LITTLE
BIT OF INDIAN LORE OF LAMOKA-WANETA ROMANCE
Warrior's
Son Loved Hated Chieftain's Daughter. He Fought For Her Against
Immense Odds
Together
They Die in the Beautiful :Lake that Bears Their Names.
Lakome was the son of a powerful warrior and Waneta
the daughter of a great chieftain. However, the Lamokas and Wanetas constantly
fought for the supremacy of the wayne district. When the son and daughter
met, by chance in the forest one day, and endless love began. The great
chief the father of Waneta had much objection to such an intermarriage
of good Waneta blood to hated Lamoka dish water. Accordingly he dispatched
four of his bravest warriors on horseback to capture the over, dead or
alike. Lamoka was discovered wandering through the forest with his Indian
girl. Then began a terrible combat with the odds four to one. The lover
fought madly for two hours, wielding his tomahawk and knife to good advantage.
Great Keuka, a powerful Waneta redskin, was the first warrior to succumb
to the blow of the tomahawk. One by one, the other three were relieved
of their scalps by lamokas.
LAMOKA'S SAD END.
When the din of battle was deadened, Waneta ran to
the spot of conflict only to see here brave lover stretched upon the ground,
mortally wounded. "If you die," quoth Waneta. The two Indians embarked
in a near by canoe after much exertion and the woman paddled swiftly away.
A spot on the shore was soon reached. Lamoka cast himself into the water.
Waneta followed suit and the two soon went to the happy hunting ground.
Rise to this legend i s viaible.
Many persons have partly tested the veracity of the
story, by casting stones on the sandy area, only to see them follow Waneta
and lamoka into the bowels of the earth never to reappear.
A Legend of Waneta Lake which was found it in an old copy of Hammondsport
Herald of December16,1874
Waneta
is one of the two small lakes in the town of .Tyrone, this
county, its waters euiapty to the south
It's
water empty to the south into Lake Lamoka, and flow to Bradford creek into
the Cohocton River. The Cohocton joins the Tioga at Corning and.
form the Chemung, which in turn unites with the Susquehanna
at Athens Point.. It was an this point that General Sullivan
built a fort in 1779, and began, an August 26th. his
march into the Indian country’ which took his army through
Schuyler county and alone the east shore of Seneca lake. An Indian
village wan located at the lower end of Waneta. lake, and
Indian relics in large quantities have within the past few months.
been uncovered and taken to a Rochester museum.
[The following legendary history of “Little Lake,” and the
sad story from
which
it took its original names was sent an by a western corespondent. It is
somewhat vague, in parts, and we supply this additional sketch from his
letters:]
The bones, discovered were those of
Kyuta, he having been buried in a mount still existing,
by order of Mahtoree, by whose medicine man the story was written
as described. For the
curious we will state that the skeleton was
found at the depth of about
two and a half or three feet. The mound is on
the farm now owned by
Mr.
Shannon: the point where the Indian camp lay is on the west side of the
lake lake, on the farm known as the Griffith place. The position
of the swamp at the feet in too well known for comment. Eds.]
An incident so curious in itself and so interesting to the people of this
vicinity, occurred to me last summer while vagabonding in the West that
I feel inclined to pen it. I was in South Kansas hunting up
some cattle that had strayed from one of our herds when one evening I found
myself belated alone and hungry. Aimless, though rapid riding for half
an hour brought a twinkling in the dim distance. Twenty minutes more and
I came to a house rather larger than the average western "dry goods box"
in fact it had need to be for well never mind, a short halloo, a quick
reply ad rough but cheery welcome, and i find myself at once voraciously
devouring my hearty mean and my funny rounding. A sketch will suffice.
The house of stone [the soft limestone of the region] unplasterd, eleven
children, all tow headed. A faded woman with a still more faded dress,
no carpets, a silver mounted Henry rifle, a family Bible, and a motley
collection of Indian curiosities strung along the walls. Not the least
curious ws the host himself. Tall loosed jointed keen yet lazy looking
he was the type of a not unlettered yet perfect vagabond. My meal dispatch
we began a rambling conversation, during which it finally came out that
I was from New York State, and Steuben County. Hearing this, with a lazy
slouching motion, Mr. mathews arose, and taking an old tomahawk from a
peg, remarked that his father once lived in Steuben county a good many
years ago, and had brought them there things, pointing with the tomahawk
to some other relics upon the wall from there. It roused my curiosity,
and after much trouble and many a pipe burned low, I managed to gain the
following information:
His father Charles Mathews, had once lived in Steuben
Co. on the southeast corner of what the Indians called "Lake Wa-neta,"
near Mud Lake but to the north of it, and nearly opposite a long low point
where tradition located an Indian village. He was plowing one day over
a little knoll which he had often remarked for its regularity, when he
struck what was apparently a loose heap of stones, he threw his plow out
of the furrow to avoid it, and in so doing discovered some arrow heads.
