THE LEGEND OF LOVERS’ LEAP.
An hour or more after dinner, as the boys were lounging about, a canoe
containing a single occupant was seen approaching the point. The person
who wielded the paddle headed for the sandy beach of the little cove,
upon which lay the canoe of the campers, and, as he drew near, he was
seen to be a youngish man dressed in khaki. A bamboo fishing rod
projected upward over one of the thwarts of the stranger’s canoe.
“I judge he’s coming to pay us a visit,” said Grant, starting toward the
beach.
Rod was right. Smiling pleasantly, the young man, who had a small black
moustache and seemed somewhat in need of a shave, brought his canoe on
to the beach with a soft grating sound and stepped out into the shallow
water, his feet being protected by water-tight boots.
“Hello,” he nodded in an agreeable manner. “Saw your smoke and thought
I’d come over. Camping out here, I see.”
“Yes,” answered Rod, equally affable and a bit curious. “Are you from
the hotel?”
“No. My name is Granger—Charles Granger, and I’m stopping in an old log
cabin about two miles from the hotel. How’s the fishing over this way?”
“Pretty good, I reckon. We’ve tried it only once, but we had good luck.
You see we got here last night barely soon enough to make camp.”
“I didn’t think you’d been here long,” said Granger, “for if you had I’d
been likely to have seen you before. How long do you plan to stay?”
“A week or so; perhaps two; if everything goes all right. My name is
Grant. Won’t you come up and meet the rest of the fellows?”
“Sure,” beamed Granger; “I’d like to.”
He followed Rod, who presented him to the others. Apparently he was a
languid sort of a chap with a dreamy eye, and, for all of his seeming
frankness, it was not long before the boys fancied they could perceive
something mysterious in his manner. He told them he was occupying the
old log cabin quite alone, his doctor having advised him to spend as
much of the summer as possible in the open air. Nevertheless, although
he was somewhat slender of build, he did not have the appearance of a
person in poor health. Springer, seeking to draw him out, soon
discovered that he knew very little about fishing and fishing tackle.
“Oh, I’m a greenhorn,” laughed Granger; “but I enjoy the sport just the
same. It’s about all I have to do besides read, and a man gets tired of
reading after a while. I have amused myself, however, by picking up some
information concerning the legends hereabouts. You know this is really a
most romantic spot, as well as one of the prettiest sheets of water to
be found in all New England. If people looking for a summer’s outing
just knew about it, they’d pack the Cliff House over there until it
would be necessary to build an addition.”
“The lake would soon be spoiled if rusticators overran it,” was Grant’s
opinion.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” retorted the visitor. “In one way,
perhaps you’re right, but it would mean tremendous business and a lot of
money for the hotel people. They took a big chance when they put up that
house over there and sunk so much money in it. You see there’s a certain
disadvantage in the fact that they’re so far from the nearest railroad
point, although to many people that would seem like an advantage. The
first two years they lost money hand over fist, although they advertised
extensively in the regular manner. This is the first season that they
have really done a fair sort of business, and I understand the business
is increasing.”
“You sus-seem to be interested in the hotel,” said Springer.
“Oh, not at all, not at all,” returned Granger. “I’m simply telling you
what I’ve heard, and it’s by the way of gossip, you know. We must have
something to talk about.”
“Sir,” said Piper, “I reckon maybe you’ll pardon me if I inform you that
we’re not much interested in the affairs of other people who have rashly
ventured into the remote regions of these virgin wilds. It is only their
ignorance or their foolish bravado that has led them thus to expose
their lives to the perils of the primeval forests, and were the
Wampanoags to take to the warpath, it is not at all improbable that the
foolhardy palefaces over yonder would be butchered to the last man,
woman and child.”
Mr. Granger looked at Sleuth in a puzzled way.
“What’s he talking about?” he asked.
“Injuns!” hissed Piper, unabashed. “We pioneers know full well the
perils that menace us in this redskin haunted land, but years of
experience amid such dangers have taught us to baffle the varmints.
