Birch Bark Legends of Niagara | Page 8

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.
Seldom so many warriors met at one time on these quiet flats, and
never contested champions more earnestly than did Black Snake and
Grey Eagle on that day for the two prizes in one; never were spectators
more enthusiastic. Their triumphant whoops echoed along the river
banks and their joyous applause animated the fatigued warriors, while
side combatants of various ages fought their mimic battles, blending
the whole in a scene of wild excitement and confusion. Grey Eagle was
an expert archer, but he had found his equal; hence the conflict was so
long, and had, from its even tenor, become so engrossing. One instant's
hesitation would probably decide the contest with critics so quick to
perceive with both eye and ear the least deviation from their standard
customs. After passing successively through the exercise of