Birch Bark Legends of Niagara — Reading Companion

This was the decision of the women. Among the Indians genealogy is reckoned on the mother's side alone; and, therefore, the important business of selecting a candidate to fill the place of War Eagle, who left no near relative, devolved upon the women, who decided the successful combatant was to be the future War Chief of the tribe and claim the wampum with the old Sachem's dark-eyed daughter.

Sympathy was pictured in most of the faces of those dark warriors, when passing the Great Oak's wigwam they beheld the moist eyes and tender leave-taking of that heroic old Chief and his motherless child, whose future depended so much on the coming contest, as following one after another they disappeared in the forest.

"The Gentle Fawn will stay in the shadow of her wigwam and work on her wampum." And the old Chief, whose words were law, also disappeared, following the narrow winding path, watched by the Fawn till the dense foliage hid him from her view. Without hearing the slightest noise the Fawn felt a hand upon her shoulder. Turning quickly, she beheld the pleasant face of Grey Eagle. Turning his hand in formal recognition, he addressed her:

"The Grey Eagle's eyes are very true, and his arms are very strong; shall he shut his eyes when he draws his bow?"

"May Grey Eagle's aim never be truer or his arm stronger than to-day." And love-light flashed from the soft eyes of the pretty Seneca maid.

"The Fawn has spoken well; Grey Eagle hears. When the wish-ton-wish sings his evening song Grey Eagle will be here again. The Fawn will welcome him."

The last of the warriors disappeared, followed by the old women and children, the latter with shouts and songs, going far towards the brow of the mountain, where evening would still find most of them gathering sticks and pine cones to light the evening fires.

About seven miles from the great cataract, towards the north, when following the river, is seen the famous Queenston Heights, where the force of waters has cut through solid rocks to a depth of about three hundred feet, and it is equaled in grandeur only by the cataract itself. This deep chasm in winding from the falls forms the great whirlpool--the terror of the poor aboriginals. From the brow of the mountain the most gorgeous landscape bursts upon the view.

A splendid picture, with the broad waters of Lake Ontario, forms a magnificent background. The mountain sides are broken by deep ravines and huge precipices rising to a great height. The scenery is wild beyond description. On the highest elevation of this rocky cliff, on the western shore, stands the Pillar of Brock, like a giant, guarding the borders of the Queen's Dominion.

Under the eye, at the foot of the mountain, nestles the pretty village of Lewiston. The banks of the river are lower and less rugged, and here commence the beautiful flats that reach to the shore of Ontario. The lake from this elevation is seen like a miniature ocean, spreading far and wide until clouds and water blend. On the left, the foaming, dashing river, passing furiously through the rocky gorge, here becomes quiet, winding its peaceful way through woods and meadows, its soft liquid blue dividing the Dominion from the United States, and gradually widening until its waters mingle with Ontario. There, standing opposite, and frowning upon each other, are the forts Niagara and Massussauga, where successively have contended French, English and Americans. Four villages appear within this view, on either side of the river, with their tall church spires, from which sweet, melancholy notes come floating on the air, tranquilizing the senses with the beautiful scene, interspersed by meadows and grain fields, thickly dotted with cottages, surrounded and half hidden among orchards and lovely gardens, disclosing hundreds of happy homes; while from this elevation deep repose gives softness to the whole picture. The same beautiful river and lake and rock-bound mountain surrounded the Indian's favorite hunting-ground; but a dense forest, divided by marshy creeks, protected their game and sheltered themselves.

Thus secluded, hundreds of wild songsters filled the air with music, while the melancholy notes of the wish-ton-wish's evening song traditionally had power to sooth their savage natures. This sweet, pensive scenery, decked with summer's lovely green or autumn's wampum dyes, with morning's glittering dews or evening's fire-flies' transient gleams, illuminating the darkest places; the distant murmur of the waterfall, the sympathetic cooing of the wild ducks, the cedar-scented air, all tended to thrill the Indian bosom with sensations not less melancholy, not less pleasing, than the present unsurpassed and magnificent view charms all beholders.