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Legend of the Piasa Bird - The Evil Manitou - and Lover's Leap |
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This photo of the Piasa Bird, painted on the bluffs near Alton, was taken October 31, 2007 |
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ALTON'S "MISSISSIPPI DRAGONS" |
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THE PIASA BIRD LEGEND First Published by Telegraph in September of 1836 Source: Alton Evening Telegraph Centennial Edition, January 15, 1936
The first publication known of the Piasa Bird legend in the city of Alton was given by the Alton Telegraph in September of the first year of the newspaper. The following is the best known and commonly accepted version copied from the file of the Telegraph for the year 1836:
The Piasa - An Indian Tradition of Illinois From the Telegraph of September 28, 1836
No part of the United States, not even the highlands of the Hudson, can vie, in wild and romantic, with the bluffs of Illinois. On one side of the river, often at the water's edge, a perpendicular well of rock rises to the height of some hundred feet. Generally, on the opposite shore is a level bottom or prairie of several miles in width, extending to a similar bluff that runs parallel with the river. One of these ranges commences at Alton, and extends with few intervals for many miles along the left bank of the Illinois. In descending the river to Alton, the traveler will observe between that town and the mouth of the Illinois, a narrow ravine through which a small stream discharges its waters into the Mississippi. The stream is the Piasa. Its name in Indian, and signifies, in the language of the Illini, 'the bird that devours men.' Near the mouth of that stream, on the mouth and perpendicular face of the bluff, at an elevation no human art can reach, is cut the figure of an enormous bird; with its wings extended. The bird which the figure represents is called by the Indians, the Piasa, and from this is derived the name of the stream.
The tradition of the Piasa is still current among the tribes of the Upper Mississippi, and those who have inhabited the valley of the Illinois, and is briefly this: "Many thousand moons before the arrival of the palefaces, when the great magolonyx and mastodon, whose bones are now dug up, were still living in this land of green prairies, there existed a bird of such dimensions that he could easily carry off in his talons a full grown deer. Having obtained a taste of human flesh, from that time he would prey upon nothing else. He was as artful and he was powerful, would dark suddenly and unexpectedly upon an Indian, bear him off into one of the caves of the bluff, and devour him. Hundreds of warriors attempted for years to destroy him, but without success. Whole villages were nearly depopulated, and consternation spread throughout all the tribes of the Illini. At length, Ouatoga, a chief, whose fame as a warrior extended even beyond the great lakes, separated himself from the rest of his tribe, fasted in solitude for the space of a whole moon, and prayed to the great spirit, the master of life, that he would protect his children from the Piasa. On the last night of the fast, the great spirit appeared to Ouatoga in a dream, and directed him to select twenty of his warriors, each armed with a bow and poisoned arrow, and conceal themselves in a designated spot. Near the place of their concealment, another warrior was to stand in open view, as a victim for the Piasa, which they must shoot the instant that it pounced upon his prey. When the chief awoke in the morning, he thanked the great spirit, and returning to his tribe, told them of his dream. The warriors were quickly selected and placed in ambush, as directed, Ouatoga offered himself as the victim. He was willing to die for his tribe. Placing himself in open view of the bluff, he soon saw the Piasa perched on the bluff, eyeing his prey. Ouatoga drew up his manly form to its utmost height, and planting his feet firmly upon the earth, began to chant the death song of a warrior. A moment after, the Piasa rose into the air, and swift as a thunderbolt, darted down upon the chief. Scarcely had he reached his victim, when every bow was sprung and every arrow sent, to the feather, into his body. The Piasa uttered a wild, fearful scream, that resounded far over the opposite side of the river, and expired. Ouatoga had held an invisible shield over him. In memory of this event, the image of the Piasa was engraved on the bluff. Such is the Indian tradition. Of course, I do not vouch for its truth. This much, however, is certain, the figure of a large bird, cut into the solid rock, is still there, and at a height that is perfectly inaccessible. How and for what purpose it was made, I leave for others to determine; even at this day, an Indian never passes that spot in his canoe without firing his gun at the figure of the bird. The marks of the balls on the rock are almost innumerable.
