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BY EPES SARGENT.

The excursion of June, 1854, up the Northern Mississippi, in honor
of the completion of the Rock-Island and Chicago Railroad, and by
invitation of the contractors of that road, was on a scale quite unparalleled
in the history of similar celebrations. Some seven hundred
guests, chiefly from the Atlantic States, were freely transported an
immense distance to view the last railroad link between the Atlantic
and the Mississippi, and to enjoy an excursion by steamboat from the
point of termination on the river up to the new and wondrous city of
St. Paul, in Minnesota, and thence to Fort Snelling, and by land to
the Falls of St. Anthony.

The river trip was accomplished between Monday evening and the
next Saturday morning; the boats stopping at Galena and Dubuque
on the upward passage. Above Dubuque the scenery begins to open
upon the voyager in forms of singular beauty. The bluffs grow higher
and more precipitous; and the remarkable sand-stone protrusions, so
characteristic of the banks of the Upper Mississippi, begin to appear.

At one point it requires no exaggeration of fancy to trace the outlines
of a ruined castle; while, at another, you see a solitary tower,
and then the serrated embrasures of a deserted battlement. The boat
glides on, and now from the steep slope of a bluff, clothed in richest
verdure, as if it had been kept under careful cultivation, you see the
sand-stone bare in a single central spot, and taking the form of an
ancient cenotaph, as if there reposed the ashes of some ante-diluvian
monarch. A mile or two farther on, and the broken entablature of a
Grecian temple, with architrave, frieze, and cornice, and resting on

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two or three dismembered columns, seems set in a wall of verdure,
as if it were a piece of subterranean architecture, exposed by the
washing away of the earth, which had then been sloped and terraced
about it by the hand of art, and planted with the finest grasses, while
the trees were so distributed as to impart the most picturesque effect.
Indeed, the orchard-like appearance of these slopes, sweeping in curves
of enchanting beauty to the water's edge, is the most surprising feature
in the landscape. For scores of miles you may see no sign of
population, and yet many of these hills appear like the outskirts of a
nobleman's park, carefully kept free from under-brush and matted
vegetation, and rounded by some landscape gardener to gratify the
eye of taste. Here and there a sort of dimple is scooped in the hill;
or you see two noble hills nearly meet at their bases, leaving a hollow
between, like a lap, to receive the treasures of fertility which the
land is ready to pour down. The charm of vegetation, which a luxuriant
soil imparts, is spread like a mantle over these bluffs. You
look in vain for a bleak or barren point. When the bluffs sink on
one side of the river, they reappear on the other; and this peculiarity
continues, with a few exceptions, (as at Lake Pepin,) till you reach
the pine region above the mouth of the St. Croix.

A hundred miles from the Falls of St. Anthony, you pass through
Lake Pepin, which is merely an expansion of the Mississippi, about
twenty-four miles long, and from two to four miles wide. It is
rightly named a lake, however; as the characteristics of the river are
here greatly modified. There is no perceptible current. The low
islands, covered with rank vegetation, and annually overflowed and
abraded by the brimming river, here entirely disappear. There is
not an island in Lake Pepin. There are bluffs on both sides, which
slope down cleanly to the water's edge, leaving a narrow rim of sand,
but no marshy bottom-land between.

At one point, on the Wisconsin shore, the bluffs recede, and a
beautiful platform of land extends before them, dotted with trees.
On the Minnesota shore the line of bluffs is at one place thrown back
to make way for a prairie, on the back-ground of which Nature has
lavished all that can be imagined of the picturesque in the scenery of
hill and dale. Here and there along the summit-line of majestic

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bluffs you see a single row of trees at a distance of several feet from
one another, like warriors in Indian file.

The amenity of the landscape lends to it an indescribable charm.
On Lake George you see bold and beautiful hills, wooded to the
water's edge, and interspersed with rocks and rugged declivities that
contrast with the pervading verdure. But on Lake Pepin you see
grandeur putting on all forms of beauty, and wearing, under all
aspects, a smile. Even its ravines are so hollowed and smoothed
that every rugged feature has been softened down. Its charming hillsides
are such as the imagination of Watteau used to select for the
pastoral pic-nics and concerts he delighted to paint. The charm of
variety is not wanting to these slopes. The curves and undulations
of verdure assume every fanciful and delightful form; now sweeping
so as to create a regular amphitheatre between two high bluffs; now
sinking into basins; now sparsely dotted with trees; now entirely
bare of trees, and richly carpeted with grass; now crowned with
noble forests; and now rising into a perpendicular and precipitous
wall of sand-stone.

