In Carter County, Kentucky, there is a legend which had its beginning
long ago when Indian princesses roamed the Blue Ridge, and pioneers'
hopes were high of finding a lost silver mine said to be in caves close
by.
Morg Tompert loved to tell the story. As long as he lived the old fellow
could be found on a warm spring day sitting in the doorway of his little
shack nearly hidden by a clump of dogwoods. A shack of rough planks that
clung tenaciously to the mountain side facing Saltpeter, or as it was
sometimes called--Swindle Cave. The former name came from the deposit of
that mineral, the latter from the counterfeiters who carried on their
nefarious trade within the security of the dark cavern.
As he talked, Morg plucked a dogwood blossom that peeped around the
corner of his shack like a gossipy old woman. "See that bloom?" He held
it toward the visitor. "Some say that a Indian princess who was slain by
a jealous chieftain sopped up her heart's blood with it and that's how
come the stains on the tip of the white flower. There have been Indian
princesses right here on this very ground." Morg nodded slowly. "There's
the empty tomb of one--yes, and there's a silver mine way back yonder in
that cave. They were there long before them scalawags were
counterfeiting inside that cave. Did ever you hear of Huraken?" he asked
with childish eagerness. Morg needed no urging. He went on to tell how
this Indian warrior of the Cherokee tribe loved a beautiful Indian
princess named Manuita:
"Men are all alike no matter what their color may be. They want to show
out before the maiden they love best. Huraken did. He roved far away to
find a pretty for her. That is to say a pretty he could give the
chieftain, her father, in exchange for Manuita's hand. He must have been
gone a right smart spell for the princess got plum out of heart, allowed
he was never coming back and, bless you, she leapt off a cliff. Killed
herself! And all this time her own true love was unaware of what she had
done. He, himself, was give up to be dead. But what kept him away so
long was he had come upon a silver mine. He dug the silver out of the
earth, melted it, and made a beautiful tomahawk. He beat it out on the
anvil and fashioned a peace pipe on its handle. He must have been proud
as a peacock strutting in the sun preening its feathers. Huraken was
hurrying along, fleet as a deer through the forest, his shiny tomahawk
glistening in his strong right hand. The gift for the chieftain in
exchange for the princess bride. All of a sudden he halted right off yon
a little way. There where the stony cliff hangs over. Right there before
Huraken's eyes at his feet lay the corpse of an Indian lass, face
downward. When he turned the face upwards, it was the princess. Princess
Manuita, his own true love. His sorryful cry raised up as high as the
heavens. Huraken was plum beside himself with grief. He gathered up the
princess in his arms and packed her off into the cave. Her tomb is right
in there yet--empty."
Old Morg paused for breath. "Huraken kept it secret where he had buried
his true love. He meant to watch over her tomb all the rest of his life.
Then the chieftain, Manuita's father, got word of it somehow. He vowed
to his tribe that Huraken had murdered his daughter in cold blood. So
the chieftain and his tribe set out and captured Huraken. They bound him
hand and foot with strips of buckskin out in the forest so that wild
varmints could come and devour his flesh and he couldn't help himself.
He'd concealed his tomahawk next to his hide under his heavy deerskin
hunting coat. But the spirit of the dead princess pitied her helpless
lover. Come a big rain that night that pelted him and soaked him plum to
the skin. The princess had prayed of the Rain God to send that downpour.
It soaked the buckskin through and through that bound Huraken's hands
and feet and he wriggled loose. Many a long day and night he wandered
away off in strange forests, but all the time the spirit of his true
love, the princess, haunted him. He got no peace till he came back and
give himself up to the chieftain. Only one thing the prisoner asked.
Would they let him go to the cave before they put him to death? Now the
Cherokees are fearful of evil spirits. When they took Huraken to the
mouth of the cave they would go no farther. 'Evil spirits are inside!'
the chieftain said, and the rest of his tribe nodded and frowned. So
Huraken went into the dark cave alone. From that to this he's never been
seen. And the corpse of the Princess Manuita, it's gone too. Her empty
tomb is in yonder's cave. Not even a crumb of her bones can be found."
Old Morg Tompert reflected a long moment. "I reckon when Huraken packed
the princess off somewhere else her corpse come to be a heavy load. He
dropped his silver tomahawk that he had aimed to give the chieftain for
his daughter's hand. It lay for a hundred year or more--I reckon it's
been that long--right where it was dropped. Off yonder in Smoky Valley
under a high cliff some of Pa's kinfolks found it. A silver tomahawk
with a peace pipe carved on its handle. Pa's own blood kin, by name, Ben
Henderson, found that silver tomahawk but no living soul has ever found
the lost silver mine. There's bound to have been a mine, else Huraken
could never have made that silver tomahawk. Only one lorn white man knew
where it was. His name was Swift. But when he died, he taken the secret
of the silver mine to the grave with him. Swift ought to a-told some of
the womenfolks," declared old Morg, still vexed at the man Swift's
laxity though his demise had occurred ages ago. "Swift ought to a-told
some of the womenfolks," old Morg repeated with finality.