Spirit Lake, July, 1846.
This Lake, which the French have named Mill Lac, and certain ignorant
Yankees, Rum Lake, was originally called by the Chippeways,
Minsisagaigoming, which signifies the dwelling place of the Mysterious
Spirit. In form it is almost round, and about twenty miles across in the
widest part. The shores are rather low, but covered with a luxuriant
growth of oak, hard maple, and tamarack. It is shallow, but clear and
cold; has a sandy bottom, and yields a variety of fish; and contains
only three islands, which are small and rocky.
The Mysterious Spirit alluded to above has acquired a great notoriety on
account of his frequently taking away into the spirit land certain
people whom he loved. Sometimes he would take them for a few days, and
sometimes he would not return with them at all. The following stories
were given to me as facts, and I know were actually believed. An Indian,
with his family, had encamped upon the lake for one night, and just as
he was about to depart on the following morning, he could not find his
only child, a little girl. At one moment she was seen picking up some
pebbles near her father’s canoe, and the very next was gone. For six
days did they seek the child, but in vain. On the seventh day, however,
as they were about to depart once more, (having given up all hope of
recovering the lost one), they looked, and behold! she was again picking
up pebbles beside the canoe, as unconcerned as if nothing had happened.
When questioned, she answered that she had only been taken away by a
beautiful lady to a beautiful land, where she had been happy in seeing
many beautiful things.
Once when there was a party of Indians encamped here, a favorite young
girl was discovered to be missing, and her friends, supposing that she
had been drowned, were mourning bitterly at her departure; one day she
made her appearance in her father’s lodge, as if nothing had happened,
and was accompanied by two dogs. Her story was, that an old woman had
taken her to an island, presented her with the animals, and bade her
prepare for a long journey. She was absent for three weeks, but on the
day of her return was numbered with the dead.
A little boy was also once lost on the margin of this lake. The only
trace of him that ever could be discovered, was one of his arrows found
lodged in a tree. And the Indians believe too that the aged mother of
Hole-in-the-day (the great chief) was also carried away by this
Mysterious Spirit. One thing is certain, say they, she disappeared in
the twinkling of an eye from the party with whom she was travelling many
years ago. These are indeed idle legends, but give us an insight into
the Indian mind.
The following is an historical fact, which only proves the obstinacy of
their principal actor. Many years ago, a chief named White Fisher, with
his family and a party of braves, were encamped in one large lodge on
the north side of Spirit Lake. A friendly Indian entered the cabin at
sunset, and told the chief that he had seen a war-party of three Sioux
on his trail. The chief scorned to believe the story, because his dreams
had told him nothing about an enemy. In a short time his eldest son
returned from his evening hunt, and said that he had also seen three
Sioux in the woods about a mile off;—but the father continued to
disbelieve. Finally the chief’s own brother told him a similar story,
which was also treated with contempt. It was now morning, and the chief
made his appearance outside of his lodge, and was about to go upon a
hunt;—but in the twinkling of an eye three balls passed through his
body, and he died. Every single member of his household was killed,
excepting his youngest son, who was taken prisoner, lived in the Sioux
country for twenty years, but finally returned to his own people, and he
was the identical individual from whose lips I obtained the above facts.
He is now a chief, and universally known by his father’s name, Wabogike,
or White Fisher.
On the west bank of Spirit River, where it leaves the lake, is the rude
grave of Kitcheoseyin, or Elder Brother, who was one of the most famous
orators of his nation. He was a noted chief, and on one occasion had
given up into the hands of the white men a certain Chippeway murderer.
His people were very angry at him, and it was currently reported that he
was about to be assassinated. He heard of this interesting movement, and
immediately summoned a council. The warriors were all assembled, and
when the pipe had been passed entirely round, the chief stepped forward
and addressed the council in the following words, which were repeated to
me by one who heard them.
“Friends, relatives, and brothers. My object in calling you together in
council is this. I hear that you desire to take away my life because I
have given up to the white men a Chippeway Indian, who had murdered one
of their people. I have done so, brave men, and I think I have done
right. That man who committed the murder was a _bad dog_,—he was not a
true Chippeway Indian, and for his wicked deed he deserves to die. Had
we been at war with the white nation, it would have been well,—but we
are at peace.
“But, brothers, I understand that you accuse me of siding with the pale
faces, and that you think such conduct wrong. I do love the white men,
and I do not think my conduct wrong. Who is it, I would ask you, that
supplies us with food when game is scarce, and who gives the warm
blanket to protect us from the winter cold? Who is it that gives us the
guns that we so much need, and the tobacco that we so much love? You
know that it is the white man, and you know too that you act like fools
to blame me for my conduct, and seek to kill me because I would be an
honest Chippeway.
“I tell you, warriors, that I do love the white man, and I am ready to
die for his sake. You cannot compel me to change my opinion. Make a hole
in the lake yonder, take me by force and place me under it until I am
almost dead, then pull me up and ask me, ‘Will you side with the white
man now?’ and I will answer, ‘Yes.’ Do it again, and again, and again,
and I will always answer, ‘Yes,’ and also that ‘the white man is the
best friend we have.’ Friends, I command you to go home, and ever
hereafter mind your own business.”
Strange as it may seem this speech had the desired effect, and entirely
quelled the rising storm. The chief was not killed, but died many years
afterward with the lockjaw, from a cut that he accidentally received on
his foot.
The ruling chief of Spirit Lake, at the present time, is Naguanabic, or
Outside Feather. He is said to be the most worthy, intelligent and
influential of all the Chippeway chiefs. I spent many agreeable and
instructive hours in his lodge, and among my Indian curiosities there is
nothing that I value more highly than the presents I received from him.
It does my heart good to remember the old man, and the beautiful lake
which is his home.
A son of this old Indian, while hunting, once pursued a deer to a very
great distance, which he finally captured. Out of revenge for the
_improper_ conduct of the animal, the cruel Indian tortured it in a
variety of ways, and came home boasting of what he had done. At the
feast usually given on such occasions, this old chief addressed his son
in the following words: “We are thankful to the Great Spirit for
furnishing us with food. But my son has acted very wrong in torturing
that animal, and if the laws of the Great Spirit are not changed from
what they were in times past, that boy shall not be privileged to kill
another deer during the whole winter.” And I was told that he did not,
and that no cruel hearted man ever can, under similar circumstances.
It was from the lips of this aged Indian that I obtained the following
legend.
A thousand winters ago, the Great Spirit caused the sun to be fastened
in the heavens, for the purpose of destroying the world on account of an
enormous sin which had been committed. The men of that time assembled
together in council, but could devise no means to avert the calamity.
The animals of the earth also held a council, and they were about to
give up all hopes of a release, when a small animal stept forth and
avowed its intention of gnawing off the string that held the sun. He
entered the earth, and after travelling a long time, finally reached the
desired planet and accomplished his purpose. The heat of the sun,
however, was so great, that the sight of the heroic little animal was
impaired, and it returned to the earth—a poor blind mole.