On our northward trip, we passed through Lake Pepin in the
night-time; so that we could not see much of its scenery. Three of
our boats were lashed together, and thus proceeded along the whole
length of the lake, exhibiting to any stray occupant of the shore a
startling and fiery spectacle. On our return we were more fortunate.
We entered upon Lake Pepin at the dawn of a beautiful day.
Toward the southern extremity of the lake we saw the high bluff, with
its sand-stone pinnacle, known as the Maiden's Rock. It was my
fortune to be standing on the hurricane-deck, with my foot upon a
life-preserving stool, and my elbow leaned upon my knee, when some
of my lady acquaintances of the excursion broke in upon my contemplations.

“We have come to you,” said one, “for the authentic version of
the legend which gives to that rock its name. Please to sit down,
and tell it like a faithful chronicler.”

“Authorities differ,” said another, “as to whether the maiden,
who threw herself from the rock, had a lover; now I insist upon it
that she had.”

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“Please to be seated, ladies, and you shall hear the whole story;
although it is many years since I received it from a Sister of Charity
at Montreal.”

“But I insist upon it that a lover must be introduced,” said lady
number two.

“We can not promise,” said I; “for the story will come to my
recollection only by degrees, as I go along. What shall we call it?”

“Call it,” said the first lady, hesitatingly, “call it

“We-no-na's Rock.”

“We-no-na's Rock it shall be.”

Know, then, that many years ago, shortly before the indefatigable
Jesuit missionaries had penetrated this country, or given to this beautiful
lake the name of that old king of the Franks, which it bears, the
Dahcotahs or Sioux Indians occupied the region now partly included
within the limits of Minnesota and Wisconsin.

The Dahcotahs were confederated bands, sub-divided into clans,
and they differed from the Indians east of the Mississippi in relying
more exclusively for their support upon hunting the bison. They
were a fierce, aggressive people, and so improvident, that periods of
famine among them were quite common. On such occasions they
would suddenly break up their settlements and move to distant
hunting-grounds, leaving their infirm old men, who were unable to
travel, behind to perish.

On a cold day in January, on the edge of the clump of trees which
you see a short distance back from the Maiden's Rock, an old Indian
might have been seen cowering about a fire. Ish-te-nah had been left
to die. His people, driven by hunger, had gone west in search of the
bison. A small pile of wood, some morsels of food, a hatchet, a birchen
vessel, filled with water, and a bow and arrows, were by his side; and
a few stakes, covered with deer-skins, disposed in a cone-like shape,
formed the wigwam for his shelter and repose. The ground was
covered with snow, and the wind blew keenly from the north-west.

“Go, my children,” the old man had said, when some seemed to
hesitate in their act of desertion; “go where you can get food. Leave
me to the Great Spirit's care. At the best I have but a brief while

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to live. I should be a burthen and a delay to you if you attempted
to take me with you. Your women and young people must be provided
for. Go!”

And Ish-te-nah was left alone. Although he had made a virtue
of necessity, and exhibited the characteristic stoicism of his race, in
insisting upon thus being deserted, he could not repress the bitter
thoughts that visited him as the last lingerers disappeared from his
feeble gaze. He recalled the times when he had rallied his people to
a victorious onset, or saved them from a well-laid ambush, or brought
them off safely from the assault of superior numbers. He recalled
his achievements in the chase, and the occasions when, by foresight
and energy, he had averted calamities like the present. And after
all his benefits to his tribe, here was his reward.

As he was indulging in these repining retrospections, he was
startled by the sound of crackling snow, and the next moment an
Indian girl stood panting before him.

“We-no-na! What brings you here?” said the old man. “Do
not linger, or you will miss your people's track. Already the drifting
snow may have covered it.”

“I do not care. I stay here,” said We-no-na, throwing some dry
boughs on the fire.

“Would the young fawn perish like the old, disabled buck?
What moves We-no-na to this desperate resolve?”

“Father, they would wed me to the chief Ha-o-kah; and I detest
him.”

“In other words, you love some younger man of the tribe.”

“I love no man, young or old; unless it be you, father, from
whom I have always had kindness.”

“Go, foolish fawn! Ha-o-kah is as good as most husbands.”