Near the close of March of the present year [1836] I was induced to visit the bluffs below the mouth of the Illinois and above that of the Piasa. My curiosity was principally directed to the examination of a cave connected with the above traditions, as one of those in which the bird had carried its human victims. Preceded by an intelligent guide who carried a spade, I set out on my excursion. The cave was extremely difficult of access, and at one point of our progress, I stood at an elevation of more than one hundred and fifty feet on the face of the bluff, with barely room to sustain one foot. The unbroken wall towered above me, while below was the river. After a long and perilous clambering, we reached the cave, which was about fifty feet above the surface of the river. By the aid of a long pole, placed on the projecting rock, and the upper end touching the mouth of the cave, we succeeded in entering it. Nothing could be more impressive than the view from the entrance of this cavern. The Mississippi was rolling in silent grandeur beneath us; high over our heads a single cedar hung its branches over the cliff, on the blasted top of which was seated a bald eagle. No other sound or sign of life was near us. A Sabbath stillness rested upon the scene. Not a cloud was in the heavens; not a breath of air was stirring. The broad Mississippi lay before us, calm and smooth as a lake. The landscape presented the same wild aspect as it did before it had yet met the eye of the white man.
The roof of the cavern was vaulted, the top of which was hardly less than twenty-five feet in height. The shape of the cave was irregular, but so far as I could judge, the bottom would average twenty by thirty feet. The floor of this cave, throughout its whole extent, was a mass of human bones. Skulls and other human bones were mingled together in the utmost confusion. To what depth they descended I am unable to decide, but we dug to the depth of three or four feet in every quarter of the cavern, and still we found only bones. How, and by whom, and for what purpose, it is impossible even to conjecture. - Family Mag. ******************************************* THE STORY OF THE EVIL MANITOU
[The following article is a condensation of an "Original Tale" of "The Manitou of the Piasa, an Indian Tradition," which appeared in two installments in the Alton Telegraph & Democratic Review, April 20 and April 27, 1844. It is not the same legend as the popularly accepted one and because of its uniqueness it is being reprinted.]
It is well known to all voyagers on the Mississippi that on the face of the towering bluffs near Alton are portrayed some striking and unique representations, seemingly the work of art though in a rude and imperfect state. The largest figure of this singular group is of an oblong form of distorted proportions; it is believed by some to be the picture of a monster bird of which there are no specimens extant in natural history, nor any account save in the vague traditions of the Indians. This portrait has become faded, by exposure to the elements and its outlines are but faintly perceived. (Since this story was recounted the original has been blasted away, and a replica painted on the rocks.)
The color appears to have been a dark vermillion hue [red to reddish orange], and its location is somewhat elevated above the now surface of the adjacent bank of the river. Its origin is far removed into the past, doubtless prior to the first voyage of Columbus. Although generally and familiarly designated as the "Piasa Bird," yet but few of the arguments advanced in support of so fanciful a cognomen [name] have more to rest upon than the magic web of the imagination.
A tradition in vogue the past few years is that form is of a nondescript bird that once existed in this section and was accustomed to feed on human flesh. It became the terror of the country for miles around as the land was being depopulated by its rapacity; a brave chief, incited by the Great Spirit, slew the dire scourge of his race and sketched its dimensions on the rocks. That such may have been one of the traditions of the Indians I do not pretend to deny, but I most seriously question the appearance of the picture, a single glance at which will establish that the bird in its original was certainly the sole genus of the species, and far more resembled the hippopotamus, with branching horns instead of the solitary horn of the amphibious animal, than any winged fowl of the air.
