The Watertown weekly leader. [volume] (Watertown, Jefferson County, Wis.) 1912-1917, 1914-01-02
LEGEND OF 9JIBWAYs
BY ELMER EDWARDS.

Long ago, before even Father Mar
quette visited the beautiful upper lake
region, there was an Indian village
where the little town of Harbor
Springs, Mich, now stands.
In the days when Halli was chief
OF the village, peace and prosperity
were enjoyed by the red men. To
their very door Little Traverse Bay
brought fish in great abundance.
Halli's only daughter, Winona, was
famed throughout all that region for
her beauty and goodness. From child
hood her favorite among the young
Ojibyays had been Neoma. He was re-
nowned as the swiftest runner and
the most daring hunter OF the tribe.
All the people looked for Neoma to
wed Winona and, when the old chief
was dead. rule in his stead. 1t was
then that trouble came to the peace
full and happy village.
A little to the east, on the bank of
beautiful stream. willy Indian
named Motchimanitou came to make
lis home. The stranger was false
hearted, and in league with the spirits
of evil. Soon he laid spell upon the
village. Halli boldly called Motchi-
manitou to council and when the
stranger departed, the old chief
emerged from his wigwam, his head
bowed and his face soInber.
The next day Neoma went to the
chief and asked Winona's hand in mar
riage. Once am your son o Halli,
we will lead the warriors against the
evil one at the brook" the young brave
said.
Nay nay, Neoma! We would be
powerless against the mighty Motchi-
manitou. There Is only one way. II
Winona becomes his wife he will no
longer be our enemy; instead of ours
ing he will bless US"
1t was In vain that Neoma cried
out against that plan. The old chief
was firm.
For three days there was much ex-
element in the village. On the morn
ing of the fourth Neoma and his birch
canoe were gone. That was not all;
Winona had left her fathers wigwam.
The lovers made their way in the
canoe to a small, uninhabited island
far out in Lake Michigan. There the
young warrior built wigwam. From
the lake they obtained fish, and Neoma
visited the mainland in his canoe,
bringing back plenty of game. The
two were very happy all through the
golden autumn when, according to the
legends Of thier tribe, Shawondasee,
the South Wind, ruled the land, and
From his pipe the smoke ascending
Filled the sky with haze and vapor,
Filled the air with dreamy softness.
Gave a twinkle to the water,
Touched the rugged hills with smooth
ness,
Brought the tender Indian summer.
One day Neoma went to the main
land on a hunting expedition. He was
gone until sunset, bringing back in his
canoe the carcass Of a deer. The wig
wan was deserted.
Neoma recalled Motchimanitou. He
fastened to that braves home and
soon learned that Winona was indeed
a prisoner there. She was confined in
a cave, and, because the entrance to
her prison was guarded by evil spirits,
all Necma's efforts to rescue his bride
were in vain. Always Winona was
singing the weird death song of their
tribe. Thus did Neoma know that
hope had died in the maiden's breast.
On a summer morning Neoma
climbed to the top Of tall pine that
stood near the caves mouth. Directly
beneath him pool, formed by the
| damming of the brook, sparkled and
cleaned in tie rays Of sunlight that
stole down through the foliage. to
touch its placid surface with caressing
fingers. Suddenly Neoma saw an un-
usual commotion below him. From the
cave came several warriors Of his ma
tive village. They bore with them a
burden, and the young braves heart
broke when he saw that 1t was the
dead from Of Winona. The maiden had
died of grief, and the cruel Motchi-
manitou had given permission for her
people to carry her body away for
burial.
There was nothing for Neoma to
live for. He began to sing the came
plaintive death song that had been ever
on the lips of his beloved. Still sing.
ing he threw himself down, to die in
the pool below. So sad was 1t all that
the waters Of the brook took up the
weird chant, and still they sing it. In
days of storm and wind the song rose
SO high that the Indians gave to the
stream the name of Roaring Brook.
Today the stream threads its way
through the woods to discharge its
water in the bay. Near the bay the
stream widens, and there among the
gnarled roots OF the venerable cedars.
crossed by decaying tree trunks, is
the spot where Neoma went to his
death. Is the tourist fingers there he
will hear the weird death song, al
ways providing that he has in his pos
session the key Of imagination that un-
locks the gateway to the realm OF
fancy.
III