“I would sooner die than have a husband, if all are like those of
the Dahcotahs,” exclaimed We-no-na energetically. “How much
better is a wife treated than a dog? Look at my mother! See her
staggering under heavy burthens, while her husband carries no more
than will keep him warm. The wife must cut the tree, peel the bark,
build the hut, sew the skins, paddle the canoe, and cook the food.
She must do every menial thing, while the husband looks on in

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idleness. All this I could bear, if she had good treatment after it. But
then, when her drudgery is over, she must be beaten, or have a stick
of wood thrown at her head. Yesterday my mother was beaten for
not beating me hard enough, because I said I would die sooner than
marry, and so I would!”

“The Indian's is a bad life,” said the old man. “What you say
is true. Indian women are slaves; and Indian old men are abandoned,
as I am, to die.”

“Father, you shall not die if I can help it. I will build your fire,
peel bark to improve your shelter, and break holes in the ice to catch
fish.”

For a moment the old man's Indian apathy was melted, and a
strange, unwonted feeling, which, a little more indulged, would have
brought tears to his eyes, stole through his breast.

“We-no-na deserves a better husband than any Dahcotah would
make,” said the old man. “It is hard to speak against one's own
nation; but what I have seen, I have seen. We-no-na does not
desire to be a slave, and so she will go unwedded.”

“Father, I would willingly toil like a slave, if there were loving
words and looks to repay me; but the angry threat, the blow, the
contempt of a man is more than I can submit to. I think the Great
Spirit has made me different from other Dahcotah women.”

Saying this, We-no-na seized the hatchet, and treading lightly and
fleetly over the snow toward that grove of oak which you see in
the direction of the north-west, cut a bundle of dry boughs, and
brought them to the fire. The old man and maiden then partook of
a frugal meal of dried venison; and when the night came on, one
of them watched the fire while the other slept.

The next morning We-no-na crossed the lake on the ice to that
bluff with the bowl-like hollow on its front, to reconnoitre. What
was her joy on discovering traces of deer! She had brought the
old man's bow and arrows with her, and she resolved to lie in wait for
the game on which not only her own life, but another's, seemed now to
depend. Her vigilance was soon repaid. A noble deer came bounding
by toward an oak opening which lies just back of the bluff. With
beating heart We-no-na fixed the arrow in the string, and without

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pausing, shot it at the animal. Leaping high in the air, he fell, and
crimsoned the snow with his life-blood. “Surely,” thought We-no-na,
“the good spirit who dwells in woods has befriended me;” for
this was the first deer she had ever killed. With great labor she
dragged the carcase to the edge of the bluff, and rolled it down over
the icy crust to the frozen lake. It would have been hard work for a
strong man to pull it over the ice, and up to the little encampment
back of We-no-na's rock. But this she did, greatly fearing the
while lest the wolves should interrupt her in the task.

Old Ish-te-nah's eyes sparkled when he saw what the maiden had
accomplished.

“Here is enough,” he said, “to keep you from starving till the
spring.”

“To keep us both, father,” rejoined We-no-na.

The old man shook his head, but said nothing.

“What would my father say?” asked We-no-na, after a long pause.

“Should I leave you, my child, trust in the Great Spirit, and be
brave. Wait here through the winter as long as you can get food
and warmth; but do not tarry after you have plucked the first ripe
strawberry in the summer. Remember.”

We-no-na promised obedience.

“And go east, beyond the great lakes, to the country of the
Algonquins, where you will find the pale-faces of whom you have
heard, and who will teach you much that will do your people good,
should you ever return to them.”

We-no-na bowed her head in acknowledgment that she had stored
up in her memory all that the old man had enjoined. She then
cooked some venison, but he partook sparingly, and bade her sleep,
while he watched. The command was not unwelcome; for she had
been much fatigued by her day's work. She slept profoundly for
some hours, then started up suddenly, waked by the cold, and found
that the fire was decaying fast. She heaped upon it some more
wood, then turning to Ish-te-nah, said: “Father, you shall now take
your turn to sleep.” No answer came from him. We-no-na seized
him by the arm: it was cold and stiff. The soul of the old warrior
had departed.

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The maiden sat in mute, overpowering affliction for many hours.
The anguish of utter bereavement and desolation seemed to deprive
her even of the relief of tears. At length she recalled her promises
to the old man. She found a place under a high snow-drift, where
the ground was yet unfrozen; and here she dug a grave, and deposited
his mortal body. And it was not till all this was done, and the snow
had been replaced over the spot of interment, and the fire had been
heaped anew with wood, that tears and lamentations found vent with
We-no-na.