This story is of another tradition existing among the Pottowottomics to this day, respecting the object. A great many moons since, and long before the pale face had ventured across the salt lake, the grand valley of the mighty Mississippi was possessed by red men. Its dense and unbroken wilderness presented a wide, fearful solitude, save where smoke rising in spiral wreaths gave indications of the presence of human beings and their tribes. These Indians, grave and taciturn in their intercourse with each other, exhibited feelings of deep reverence towards their Great Spirit and their mythological superstitions and opinions would equal in magnitude to those of the ancient Greeks. They had their Great Spirit of Good and their Great Spirit of Evil, the latter subordinate and acting in subserviency to the former, and an intermediate grade of mysterious and supernatural beings, both good and evil, known as Manitou's.
The Pottowottomies at this time had a range of country on the east side of the Mississippi, extending from the mouth of the Cahokia to that of the Illinois, thence up that river for some 40 miles, and nearly striking the Wabash in the interior. These Indians were numerous and powerful and their war cry had been heard on the shores of the northern lakes, and those of the Ohio. Their principal village was situated upon the margin of the Mississippi some three miles above the mouth of the Missouri, situated in a deep and secluded valley where a limpid spring gushed from the mouth of a yawning cavern in the hillside. This cave could be entered only with difficulty, but gradually enlarged into capacious grottoes where the Pottowottomies believed lived a good Manitou that breathed the cooling breeze through their valley and they called the place "Manitou Cave." Pilgrimages were made to it and the fancied spirit invoked on all occasions.
The head chief on this nation was Oak-Tappah, Strong-Heart, noted for his strength of body, courage in combat, and address in council. Of stern and sanguine temperament, he heard the advice of his colleagues and subordinates without regard unless they were in unison with his own preconceived plans of action. A wife, called Tay-ma-lieu, and a single daughter, Wacoulla, the Deer-eyed, formed his family. Wacoulla, who had not passed 15 summers, was straight as an arrow, with perfect features and the bounding step of Diana. She was the idol of her parents and was beloved of all the tribe.
But distress arose to the tribe, imperceptible at first and regarded as accidental. Some people were passing up the river in canoes not far above the village and were drowned in deep water, no trace of their bodies being found. This affliction wore away and was nearly forgotten when a large party, including some of the chiefs, found a watery grave, and the tribe gave itself up to grief. As the rites of burial were esteemed sacred and without which no disembodied spirit could enter the Elysium of bliss, but must wander disconsolate and forlorn in the regions of space until its mortal remains were entombed, the total and unaccountable disappearance of the bodies of the unfortunate beings was regarded with ominous forebodings. But this incident in time was forgotten also.
About six moons subsequent to the second drowning, a friendly part of the Kaskaskias came to celebrate the peace just concluded between their ranks and the Pottowottomies. The visit lasted many days with fetes and carousals to amuse the guests. During this festal occasion, Wacoulla was betrothed to Conecuh, a young and brave chief of her tribe, but the consummation of the marriage was postponed until the next harvest session because of the extreme youth of Wacoulla.
One day, a party of each tribe, emulous of the other's skill in the chase, proceeded to the west side of the river to vie in the hunt; they took precaution to cross below the locality of the mishaps. The hunt lasted three days and success in the hunt made the warriors forget the mishaps, so a portion of each tribe, against the advise of Oak-Tappah, crossed in the fatal spot - their canoes were struck as though by a thunderbolt and all of the 35 perished. Great was the consternation of the tribe and the surviving visitors at this new calamity, and after a solemn feast for the departed, the Kaskaskias carried the news to their distant homes, and the Pottowottomies were bowed down to the dust.
Oak-Tappah and his council declared it death for any one to attempt passage of the river within an arrow's throw of the dead place, and a signal staff of black was placed on the protruding cliff above the vortex to warn navigators to avoid the spot. Prophets of the tribe convened and with all the mystery and mummery they could command, informed the chiefs that an evil Manitou existed in the river, that the Great Spirit had placed there to punish them for their sins. An old man of the sacred conclave gave as his individual prediction, unsanctioned by his fellows, that the evil Manitou would be a scourge until there should be born of one of the daughters of the tribe, a son of the good Manitou of the cave, who would overcome their terrible enemy and release them from his thralls. But this, regarded lightly as an incoherent ebullition [passion] of an old man's fancy, soon was forgotten.