They attracted his attention and he threw aside the loose stone. His discovery
was curious but not valuable Pottery jar, and a crumbling skeleton.
the jar was eagerly opened, alas it contained no treasure, unless a piece
of smooth parchment, like deerskin covered with queer figures and still
queerer signs might be so called. The articles had been kept as curiosities
and finishing his narrative he laid them all before me. Deeply interested,
and unwilling to leave a document so peculiar, I finally persuaded Mr.
Mathews, with the aid of some good tobacco and a couple of silver dollars
to give it to me. I will pass over my sound sleep and hearty breakfast,
my return to the station and its duties, and will skip the following month
when I came once more to Kansas City; where I immediately called
on Gov. Wm. Walker who gave such efficient aid to school craft and got
him to make a translation of my precious document for me. Judge my surprise
and delight when I found it to be a record of the following exquisite legend.
I have not attempted to follow the peculiar construction of the Indian
language, but have endeavored faithful to preserve every detail: Many,
Many years ago when game and fish were plenty before the white man had
penetrated so far west, the Senecas roamed these woods; then happy
hunting grounds indeed. But, already the seeds of their ruin were sown,
the five nations, that confederacy by which their positive success had
been attained and so long continued, incited by the whites, were beginning
to grow jealous, the one of the other. a grand meeting was at length called,
and Mahtoree, chief of his tribe, with his daughter Wa-neta, and attendant
braves repaired to the appointed spot. Long and trouble were their debates,
hot and fiery their fierce eloquence, bitter and deep the feelings engendered.
Not thus was it with them all. Many an Indian youth chained to idleness
by the length of the council, wooed the dusky maidens hovering breathless
near to know if brothers and lovers were again to be endamgered. many an
Indian maiden stealthily met her lover foe, joyous for the moment, trembling
for the future. among them was Wa-neta, the startled fawn, the loveliest
of the maidens of the Senecas. By chance they met at first, Wa-neta and
Kyuta, strong arm, a brave of the tribe of the Iroquois, of all the tribes
the one most hated by the Senecas. He carried her far away in the wood
across the stream. smitten by her beauty he returned the following day
again to the spot. They met, they looked, they loved, and knew themselves
beloved. With the trembling passionate joy the stolen days were spent.
In anger with threats and fierce challenges the council
is broken up, and hurriedly the chiefs retire under an armed truce.
Lonely was Wa-neta in her lake girt home. Lonely an desolate! Softly dressed
skins and wampum would not please her, nor the attention of her fathers
braves. Sorrowful was her father, nor guessed he the cause.
There was feasting and dancing the feast of the gathered
corn, held on the bank of the glittering lake let.
Quivering over the water came the faint cry of the
quail, the bob-white rises and falls, and wails out again clear and strong.
Wa-neta starts. The revelry continues, and the moon in fickle splendor
attenuate, shine and hides her face beneath a veil of clouds.
A canoe glides over the waters towards the farther
shore, hesitates, the quail mournful note again rise upon the silent air.
and ripples to the beach. The lovers meet. Meet in trembling rapture suspense.
Hasty are their explanations. He is in an enemy's country, death lurks
beneath every tree. But if they fly and thus unprepared, they'll be pursued
and taken. Quick she tells him that her father Mahtoree leaves for
the war path soon. Till that time Kyuta must wait. They part.
