The Daughter of the Chieftain

The Daughter of the Chieftain

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#4 in our series by Edward S. Ellis
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Title: The Daughter of the Chieftain The Story of an Indian Girl
Author: Edward S. Ellis
Release Date: February, 2005 [EBook #7493] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on May 10,

2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English
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DAUGHTER OF THE CHIEFTAIN ***

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The Daughter of the Chieftain The Story of an Indian Girl by Edward S.
Ellis.
CHAPTER ONE
: OMAS, ALICE, AND LINNA
I don't suppose there is any use in trying to find out when the game of
"Jack Stones" was first played. No one can tell. It certainly is a good
many hundred years old.
All boys and girls know how to play it. There is the little rubber ball,
which you toss in the air, catch up one of the odd iron prongs, without
touching another, and while the ball is aloft; then you do the same with
another, and again with another, until none is left. After that you seize a
couple at a time, until all have been used; then three, and four, and so
on, with other variations, to the end of the game.
Doubtless your fathers and mothers, if they watch you during the
progress of the play, will think it easy and simple. If they do, persuade
them to try it. You will soon laugh at their failure.
Now, when we older folks were young like you, we did not have the

regular, scraggly bits of iron and dainty rubber ball. We played with
pieces of stones. I suspect more deftness was needed in handling them
than in using the new fashioned pieces. Certainly, in trials than I can
remember, I never played the game through without a break; but then I
was never half so handy as you are at such things: that, no doubt,
accounts for it.
Well, a good many years ago, before any of your fathers or mothers
were born, a little girl named Alice Ripley sat near her home playing
"Jack Stones." It was the first of July, 1778, and although her house
was made of logs, had no carpets or stove, but a big fireplace, where all
the food was made ready for eating, yet no sweeter or happier girl can
be found today, if you spend weeks in searching for her. Nor can you
come upon a more lovely spot in which to build a home, for it was the
famed Wyoming Valley, in Western Pennsylvania.
Now, since some of my young friends may not be acquainted with this
place, you will allow me to tell you that the Wyoming Valley lies
between the Blue Ridge and the Alleghany Mountains, and that the
beautiful Susquehanna River runs through it.
The valley runs northeast and southwest, and is twenty-one miles long,
with an average breadth of three miles. The bottom lands-- that is, those
in the lowest portion--are sometimes overflowed when there is an
unusual quantity of water in the river. In some places the plains are
level, and in others, rolling. The soil is very fertile.
Two mountain ranges hem in the valley. The one on the east has an
average height of a thousand feet, and the other two hundred feet less.
The eastern range is steep, mostly barren, and abounds with caverns,
clefts, ravines, and forests. The western is not nearly so wild, and is
mostly cultivated.
The meaning of the Indian word for Wyoming is "Large Plains," which,
like most of the Indian names, fits very well indeed.
The first white man who visited Wyoming was a good Moravian
missionary, Count Zinzendorf--in 1742. He toiled among the Delaware

Indians who lived there, and those of his faith who followed him