From that day Indians never passed up or down the river directly, but if occasion called them above they first proceeded to the mouth of the Missouri, thence up its turbid current 20 miles where they disembarked on its northern side and carried their canoes some four miles to reach the Mississippi, and there launched upon its waters out of range of the Manitou; in descending, they took the same route. Fame of the monster extended the length of the river and all voyagers avoided the spot, universally landing and transporting their canoes across the narrow neck intervening between the Mississippi and Missouri, so that the place is designated as Portage.
Time drew near for the marriage of Wacoulla and Conecuh, and Oak-Tappah was desirous of delaying the consummation until a season of prosperity, but at the earnest request of the latter, consented to the nuptials a few moons removed. In the intermediate period, however, strange rumors arose in the village concerning Wacoulla, of a nature derogatory to her hitherto unspotted character. She appeared not less radiant, but time had matured her graces. A fullness of form scarcely perceptible might have been observed, and her beaming eyes were downcast in seeming confusion, when she was summoned to the presence of her father. Attending the mandate, she found Oak-Tappah and Conecuh as well as most of the chiefs, in loud and angry debate, coupling her name with degrading epithets; none defending her, not even Conecuh. She was declared to be enceinte and sentenced to death by exposure for her lapse from virtue. Called before her judges, her father with more than Roman stoicism, calmly sentenced her and would allow no argument. She threw herself on the ground, embracing the knees of Oak-Tappah and called, "My father! Hear me. I am innocent." But he tore himself away and ordered her to a retired lodge near Manitou spring, where vigilantly guarded she should be kept until time of her execution. The day when she was to have been the bride of Conecuh found her a prisoner under guard of an old hag. Although a number of the tribe hoped the stubborn council would relent, the fatal day arrived and a cortège was sent to the lodge to escort Wacoulla to her death - but she had escaped during the night with her twin boys, and the old woman could give no account of her absence. This report caused excitement, numbers expressing their undisguised joy, while her father was indignant with her dilatory guards and slew them. Runners were dispatched in all directions in a vain effort to recapture the fugitive, and it was generally believed that she perished in the river attempting to escape, and might even have been the prey of the Manitou. The last words of Wacoulla, pleading her innocence, weighed heavily on Oak-Tappah, and sleeping or waking he was never free of the accusations of a conscience.
Twenty years to a day had elapsed and the Pottowottomies met to celebrate their annual festival of spring. Oak-Tappah was yet alive, and still bore himself proudly, but his step was less elastic and his scalp lock white as driven snow, though his eagle eyes had lost none of their fire. Ta-ma-lieu, still living, kindly endeavored to suage his sorrows and relieve the care that was breaking his stout heart. The brave Conecuh had fallen in battle while yet young, but in the agonies of death still cherished the beautiful, though degraded, Wacoulla. On this anniversary, which had long been suspended in consequence of the contiguity of the evil Manitou to wreak his vengeance, feasts were laid out and games enjoyed. Joy and hilarity resounded throughout the vale, and dangers past or anticipated seemed unknown. Members of the tribe discovered in the distance a canoe approaching, and supposed it to belong to friends who were late for the festivities. In the canoe could be seen three persons, two males and a female, and what seemed unusual was that the former were speeding their bark against the current while the woman reclined at ease, an unheard of thing in Indian etiquette. The foremost rower ceased his work and in their own tongue requested permission to land and enjoy hospitality. The demand was acceded to and the three were cordially greeted as they gained the shore. The men who alighted on the beach were in the first bloom of early manhood, one of them of extraordinary height and perfect symmetry of person, while the other, though scarcely of medium stature, had uncommon breadth across the shoulders and chest, indicating unparalleled strength of body. The woman accompanying them seemed to be of middle age and presented a majesty of bearing and beauty well entitled to respect. From their manners and equipage they were judged to be of high rank of their own country and were conducted to a spacious lodge having several compartments; a repast was set for them and the ever present pipe, with its soporific fumes, concluded the evening. Etiquette forbade inquiry as to names, residence, or destination of their guests until after expiration of three days, in which interdicted time many surmises were indulged by their hosts.