But the grief of the young and healthy is like a flesh-wound that
befalls them: it soon heals. Left entirely to her own resources,
We-no-na found hourly occupation for her hands and thoughts, and at
night slept so profoundly that, on waking, she often could not remember
that she had even dreamed. She enlarged the little wigwam so
as to make quite a neat apartment, well roofed, and with a floor of
bark, on which was spread the skin of a bison. By laying large strips
of bark sloping against the trees to which her wigwam was bound, she
made a safe place for the deposit of the venison and other provisions.
She constructed a canoe in anticipation of the river's melting in the
spring; and out of the deer-skin she made moccasins and belts. And
then a good part of the day was occupied in cutting and bringing in
wood; so that We-no-na had little time for idle or desponding fancies.
Occasionally, when the wind howled, and the snow whirled in
wild eddies over the bluff, she would sit and feed the fire for hours,
and then strange thoughts would visit her; and the consciousness of
her lonely situation would press upon her heavily. But she was
naturally cheerful and hopeful; and her day-dreams were oftener
bright than gloomy. She was saddest when she thought of a little
sister, who had died the winter before. But one night she dreamed
that little We-har-ka came to her lonely wigwam, and promised to
lead her in good time to a land more beautiful than any she had yet
seen, where there were birds and fruits all the year round, and where
no violence was done, and no harsh words were spoken. After this,
We-no-na was more content, and she loved to recall all the particulars
of her dream. There were little brothers whom she had been
obliged to leave in deserting her people. And did not We-no-na

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grieve for them? Alas! like all Indian boys, they had been bred up
to treat their sisters with contempt and ignominy; and the effects of
a vile education had been such as to blunt their natural affections, and
to make them regard the fraternal sentiment as a weakness which no
boy who hoped to become a great warrior ought to entertain.

The winter months had never seemed to We-no-na less tedious.
March, with its cold blasts, and April, with its torrents of rain, had
passed; and the south wind unlocked the fettered Mississippi, and the
blue waters of Lake Pepin again sparkled in the sunshine, and the
verdure began to creep over bluff and prairie, and the delicate foliage
to fringe the trees, and bright flowers to open amid the springing grass
and by the border of the groves. We-no-na's winter experiences had
given her a feeling of independence and self-reliance, which was in
itself a great source of happiness. Never before had she known the
true luxury of freedom. If heretofore she had roamed the prairie, or
paddled the canoe, it was but to anticipate her degradation the moment
she should enter the filthy hovels where her people were herded.
She had a womanly sense of neatness, which now she could indulge
unchecked. She delighted in nature, and her delight was now
unmarred by embittering associations. She grew in stature and in
beauty, and in strength and fleetness; and as she snuffed the pure
morning breeze, and saw the sun crimsoning the eastern clouds, or as
she looked up to the starry heavens, or to the coruscations of the
Aurora by night, she would exclaim: “Yes, the Great Spirit is
generous and good; it is man only who is bad, and who spoils the
gifts that are lavished on his race!”

It was one of the last days of May, when, as We-no-na was
descending to that beautiful prairie, where the little house now stands,
she saw a red strawberry amid the grass, and plucked it. She then
remembered Ish-te-nah's injunction, and walked musingly back to her
wigwam. It was almost with a pang of regret that she prepared to
leave this beautiful region. All the means of subsistence seemed so
abundant around her; earth, air, and water seemed so kind in rendering
up their stores; and then, as summer came on, the whole landscape
was clothed in such affluent beauty; the verdant bluffs swept in
such graceful curves to the water's edge; and the distant prairie

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began to heave its sparkling waves of green so luxuriantly! But
might there not be fair spots eastward of the lake? She would go, as
Ish-te-nah had recommended; but first she would collect, as a memorial,
some of the beautiful stones scattered along the shore.

These stones, as you are aware, are agates and cornelians; and
Lake Pepin has yielded them in abundance for many years.

We-no-na descended and ran along the shore as far as the point
we are now skirting. She would stop here and there to pick up a
handful of agates, and then, as she saw others more beautiful, she
would throw aside those she had gathered, and replace them with new
treasures. She was thus lured on to wander several miles; and the
evening twilight was far advanced before she regained her wigwam.
It was now too late to start upon her pilgrimage. No matter; she
would commence it early the next morning.