Those who lack our knowledge should cling close to the settlements,
where they may seek the protection of the block houses whenever the
pizen warriors go on a rampage.”
The visitor turned from Sleuth to Grant. “Anything the matter with him
up here?” he asked, touching his forehead.
“Nothing but illuminated literature,” answered Rod, laughing. “At home
Piper has Sherlock Holmes and Old Sleuth backed against the ropes, and
groggy. He’s the greatest detective that ever solved the mystery of a
dark and terrible crime. Here in the woods he is the emulator of Daniel
Boone, Simon Kenton and ‘Deadeye Dick, the Boy Scout of the Border.’
That’s all.”
“Oh, I see,” laughed Granger. “It’s the effect of a vivid imagination,
spurred by a line of reading that some fussy people call pernicious. I
fancy he’ll get over it in time and be none the worse for it.”
Which caused Sleuth to snort disgustedly.
“Speaking of Indians,” pursued the visitor, “I suppose you’ve heard the
story of Lovers’ Leap? That’s the cliff over behind the hotel, the top
of which is marked by that white cross which you can faintly discern
against the sky.”
“Well,” replied Crane, “we’ve heard something abaout it.”
“It’s a most romantic legend,” said Granger glibly. “In the days before
the invading whites drove them out, two small, warlike tribes of
Indians, the Passagonquays and the Mattagamons, were almost constantly
at war over this particular territory, which was coveted by both. Even
in times of peace these tribes had little in common and shunned each
other as far as possible. According to the story, Lolokana was a
beautiful princess of the Passagonquays, and Agamenthan, a young brave
of that tribe, desired her to brighten his wigwam. But, for some reason,
Lolokana had no use for Agamenthan and steadily repulsed his wooing. One
day while Lolokana wandered alone in the forest she was attacked by a
panther.”
“Who says there are no cougars hereabouts?” muttered Piper.
“The princess would have been slain,” continued the narrator, “only for
the prompt and fortunate appearance of a tall, handsome young brave, who
rushed to her rescue and slew the panther with his knife. The young
Indian was wounded, but not seriously. His name was Woganock, and he was
a Mattagamon. Nevertheless, in spite of the hostility between the two
tribes, Lolokana promptly fell in love with Woganock. Of course they
knew their love-making would not meet with the sanction of their people,
and therefore it was carried on in secret through clandestine meetings
in the woods.
“But Agamenthan was keeping a jealous and watchful eye upon Lolokana,
and one day he followed her and saw the lovers meet in the forest.
Without hesitation he rushed upon Woganock, shouting for him to defend
himself. Armed only with their knives, the two young braves fought a
bloody battle, in which both were badly chopped up. Woganock conquered,
however, and Agamenthan was left apparently dying upon the ground.
“Supported and aided by Lolokana, Woganock, though desperately wounded,
made his way back to his tribe. But when he told the story of the battle
and confessed his love for Lolokana his father, a chief, rose in wrath
and drove the princess away, vowing that no Passagonquay should ever
take a Mattagamon for his squaw. Weak and helpless, Woganock could not
lift a hand in remonstrance, and doubtless it would have availed him
little had he been able to do so.
“Lolokana returned to her people and learned, to her astonishment, that
Agamenthan had been found by some warriors, who had bound up his
injuries and brought him back, alive, to the village. He must have been
a tough one, this redskin, for he did not die. However, he told the
story of the duel with Woganock, and thenceforth Lolokana was held
practically a captive by her father, who promised Agamenthan that she
should become his squaw. When the wounded brave recovered his strength
and health he was to have her, whether she wished it or not.
“Now, as it affects every girl of spirit, this attempt to coerce her
against her will made Lolokana only the more determined that she would
never belong to Agamenthan. If she had lost Woganock, if she was to see
him no more this side of the Happy Hunting Grounds, she was resolved
that she would die the squaw of no man. A prisoner, watched vigilantly
by night and by day, she dreamed splendid dreams of a reunion with the
lover who had saved her from the panther and defeated the warlike
Agamenthan in a fair and even battle. For, even as she had been driven
away by the angry Mattagamons, although he could make no effort to
shield her and could scarcely whisper a remonstrance, Woganock had cast
her a look from his dark eyes that was a pledge and a promise. So she
waited for him to come, confident that sometime he would do so and take
her away.