The fourth morning decorum sanctioned propounding of interrogatories to the visitors; the taller of the youths answered by the name of Pessayah, his brother was Onecaw and the woman was called Metturoh, and they had come from the south from among the Natchez tribe. Even in the distant, sunny clime they had heard of the good Manitou of the cave and the evil Manitou of the river, and had come to offer homage to the former, while he avowed their unshaken resolution to conquer the latter. Oak-Tappah again bade them welcome and entreated them to give up their project, but Pessayah replied, almost scornfully, that they feared not the bad Manitou if they could secure aid of the Great Spirit and his Manitou of the cave. The two declared that on the morrow, when the sun was in his meridian they would seek their enemy. They were steadfast in their decision despite the bribes of wealth and power Oak-Tappah offered them; and when the chief entreated Matturoh to exert her influence to stop them, she refused.
In the silent watches of the night, the three strangers took the path which led to the Manitou cave and entered, remaining two hours. The morrow came, the hour of noon drew near, and as they could not prevent the desperate attack upon the Manitou, the chiefs assembled their people on the high bluff to watch, with suppressed respiration, the anticipated immolation of the brothers; some few young braves, rather from shame at the cowardice of their fellows than from true courage, attended the daring champions to the vicinage of the expected contest, and among the last came Metturoh, who fearlessly accompanied her companions to be near and encourage them. The two men grasped their weapons, a dart or lance somewhat resembling a modern harpoon, secured to the wrist by a small cord of seagrass, the blades in one part being nearly eight inches in width and the points carved down to the shape of a sword. Made in the south where the art of working metals was known, these instruments were more formidable for attack or defense than the simple weapons of the northern Indians. The young men stood side by side, dressed completely in tanned deer skins worked down to the suppleness of oilcloth and well glazed over the a preparation which rendered them imperious to water but did not impede free action. After exchanging gestures with Metturoh, they seated themselves in a canoe lying at the water's edge and turned the head of the vessel up the river, using their weapons as paddles, and forced their course into the track of the evil Manitou. The canoe in its rapid progress was struck from beneath and demolished, while the navigators were thrown into deep water. Sustaining themselves on the current, they grasped their blades and turned to meet the unseen foe. An enormous monster with spread-horns, rose to the surface and rushed upon them with distended jaws, armed with tusks that flashed in the sun like burnished steel, threatening to engulf the enemies in his jaw. As the creature came floundering toward them, Onecaw, parting from his brother to distract the attention of the Manitou, approached the latter on the flank and with deadly thrust, gave him a blow back of the shoulder, just as the monster meant to clutch Pessayah. The blow penetrated far into the vitals of the animal, causing it to reel towards Onecaw, but that young man dived deep into the stream and rose to the surface at a safe distance, while Pessayah, with much strength, belabored the opponent, and in several minutes they gave him a mortal wound. Combat seemed to increase his ferocity and appetite for revenge. The water, encrimsoned by blood, was lashed to foam in his frantic efforts to strike the brothers; he nearly raised his form upright and then fell prostrate on the surface, turned on his back and from dilated nostrils spouted volumes of blood high in the air. With a mighty roar, he floated motionless, an unsightly and misshapen object.
Knowing he was dead, Pessayah disengaged the cord that attached his weapon to the wrist, and made it fast to the antlered horns of the Manitou, the like cord worn by Onecaw was spliced to it. Pessayah fastened the other end around his body and gave it to Onecaw, who ascended the lifeless mass while the former towed the monster to shore. The throng was wild with joy and rushed to meet the illustrious champions; none was more ardent in congratulations than Metturoh, who embraced them repeatedly. The monster's body was drawn onto the beach; festivities were heard in the village throughout the night. The following day the two youths and the council set about to make a lasting memento of the event. They skinned the huge carcass and disposed of the body as a burnt sacrifice to the Great Spirit. Paint was made by bruising various flowers and roots, mingling therewith those ingredients necessary to make lasting colors, and adding a quantity of the blood of the Manitou. Pessayah climbed on the shoulders of Onecaw, who stood with his back to the rocks of the cliff, and the skin was handed up to him and stretched out on the rock where he traced the dimensions with the point of his weapon. Paint was put on with unsparing hand, the cleatrices well washed over and the operation repeated many times until the painting exhibited a striking image of the Manitou. Shape of the head and its branching horns was sketched in bold relief to the principal figure, along with hieroglyphics commemorating the event. Onecaw and his brother then went in a canoe on the river, but as no further obstruction or danger was encountered, direct navigation was resumed and joy of the natives was unbounded.
