Nothing, M. Verdier says, can be more picturesque and beautiful than
the cascade of St. Anthony, so renowned in the topography of the
western world. The irregular outline of the Fall, by dividing its
breadth, gives it a more impressive character, and enables the eye
more easily to take in its beauties. An island, stretching in the
river both above and below the Fall, separates it into two unequal
parts. From the nature of the rock which breaks into angular, and
apparently rhomboidal fragments of a huge size, this fall is
subdivided into small cascades, which adhere to each other, so as to
form a sheet of water, unrent, but composed of an alternation of
retiring and salient angles, and presenting a great variety of shapes
and shades. Each of these forms is in itself a perfect cascade. When
taken in one comprehensive view they assume a beauty of which we could
scarcely have deemed them susceptible. Few falls assume a wilder and
more picturesque aspect than these. The thick growth of oaks, hickory,
walnut, &c. upon the island, imparts to it a gloomy and sombre
aspect, contrasting pleasingly with the bright surface of the watery
sheet which reflects the sun in many differently coloured hues. All
travellers have spoken of it as possessing wonderful beauties, and the
poor unenlightened Indian, who ascribes every thing of an imposing, a
sublime, and a magnificent character, every thing which has phenomena
he cannot comprehend to a superior being, and who fancies a governing
spirit in every deep glen in the wilderness, has associated many of
his wild and fanciful traditions with this singular spot. The
following favourite tale of, the Dahcotah is not the only tradition
connected with this romantic spot.
An Indian of the Dahcotah nation had united himself early in life to a
youthful female, whose name was Ampato Sapa, which signifies, in the
Dahcotah language, the _Dark-day_. With her he lived for many years
very happily; their days glided on like a clear stream in the summer
noon. There were few husbands and wives who enjoyed as much nuptial
happiness as fell to the lot of this Indian couple. Among that people
the duties allotted to the female sex are both laborious and
incessant; with Ampato Sapa, they were ameliorated by the kindness of
her husband, who, in defiance of the customs of our people, performed
the greater part of her tasks herself. Their union had been blessed
with two children, upon whom both parents doated with a depth of
feeling unknown to those who have other treasures besides those which
spring from nature. The man had acquired a reputation as a hunter,
which drew around him many families who were happy to place themselves
under his protection, and avail themselves of such part of his chace,
as he needed not for the support of his family. Desirous of
strengthening their interest with him, some of them invited him to
form a connexion with their family, observing, at the same time, that
a man of his talents, and present and increasing importance, required
more than one woman, to wait upon the numerous guests whom his
reputation would induce to visit his lodge. They assured him that he
would soon be acknowledged as a chief, and that in this case a second
wife was indispensable. Their pleadings and flattery infused new ideas
into his mind, and ambition soon succeeded in dispelling love, and the
remembrance of years of conjugal endearment. Fired with the thought of
obtaining high honours, he resolved to increase his importance by a
union with the daughter of an influential man of his tribe. He had
accordingly taken a second wife, without having ever mentioned the
subject to his former companion, being desirous to introduce his
bride into his lodge, in the manner which should be least offensive to
the mother of his children, for whom he yet retained much regard,
though bad ambition "had induced him to countenance a divided bed and
affections." It became necessary, however, that he should break the
matter to her, which he did as follows: "You know," said he, "that I
can love no woman so fondly as I doat upon you. You were the first
woman I loved, and you are the only one. With regret have I seen you
of late subjected to toils which must be oppressive to you, and from
which I would gladly relieve you, yet I know of no other way of doing
so, than by associating to you, in the household duties, one who shall
relieve you from the trouble of entertaining the numerous guests whom
my growing importance in the nation collects around me. I have,
therefore, resolved to take another wife, but she shall always be
subject to your controul, as she will always rank in my affections
second to you."
With the utmost anxiety and deepest concern did his companion listen
to this unexpected proposal. She expostulated in the kindest terms;
entreated him with all the arguments which undisguised love and the
purest conjugal affection could suggest. She replied to all the
objections he had raised, and endeavoured to dispel all the clouds
his seemingly disinterested kindness had thrown over her present
situation. Desirous of winning her from her opposition, he concealed
the secret of his union with another, while she redoubled her care and
exertion, to convince him that she was equal to all the tasks imposed
upon her by his increasing reputation and notoriety. When he again
spoke on the subject, she pleaded all the endearments of their past
life; she spoke of his former kindness for her, of his regard for her
happiness, and that of their mutual offspring; she bade him beware of
the fatal consequences of this purpose of his. Finding her bent upon
withholding her consent to his plan, he informed her that all
opposition on her part was unavailing, as he had already selected
another partner; and that, if she could not see his new wife as a
friend, she must receive her as a necessary incumbrance, for he was
resolved that she should be an inmate in his house. The poor Dark-Day
heard these words in silent consternation. Watching her opportunity,
she stole away from the cabin with her infants, and fled to her
father, who lived at a considerable distance from the place of her
husband's residence. With him she remained until a party of Dahcotahs
went up the Mississippi, on a winter's hunt. Not caring whither she
went, so it was not to the lodge of her faithless husband, she
accompanied them. All hope had left her bosom, and even her interest
in her children had faded with the decay of the impassioned love she
had felt for their father. The world, the simple pleasures of Indian
life, had no farther charm for Ampato Sapa. She would wander for
hours, listless and tearful, by the shaded river bank, or gaze in the
night with a distracted look upon the silver moon and star-lit sky. At
times, as if fearful of impending pursuit, she would snatch up her
children, and rush out into the woods. The Red Man of the forest has a
kind of instinctive veneration for madness(1) in every form; the mere
supposition of such a misfortune has procured the liberation of a
victim bound to the stake, whom no arts or persuasion could operate to
save. The people of her tribe saw, with deep commiseration, the
seeming aberration of intellect of the poor Indian woman, but, knowing
little of the feeling which possessed her bosom, could apply no
healing medicine.
In the spring, as they were returning with their canoes loaded with
furs, they encamped near the falls which our white brother has seen,
and which have became so celebrated in Indian story for the many
tragical scenes connected with them. In the morning, as they left
their encamping ground on the border of the river, she for a while
lingered near the spot, as if working up her mind to some terrible
feat of despair. Then, launching her light canoe, she entered it with
her children, and paddled down the stream, singing her death-song. The
air was one of those melancholy airs which are sung by our people when
in deep distress, or about to end the journey of life.