parchcd throat
sometimes digging with chilled fingers for
winter green berries hid under the snow,
or roots with which to make drink. Her
beauty remained, but around the mouth
and eyes were signs of the sorrow that was
laying waste her life.
Every day the band grew less, till, when
spring came, only two or three remained
of the once prosperous tribe. They all
slept with the Chiefs wife at the foot of
Aspotogan