During the festivities of the evening, Oak-Tappah proposed that since he had no sons of his own, he adopt the two youths to inherit his rank and estate, while Matturoh should be provided for as became her high standing. She neared the old chief and bending low, thus addressed him: "Oak-Tappah, the strong heart, know that I am your daughter, the once poor, condemned, though innocent, Wacoulla; who, to save her life, fled many years ago from your power, with her two helpless children. Behold them now before you! And if the valor they have shown in slaying your greatest enemy is worthy of any return, then, oh my father, recompense it, by showing mercy to your daughter, whom you once condemned to an ignominious death. Spare her now, and forgive her; and may the good Manitou of the cave, who is the father of these noble youths, take you under his protection." Falling at his feet, she clung to his sandals, crying for mercy while the young men kneeled also and modestly, though earnestly, added their prayers to those of their mother. Oak-Tappah could not believe those words until his wife said, "Metturoh is indeed our daughter. She discovered herself to me on yesterday, and pointed out a mark on her person to me familiar from her infancy, and we concluded to keep this recognition secretly until today. Extend your favor to her; for she is in all honor deserving it."
The chief scanned the features of the weeping Wacoulla with a smile, the first in many years, and upraised the prostrate woman and wildly clasping her to his breast, exclaimed, "Wacoulla! I pardon thee my daughter; they cruel sentence is revoked and high rank awaits thee and thy brave sons, in the land of thy fathers. Thou art indeed my daughter, the long deplored Wacoulla, and thy sons shall be my sons. Well do I call to mind an ancient and indistinct prophecy of our seers, that this evil Manitou should be the perpetual scourge of our race until exterminated by a son of the good Manitou of the cave, born of one of the daughters of our tribe, and now right well and gloriously had this prediction been verified. And I, fool that I was, would not hear thee, but adjudged thee to a horrid death. And now, Wacoulla, my daughter, restored to me again, can you forgive me the many sufferings I have caused you. Onecaw and Pessayah, pardon me for what I have unwittingly forced ye all to suffer. Welcome again, thrice welcome to our homes and hearts. Is it not so, my council?" he concluded. They echoed his words and high rose the shouts of the spectators.
Prosperity and happiness again smiled over the land. Messengers were sent to surrounding tribes to convey the gratifying news of the destruction of the evil Manitou, and restoration of the chief's daughter. Years passed. Oak-Tappah was gathered unto his fathers and Onecaw and Pessayah jointly succeeded to his sway. Wacoulla enjoyed renown of her sons until a good old age. Fame acquired in killing the Manitou extended the entire length of the Mississippi and congratulations were sent them and their praises sung far and wide. The Kaskaskias, not unmindful of the heavy debt they owed the brothers for avenging the untimely death of a number of their tribe, declared that their own beautiful river should be called the "Onecaw," which name was abridged into that of "Okaw" and is used until now when speaking of the Kaskaskia river. The name Pessayah, since corrupted to "Piasa," was bestowed upon the creek passing through the village from Manitou spring, and also to a large stream a few miles above. The twin chiefs transmitted to their posterity the noble virtues that adorned their characters. During the long ages succeeding, the painting on the bluffs was viewed with superstitious awe by the simple-minded natives who, in passing it, would supplicate the protection of the Great Spirit, and bless the memory of the two brothers. Time in his revolutions, at length brought against the red men a foe more subtle and dangerous than the Manitou. It brought the Europeans, before whom they fled inwild dismay, or were unmercifully slaughtered, and there arose no Onecaw or Pessayah to avenge them.