“At last, however, she began to fear that she had waited in vain, for
Agamenthan, bearing many terrible scars upon his person, had recovered
his strength and was asking of her father that the time should be set
when he could lead her to his wigwam. Though she knew of these councils
and of the impatience of the young brave, Lolokana kept her lips
sealed—kept her dark lashes always lowered, that Agamenthan might not
read in her eyes the resolve to die rather than submit. A knife, which
she had found, was hidden upon her person, and this, if nothing else,
would enable her to escape at the last moment. One strong, swift thrust
deep into her bosom would set her free.
“At last the day was named, and the chief of the Passagonquays told his
daughter that on the morrow she was to become the squaw of Agamenthan.
That night she did not close her eyes in sleep, although, lying quite
still, without a single movement to arouse suspicion, she led her
vigilant guard to believe she slumbered. It was her purpose to try to
creep forth from the teepee in the darkest hours and take flight.
“As she lay thus she heard something—the faintest rustle, like the
movements of a toad in the leaves; yet something told her it was not a
toad, and, with her heart pounding, she listened and listened. Presently
she heard her name whispered almost in her ear, and she knew it had been
breathed by the lips of Woganock. She knew her lover had come at last.
With all the skill and stealth of his race he had crept into the
village, not even disturbing a sleeping dog. He was outside the teepee;
only the thin wall divided them.
“Lulled by her apparent submission to the decree of her father, the
chief, the guard dozed. Woganock’s hands found his throat and strangled
him with scarcely a sound. Then, with the same caution, he led Lolokana
out of the village and away into the black depths of the forest.
“What had happened was not discovered by the Passagonquays until morning
dawned. Then, as you may believe, there was something doing. The old
chief called upon Agamenthan to bring the princess back, and Agamenthan
promised to do so. With a dozen young warriors at his heels, he took up
the trail. Three days and three nights they pursued the fleeing lovers
with the tenacity of bloodhounds. Early on the fourth day the pursuers
closed in upon Woganock and Lolokana, for the princess was weary. The
moccasins were gone from her bleeding feet, and even Woganock’s great
strength had been terribly taxed through bearing the maiden in his arms
over many of the rough places. They were trapped in the mountains
yonder. No matter which way they sought to flee, they found themselves
cut off, and eventually, with the pursuers closing in, they were driven
out upon the very brink of that great cliff where the cross now stands.
They could not descend, and to turn back into the forest from which they
had come meant nothing save final capture, even though they were to slip
through the cordon of pursuers.
“There upon the cliff, with half his followers at his heels, Agamenthan
found them. His eyes blazing with triumph, the Passagonquay advanced,
shouting exultantly that this time the dog of a Mattagamon should surely
die.
“With their hands clasped, Woganock and Lolokana looked into each
other’s eyes and spoke a few low words. When Agamenthan was less than
forty feet distant Woganock laughed at him and cried, ‘Fool! idiot!
warrior with the heart of a rabbit! spawn of a crawling snake! creature
that I have conquered and spit upon! if you would take Lolokana from me,
follow.’
“In a twinkling he had caught the princess up in his arms, and her arms
were around his neck. In another twinkling, before the eyes of the
horrified Agamenthan, he leaped far out from the brink of the precipice.
No sound, no cry did the lovers make as they fell. Even the ragged rocks
at the foot of the cliff could not tear them apart. They were found
among those rocks, dead, but still locked fast in each other’s arms.
“That’s the legend of Lovers’ Leap. The hotel people have put up the
cross to mark the spot from which Woganock sprang. There is a path,
passing round the cliff, which may be climbed by anyone who wishes to
visit the cross and has the energy and perseverance. Each day several of
the guests at the hotel climb that path.”