Then wonder all the tribe that the feast of the corn
should have brought the rose to the cheek of Wa-neta, the started fawn;
all but Wentha, the weasel, who loving her himself and is jealous guess
at the cause. Again Wa-neta and Kyuta meet, and again they part. And at
each parting more passionately they love. The third night comes but not
alone Wa-neta's canoe steals o'er the silent bosom of the lake. Wentha
follows, sees and gliding back e're dawn three braves leave their wigwams
and disappear in the gloom. disappear, and gliding --- through the shadow
----outlet of the lake, till snake like they approach the trusting place,
snakelike quiet yet rustling slightly still. Kyuta leaning still where
Wa-neta left him, and murmuring o'er sweet memories, starts, listen, then
dropping disappears. A hurrying rush a long earsplitting whoop that wakes
Wa-neta with a shuddering spring as daylight dawns and the baffled braves
circle like bloodhounds for the trail. At last till found and throughout
the tedious wearying day they push through brake and brier till circling
back at eve led by the faithful lover, again they dimly see the smoke wreaths
of their village. Then suddenly breaks the trail and leaves them angered.
The mantle of light just fluttering gravely settles
slowly till the earth is black with murky gloom. Troubled whit vague fears
the maid Wa-neta prepares to take her nightly voyage. Stealthy she leaves
and skims across the placid water white robed in autumnal mists. She reaches
the appointed spot and listens breathlessly, no signal calls her, listens
till her heart throbs seem to her to call back echoes from the woods. She
gives the signal lightly.
The plash of a twig in the water near her is the only
answer. silent she becomes at once, but softly urges shore ward her canoe
to meet Kyuta breathless and waist deep in the water. Hurriedly he relates
the day's adventures and appoints a meeting later, and further down the
lake by a tall pine tree whit a broken crown is in act to kiss her when
an arrow quivering by his body by a hir's breadth stands deep sunken in
the boat. One quick vigorous push and it is out of range and loudly rings
his answering whoop. She hears the sound of the savage struggle, yearns
to return and short it, then in meek obedience glides toward the tall tree
at the foot of the lake blasted by the lightning. Her canoe grates softly
on the shore and springing out she begins to draw it upon the beach. Her
footing yields and she tries to step aside, she can not. Quick it flashes
on her, she has missed the tree Kuyta named and is alone, sinking in quicksand!
Terribly she struggles, daring not to shriek for fear of betraying him,
the loved one, and with every struggle sinking deeper. Already the cold
slimy ooze is clasping her slender waist in its chilling arms! She recalls
the stories ---at her! She recalls the stories of the Nubanawhaigs,
the water demons and falling, strains and shrieks aloud her lover's name,
to hear a cruel rippling laugh as one presses her wildly heaving bosom
to her clammy form., exulting in his bride. Oh could s he but see
Kyuta e're she died but kiss him once, but see him and not die this horrid
cruel death. Her mind forsakes her, and with one long despairing shriek
whose echoing horror makes the very wolves cower slinking to their dens,
she sinks with a gurgling rattle down, down, down.
Short and deadly was the struggle between Kyuta and
the braves. overbold by their numbered strength they rushed upon him where
he stood at bay. The first fell dead, his skull crushed in by the whizzing
tomahawk. The other two fought for love of war and glory. Kyuta fought
for life and love. He conquered and rising in crimsoned water crawled faint
and bleeding towards the blasted pine. That fearful wailing shriek pierces
his ears. The voice and name he catches and like one dead he falls upon
the earth smitten by its dying anguish. On and on it echoes rousing all
the village. With set faces and nervous eyes men prepare for instant war.
The curs forget to howl as they crouch close to the fires. Morning dawns!
Waneta's place is vacant. Their courage rised soon and the woods are searched.
Upon the beach they see the bodies of their comrades and the bloody trail
of Kyuta. At a run they follow till it is lost upon the waters edge. Canoes
are brought and they skirt the shores. A canoe in which a man sets motionless
and moaning they se. It is surrounded and they rush upon their prey burning
for their vengeance's; but withdraw their hands in haste as they catch
the meaning of his murmur and the expression of his stony face. Waneta,
Waneta, then louder and louder still with his stony eyes upon the
shore and espari in his wailing tones he calls he name. They too look upon
the shore. A belt of wampum and a string of colored beads upon their treacherous
surface have told their story. A whisper steals around, and awe struck
they retire. And ever thus at night Kyuta lingers on the bosom of the lake
murmuring , Waneta, till excited he will wail loud her name then sink to
moody silence. And ever was the choicest food placed for him by Mahtoree
there where first they met. And so much this name he murmured that the
south wind learned it; and as it glides with downy wings over her cruel
grave, sobs forth her name. Waneta.