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THE TRAGEDY OF LOVER'S LEAP Source: Alton Evening Telegraph Centennial Edition, January 15, 1936, by John D. McAdams
Long before the white man knew of the great Mississippi river and valley, long before wagon roads were beaten across this section, when waterways were the only means of transportation, the Indians lived here. Some of the stories gathered from tales handed down have been given a place in the history of Illinis, and this story of the tragedy of Lovers Leap at Alton, is one of the Indian stories which have been officially adopted and preserved by the Illinois Historical Society.
The scene of this story is Alton, at the foot of Prospect street, really in the backyard of the Eben Rodgers home, where a great rock rests on the ledge of the bluff, and has been there as far back as records go. There is every reason to believe that the Illini Indians may have had a camp here because of the fine hunting grounds across the river, where the two rivers met. Anyway, so the story goes, the Illini tribe was living here and its chief at that time was Ouatoga, famed as the savior who brought about the death of the Piasa Bird. Ouatoga had a charming daughter, Laughing Water. When she was born, Ouatoga had looked down into the river and the ripples, he believed, was the laughter of the waters because he had a new daughter, so he named her Laughing Water. Laughing Water was 16 at the time of this story and was, undoubtedly, much sought by the braves of the Illini, being the daughter of the chief and young and pretty. It is known at this time there was much loyalty amongst the Indians, and knowing little of the preachments of good will to one's neighbors, the Indians looked upon members of other tribes as their enemies, mainly because of encroachments upon each other's hunting grounds. But there was peace among the Illini. Ouatoga was a good chief, content to remain at peace with his neighbors so long as they did not molest him or his tribesmen. On the Missouri River, far above the present site of St. Charles, was the camp of the Big Osage Indians with their active chief, Red Wing, "He who flies with the wind." In the tribe was a young brave, just 18 years old, who was the pride of the tribe because he was a great swimmer. His name was Black Otter and he had been given this name after he developed his swimming prowess as a swimmer.
Black Otter was a venturesome young brave and a dreamer. He dreamed of lands down the river, or lands up the river, and he would slip away by himself on trips of several days, sometimes hiding himself from enemy Indians he encountered. One of these journeys down the Missouri included a trip over to the Mississippi and he wandered down its bank, wondering what was on the other side of the high bluffs across the river. As he walked down the river bank, he finally spied a young woman sitting on a rock high on the bluffs. His eyes were keen and he could see she was young and beautiful. He stood and stared and wondered what would happen if he dared to swim across the great river to get closer. He waited till evening, wondering if the young Indian maiden would remain sitting on the rock. When the moonlit night came, he kept his watch on the rock. Finally he saw someone climb on the rock and stand there. Black Otter was determined. He was unafraid; his blood surged hot - to be in love was as exciting as the chase, he said to himself, and dropping into the water he started the swim across. His arms were strong and he swam easily. The moonlight caused a beam of red to reflect a shimmering path directly to the place where the rock was on the bluff. Black Otter swam down the lighted streak, his strokes growing stronger as he went on. All was so quiet - not a sound but that of his splashing through the water. What an adventure! Would he come back alive? What care if he didn't - what was life but one adventure after another?
On Lover's Leap rock sat Laughing Water, dangling her feet out over the river and watching the streak of light on the water, caused by the moon. And finally she detected something swimming in the water - maybe it was a deer or a bear crossing the river - but she didn't care as she was out of danger, with a steep precipice below, which she was certain no man or beast could climb. but the object fascinated her as it swam toward her. Finally the object was directly out from her, and she could see that it was a man swimming. Who could it be? What a good swimmer he must be! All of these thoughts ran through the mind of Laughing Water. Finally she heard a scratching on the rocks and she was somewhat alarmed. Yet, why be alarmed? No one could scale that cliff. The noise of falling bits of rock and noises as of someone working for a foothold could be heard. Finally, a hand came up on the ledge, then another hand, and a young Indian pulled himself up on the rock and sat beside the young Indian maiden. "I am Black Otter, and I am the best swimmer in the Big Osage tribe. They named me Black Otter because I was the best swimmer, and you just look what I can do." He jumped to his feet and dove off the cliff down over 200 feet into the river. Laughter Water was astounded at his bravery, and her face flushed with admiration, for she had never seen a brave so daring. No Illini brave had ever scaled that cliff or dove off it into the river. Would he ever come again? What a charming youth he was!