When morning came, there were many preparations to make;
and the sun had been up a couple of hours before she had set forth on
her journey. She carried her canoe fastened by a strap to her back,
her hatchet and arrows in her belt, and provision for several days in
a pouch of deer-skin that hung at her side. What was her dismay,
after descending the hill and passing through yonder little belt of
woodland, on coming suddenly upon an Indian encampment! She
paused, hoping to retreat unseen; but this was now impossible.
Several Indians started up and approached her, and a second glance
was not needed to assure her that among them she saw her father
and mother and her hated suitor, Ha-o-kah. This worthy chief had
made the lives of the old people somewhat uncomfortable from his
repeatedly twitting them with the fact that he had bought their
daughter of them twice over, and been cheated out of the purchase.
As Ha-o-kah had no small degree of influence in the tribe, the old
couple felt very uneasy at their daughter's dereliction, it having
placed them in the position of debtors to one who evidently, by
his frequent taunts and dunning, was not disposed to let them sleep
over the debt they had incurred.

There was, consequently, an exclamation of general surprise and
satisfaction at the appearance of We-no-na. Her first act was to
disencumber herself of her canoe, and every thing that could impede

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her flight. She then placed an arrow in the string of her bow, and,
retreating a few steps, called upon the approaching party to stop.
There was something so imperious in her tone that they instantly
obeyed. She then briefly told them that she had withdrawn from
her tribe; that she looked to none of them for support; and that
she wished to be alone. To this her father replied in violent language,
ordering her to come to him. She refused by a significant
gesture. He ran forward to meet her, but she soon doubled the
distance between them. With true Indian craft, he then changed
his policy, and asked We-no-na whiningly if she would not come
to her dear, affectionate parents? At the same time, We-no-na
could see him threaten her mother with his hatchet, bidding her
to join in his entreaties and lamentations. This the old woman
readily did. But We-no-na was inexorable. Then the amiable
Ha-o-kah approached; but as We-no-na aimed, or pretended to aim,
an arrow at him, he dodged behind a bush, and begged her to hear
him. This, she assured him, she would do if he would stay where he
was. Ha-o-kah then informed her that he had bought her in fair
trade of her parents, and that in common honesty she ought to come
and be his wife; he told her that he had but three wives, all of whom
were happy women; he had been very successful in hunting, and had
collected a good number of skins, beside a quantity of bear's-grease;
he had also taken the scalp of a Pawnee, and stolen a horse; in short,
there was not a young woman in the tribe who would not be proud
of the position he now offered to the disdainful We-no-na.

We-no-na, leaning scornfully on her bow, replied: “Thief of a
Dahcotah, your wife I will never be! You say you have but three:
there was a fourth, who died of a blow from her husband. What a
brave he must be! There is another, who is blind of an eye. How
did she lose it, O great warrior, with your one scalp, and that, I will
venture to say, a woman's? Never will I be your wife! never will I
be one of your people again! Go vent your anger upon the poor
slaves who are left to you, and be content!”

By this time the rage of Ha-o-kah was at its height; and, regardless
of danger, he rushed forth with a howl to seize her who had
dared to give utterance to such unwelcome truths. But We-no-na,

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vigilant as a wild-cat and swifter than the deer, gained an elevation
from which she again aimed an arrow at her pursuer. He threw
himself on the ground, and the arrow lodged in the trunk of a tree
some distance behind. With a yell, he rose to his feet, and strained
every sinew to overtake We-no-na; but, with the ease and grace of an
antelope, she outran him. All the young men of the encampment
were by this time in full chase; for they knew that they need expect
no grace from Ha-o-kah unless they were officious in assisting him.
We-no-na ran to the top of the bluff, where her wigwam stood, and
threw herself panting upon a bed of dry, fragrant grass, that she had
prepared some days before. She had rested there hardly a minute,
when the sound of voices and footsteps roused her, and, springing to
her feet, she saw Ha-o-kah, with three or four followers, ascending the
hill-slope from the south, and but a few rods distant. In a frenzy of
indignation, she again set an arrow in the string, and exclaiming,
“This, Ha-o-kah, for the benefit of your three wives!” shot it at him
before he had time to turn aside. It lodged in his right arm above
the elbow, disabling it materially for the active purposes of chastising
his wives or scalping his foes.

The pursuers paused, quite confounded at this audacious shot;
but Ha-o-kah, with a scream of mingled rage and pain, bade them
proceed, and they dashed on toward the summit of the bluff. As
they mounted it, they beheld We-no-na at the very edge of the
fearful precipice, looking back upon them with a determined
glance. “Brave woman-chasers!” she exclaimed, “let me see you
follow!”

