The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1907-02-21
The Love Story of Po-ka-gon and
Lonidaw.

Pottawattomies, have been present il
the Indiana House of Representative:
last Tuesday when an appropriation
for a monument to commemorate hi:
tribes last home in Indiana was vot
ed he would have felt that he loved
and sorrowed not in vain. To Polka
go and to his beautiful romance is due
the action of the state in deciding
to honor the memory of the Potta-
wattomies, for the noble character Of
the last chief and his remarkable love
story inspired Representative Daniel
Mcdonald to wage his long campaign
for the Pottawattomie monument.
| There are many others besides Mr.
Mcdonald who believe that the 70.
nance written by Pokagon himself is
the most beautiful love story of all
Indiana and Michigan. The claim that
| Pokagon's "O-Gi-Maw-Kwo Mill
GwaKi," or, in English, Queen OF
the Woods" is to prose what Long
fellows "Hiawatha" is to poetry is
not without foundation.
One feels the pure passion of the
noble chief breathing in every line of
his account of the wooing of the
beautiful Indian maiden who became
his bride. In the simple, direct, prim-
tive language of the Portawattomies
he tells his romance, and the great
sorrow that followed. And when it is
read it leaves no doubt that an Indian
can love with all the passion of a
pale face. Considering the fact
that Pokagon was fullblooded In
dian, his literary effort is perhaps the
most remarkable of all the Indian
race.
A worthy follower of the great Me-
nominee was Chief Simon Polka
Con, or Pokagon. The story of how
Menominee in sorrow was forced by
the troops sent by Governor David
Wallace to lead his band of braves
from indiana toward the great West
in 1888 has often been told. Simon
Pokagon was then but a lad of s. He
was one of the small band that re-
manned, later to find home on what
is now the Government reservation
near Holland, Mich. His father was
made chief of the Pottawattomies in
Michigan and the son. destined to be
the last leader of the rapidly dimin-
ishing tribe, now numbering but 200,
succeeded him. Simon Pokagon was
born at what was known as Pokagon
Village, on the Portawattomies lands
in Indiana in 1890 He was sent 20
Notre Dame University, where he be-
came remarkable student and grad
uated with honors He wrote many
articles on the Pottawattomies and
the Indian race in general, and also
gave lectures He died on JAM 25,
1899, near Hartford, Mich.
A short time before his death he
wrote the story of his courtship and
marriage to Lonidaw, 4 fair Potta-
wattomie maiden The great charm
of the story lies in the simplicity
with which the lover pours forth
the passion and the grief of his heart
1t is the beautiful legend of the
princely Hiawatha and the fair Min
nehaha, or Laughing Water, in real
Indian life.
Pokagon begins his story by telling
how he CHANGED to meet the shy and
winsome Lonidaw, and how he sought
her favor, doubling and hoping in
turn until she graciously smiled on
him and said, "Ae," which is "Yes."
Then he was forced to be absent
from her for several months.
The night before his return he slept
in the woods and listened to the great
spirit, Manitou, give the tradition OF
the origin of the trailing arbutus.
Pokagon concludes the vision:
when he had done the old man slept
and a maiden passed her hand above
his head; he began to grow small,
streams of water began to flow from
his mouth and very soon he was a
small mass upon the ground, his
clothing turned to weathered leaves.
woods, and over the plain, and all
the birds sang to her, and wherever
she stepped, and nowhere else, grows
our tribal flower, the trailing arbu-
tus."
And thus the lover, with lovers
enthusiasm, paints the scene in the
morning when he continued his jour
ney to Lonidaw's wigwam, THE sun,
though yet unseen, had painted the
eastern sky brilliant red. High in
the air were multitudes of wild pig
cons. sweeping the heavens as far as
the eye could reach, and moving in a
line. like columns of trained soldiers,
southwark to procure their morning
meal. All the twigs and branches OF
the grand old forest were thickly
fringed with needed frost, forming
silvery screen through which the
sunshine was sprinkled down, she'd
ding the glory in the tree tops on the
ground, filling my youthful soul with
love for the Divine.
Stiffness reigned almost supreme
along the trail | passed, only broken
now and then by the woodpecker
beating his chiseled bill into some de-
caying wood in search OF food; or
some partridge on PROSTATE tree,
sounding his rolling drum to enter
tain his lady love of early spring. |
paused and listened to hissoft repeat
ed drumbeats of love, poured forth
- -, Hilary cfv1e and 70 myself | said