Black Otter swam back across the river and made his way back to his tribal home among the Big Osage. It was daylight when he arrived, and he had run all the way. His heart was aflame, for in the moonlight he had seen that the maiden was young and beautiful, and he felt that he had proved to her without doubt his lack of fear and his ability as a swimmer and diver. Laughter Water held her secret, she told no one - for she had noted in the moonlight that the young Indian wore the belt with the yellow beads on it, that meant he was a brave of the Big Osage tribe. She knew only too well that for her father, Chief Ouatoga, to learn that she had been visited by the Big Osage brave would cause a great upset in the camp, perhaps a war between the two tribes. But Laughing Water went each clear night and sat on the rock. She looked longingly up the river and listened intently for the noise of a swimmer. Would he ever come again? Yes, he could come, for love then was as love is now, it knew no barriers of danger. Black Otter did come again and he swam the river and again scaled the cliff to sit by the side of Laughing Water. He came time after time and they fell deeper in love. Despite the danger, despite the barrier of tribal loyalty between them, they loved each other and told each other so time and again.
But, even in that day, the monster of jealousy and hatred was afield, and amongst the braves of the Illini it became know the young brave of the Big Osage had a love tryst with Laughing Water, and they held council and decided to go to the Chief Ouatoga. Ouatoga was angered and sent at once for Laughing Water. Laughing Water was silent. She knew the love in her own heart, and she knew her duty to her Chief Father, Ouatoga. She did not answer, but turned away and ran to her lodge to be alone. But, as time went on, Black Otter came again and again. Laughing Water told him he was to go and never come back. He begged her to go with him. He told her he could not be happy without her. But Laughing Water told him it would cause war and would bring unhappiness to the tribe of the Illini, but she told him she loved him dearly and also wanted to be with him. It was a serious night with two lovers, torn between love and loyalty to tribe, both strong sentiments in the Indian heart. And while they talked over their dilemma, the braves of the Illini were busy. They went to Chief Ouatoga and took him to a place on the bluff where he could see the couple on the rock. Ouatoga asked if the Indian wore the belt with the yellow beads. He was told that he did. "Then go and get me my bow and dip an arrow in the poison of the copperhead snake and dip it deep and well; test my bow string to see that it is tight and strong, for this night the young brave with the yellow bead belt shall die by my hand, to save Laughing Water from him."
The braves were only too glad to follow the old chief's instructions and soon returned with the bow and arrow. Ouatoga, as he sat and thought of many Illini braves who had been slain by the braves of the Big Osage, became more angry and without a word he took the bow and arrow, pulled the bowstring back to the lobe of his ear, and let fly the poisoned arrow from the strongest drawn bow he could muster at his age. Ouatoga was so angered, and was so anxious to wreak vengeance upon the young brave, that his aim was poor and the poisoned arrow pierced the heart of Laughing Water and she fell into Black Otter's arms and died. Black Otter, hearing the war whoops of the Illini braves, raised Laughing Water in his arms and jumped far out from the rock down into the waters of the Mississippi, sinking into its bosom and adding just another mystery to that great old river of mystery. Black Otter and Laughing Water were now together forever, never to be parted, to end their honeymoon in the happy hunting ground. And thus the printed word shall perpetuate this Indian legend of Lovers' Leap, an Indian legend, now and always inseparably connected with the city of Alton.
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Copyright 2008 Bev Bauser. All Rights Reserved. |
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