And, with the words, she sprang from the cliff, some sixty feet far
out among the trees that slope from the base of the wall of rock
toward the water; and before her pursuers could reach the edge
of the precipice, she had swung herself from bough to bough into
the river.

There was an exclamation of horror and surprise from Ha-o-kah
and his young men as they witnessed this intrepid leap. No one
cared to risk his neck by imitating it. They separated, and ran
round each side of the bluff toward the base; but to their amazement
could see no trace of We-no-na. Was it possible that she had leaped

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so far as to fall into the water? Incredible as this seemed, it was the
conclusion to which they came.

Poor Ha-o-kah was a good deal crest-fallen, as, with his wounded
arm in a sling, he rejoined the encampment. His three wives at first
exhibited much concern on seeing him wounded, and approached him
with the servility he habitually exacted; but, on discovering that his
arm was so shattered as to be unfit for any future service, they
taunted him with his misfortune, and manifested a wonderful indifference
to his sufferings. He looked about for a hatchet to throw at
one of them, but a slight motion of his arm reminded him of his
impotence, and he changed his rough tone to a pleading treble. As
his influence with his tribe was derived chiefly from his physical
strength and skill, and not from his wisdom in council, he at once fell
into insignificance; and soon found himself restricted to a single wife,
whom he never spoke to but in terms of profound respect.

The pursuers all reported that We-no-na was drowned: it would
have been a poor compliment to their speed and sagacity to suppose
otherwise. Almost every version of the tradition of “We-no-na's
Rock” adopts their story. But it does not follow that, because they
could not find her, she was drowned. On the contrary, there is in
the very fact a presumption that she escaped. The truth is, that
We-no-na, who was a most adroit swimmer, did escape. Swimming
across the river, she concealed herself awhile, and then took up her
journey toward the east. She crossed the territory which now constitutes
the width of the State of Wisconsin, and arrived at Green
Bay early in August. Here, at the point where Fort La Baye was
subsequently erected, she found a French exploring party, under the
conduct of several Jesuit missionaries. She attached herself to it,
and soon made herself useful.

A young Parisian of education and refinement, and a devout
Catholic withal, named La Crosse, was seriously ill of a fever; and
We-no-na was appointed to watch and nurse him. This she did
with so much patience and fidelity, that La Crosse was seriously
impressed; and no sooner was he restored to health than he informed
Father Duhesme of his desire of espousing We-no-na. The worthy
father said that this could not be done until the maiden was made a

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good Catholic; and they both forthwith applied themselves to her
conversion. This was a longer process than they anticipated. It
was some time before We-no-na acquired sufficient French to understand
their purpose; and then she had so many posing questions to
ask, that the learned missionary frequently thought she must be
especially instigated by Satan in the unlooked-for difficulties she
raised.

At length the maiden's intelligence seemed to pierce to the pith
of the matter, relieved of all its bewildering husks, forms, and
wrappings. The beauty and holiness of Christian morality dawned
upon her benighted soul, and reconciled her fully and cordially to
the Christian religion. It was to her, in truth, a revelation, and
was received in earnestness and faith. She was baptized and married.

The party returned soon after to Montreal. La Crosse became
the chief man of one of the beautiful villages on the St. Lawrence.
We-no-na adapted herself eagerly to the habits and tastes of civilized
life. Sometimes, as the happy pair sat on their broad piazza amid
roses and honeysuckle, with their little half-breeds playing before them,
La Crosse, to make his wife's eyes flash with their old barbarian fire,
would express a pretended preference for the freedom of savage-life,
and, sighing, wish that they were among the Dahcotahs; a wish which
never failed to call forth an indignant rebuke from We-no-na. On
one occasion her husband, to please some wandering Iroquois, daubed
his face with ochre, grease, and charcoal, threw a blanket over his
shoulders, decorated his head with feathers, took a scalping-knife
in one hand and a tomahawk in the other, and, with genuine French
versatility, joined in a war-dance. But when he found that his disguise
disturbed We-no-na, so that she wept passionately, he threw it
aside, never to resume it.

A proud woman was she, when, with her two boys and a little girl,
La Crosse first drove her up, in a painted sledge, to the little Catholic
church where Sunday service was held. No wonder that the emotion
of gratitude surpassed all others as she knelt in prayer. A still
prouder woman was she, when her children could read and write,
and one of her boys attained such proficiency on the bass-viol that

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he was employed by the priest to lead the choir in church. They
grew up a bright intelligent race, and We-no-na lived to see them all
happily settled upon adjoining farms.

And this is the end of “We-no-na's Rock.”