The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1898-09-04

Ok Under st. Anthony Falls
Worms the Connecting Link Re-
tween Dal<Otas and Their Gods.
Katherine Prence. writing for the
New York Post on Alaskan Indian
Legends" regrets that some one does
not take it upon himself to go to An
nette island, Alaska, learn the Trim
shean language and preserve from obli-
Won the Indian folk lore. But for In
dian folk lore one need not go so far,
ana Yet find tales as interesting as
tnat or the Alaskan Indians "Canabal
Devil Curious and poetic old world
legends appear frequently in books,
periodicals. and papers, but none is
more readable than those associated
with the Mississippi by the redmen that
-roaIned these hills and wales not many
years ago. True, the legends Of this
river are not all poetic; some are grot-
esQue and weird, others curious. Yet
the charge Of distorted imagination
cannot be brought against the Indian
alone. Monsters, hideOus and vile, are
round in Greek and Roman mythology;
nerce and vicious are the passions of
the Morse gods and the supreme deity
OF ancient Egypt made the body of a
bull Lis temple. We should forgive
the Dakotas then, for believing that
their tribal god dwelt in the form Of
moon-eyed OK, whose horns and tail
could be extended at will, and whose
abode was just beneath the Falls Of
st. Anthony. According to Dakotan
religion, this was the god Of the In
dian genesis, for he, it was, who formed
the earth Of the dirt brought from the
bottom Of the sea by a muskrat. Then
Of hi
to powder he scattered it over this new
made world and forthwith the surface
was covered with worms. These the
god gathered together and scattered
again, and still another time, where
upon the mighty race Of the Dakotas
peopled the earth. This horned, am
phtbiOus deity was wont to take pro-
meEades down the Invertebrates to
guard, not his fences, but his banks.
Three or four decades ago a cabin at
Fort Smelling, with It's single soldier
nhabltant was swept away by the
breaking Of an Ice gorge. The red
mans explanation of the catastrophy
was that the god, becoming hungry
While descending the river, appeased
his appetite with the luckless soldier.
The bones Of the mastodon-the Dako-
tas will tell you-are the remains of a
once god-inhabited OK
LEGEND OF CROW WING.
Ovid and Virgil, Schiller and Grill
parzer, have built stately masterpieces
upon the myth Of Leander, who swan
the HellespOnt that he might meet the
virgin priestess on the bank Number
less are the pictures Of Hero as she
stands at the waters edge, waiting
anXiOusly the arrival Of her lover, all
unconscious that the waves are slowly
h i'm. hi. iSclA e.
is q beautiful picture and q pathetic
story, but where are the masters to
flush, with like splendor, the legend Of
Grow Wing? The young wife clinging
to her warrior husband that he may
not leave her conquered heart to win
new laurels with foemen's scalps-the
braves kind, but firm refusal-the
promise Of a sure return-the brides
dark forboding and the affectionate
parting. Then come the hours Of wait
ing, the fading Of the evil presentiment
and at last the joyous day of home
coming. She sits on the bank of the
river cOmbing her hair and viewing
with a critical eye, the graceful image
reflected in the water, as she repeats
to herself the promise of her lord: HE
comes back to me today: so did he
pledge" The day is far spent the
shadows stretch out drowsily, yet the
deep, rich eyes glow with unshaken
faith as she looks away to the western
sky, which the hurrying hours have
dashed lntoNa crimson foam. She turns
again to her flowing mirror when 10!
her dusky mate has kept his oath. The
''Fatherly waters" have been his fun
eral car and brought him home to his
bride. From the stilled heart she draws
an arrow, feathered with a crows wing.
The flush in her face dies with the
flush in the sky, and sitting beside her
lifeless lord, the gloam Of the twilight
makes a silent echo in the gloom of
her heart. Such is the legend Of Crow
Wing.
THE TROUBLESOME PIXIES BAR.
A party of tourists, in the summer Of
'97, were held fast all night on the
sand reef, known as pixies Bar"
which Obstructs the waters of the St.
Croix. An Indian would have told
them that their discomfort was due to
the broken vows of his kinsman, and
might have smoothed out the ruff1es OF
Impotence with the curious legend Of
the perjured redman, who, near this
spot, gave chase to some game that
came into view. But when the animal
was secured and found to be a muskrat
the hunter was SOrrOWful for, though
tormented with the pangs Of hunger. he
a vow to his god that he would taste
the flesh Of no creature that could live
in the water. AT last the temptation
was too great and he partook of the
meat. After finishing his forbidden
meal, the perjured Indian asked his
companion for water. The request was
granted and repeated so often that he
was imDatienuy commanded to lie
down by the lake and drink his fill. In
q frenzy Of thirst he obeyed, and
throwing himself by the waters edge
he drank and drank, till suddenly
springing up he cried:
Come and look at mel"
AS his wondering comrade looked, lo
scales slowly covered the doomed man,
his form stretched to a Wonderous
length, and then with a splash huge
lifeless pike fell across the water, and
there it lies to this day-a warning to
faithless redmen. But the whole tribe
gathered together and prayed the Great
Spirit that he would not punish them
all for the sin OF one man, and that
there might be left a passageway for
their canoes. The concerted prayers
were answered, for the great fish was
drawn aside the distance OF a canoes
width But the tourists did not attend
the prayer meeting, and their steamer
was wider and heavier than the red
mans boat, so they had to stick on the
fnny Indian.
Thus might one go on until a book
would be filed with the legends of the
upper Mississippi and the tales would
not suffer in comparison with the
myths of the Rhine. We are prone to
silently acquiesce when scholars tell us
A o,.io al