The Legend of Roaring Spring

The Legend of Roaring Spring
Cloyd M. Fluke

There was a time - long, long ago - before white men had settled in what was to become Pennsylvania, when there were several Indian Villages scattered along the old Kittanning Trail, an Indian path running east to west. The trail followed beautiful rivers and dark, deep forest where wild flowers bloomed profusely and where deer and all forms of wild life abounded, believed by the Indians to have been placed there by the "Great Spirit" to feed and clothe his "Children of the Forest" so that they could be carefree and happy.

This trail wound through what are now Huntingdon (Standing Stone) and Water Street, and the Indian village of Assunepachla, near Franktown south of Hollidaysburg, and followed the mountains and valleys westward to the village of Kittanning. A branch trail ran south from Assunepachla through a natural gap in the mountains, now called McKee's Gap, and across the valley that is now Morrison's Cove. It ran through what was known as "Big Gap, now Loysburg Gap, to another Indian village along the Juniata River which has grown into the town of Everett.

Some of these Indian villages were friendly to other villages and some were not. Perhaps the most unfriendly of all was the Indian village now called Everett, established by a Shawnee tribe and ruled by a cruel and selfish chieftain named "Shingas." Shingas was known and feared by all because he converted the wealth of the surrounding tribes and constantly made war on his neighbors. He seemed to hate everyone and everything except his beautiful daughter, known as "The Fawn," and his large, black and powerful but mean stallion, called "Black Spirit," a horse that could not be matched within a thousand miles ... especially since horses were rare luxuries among the eastern Indians.

Approximately 27 miles away, through the two gaps and the cove in the mountains, was the more peaceful village of Assunepachla, ruled by a very old and very kind cheiftain named "Shickalemy." The Indians in Assunepachla, far from being warlike, were hard-working and industrious. All fall they had harvested and stored crops and had killed game and stored the meat for the winter, which their prophets had predicted would be long and cold. When the work was done and the people realized that they had more than enough to feed their tribe during the hard winter, they held a "Harvest Dance" to thank the "Great Spirit" for his goodness -- and everyone in the village rejoiced and joined in the festival.

But their joy was short-lived. Early one morning a horde of Indians, led by the mad chieftain Shingas on his giant black stallion, descended on Assunepachla, slaughtered the braves who tried to protect the people, destroyed tepees and store houses and returned triumphant to their village on the Juniata River near Everett Creek. Here, in celebration of their victory, the marauders held a feast that lasted for weeks.

It was not the first time that the Indians of Assunepachla had suffered from Shingas and his braves. They had been raided almost regularly .. especially every two years when the crops were best and the loot would be richest. The younger men of the village longed to declare war or Shingas and attack Everett village -- but the old chieftain, wise from years of ruling, said their warriors were to few in number and would only be massacred. "We must wait," he said. "The Great Spirit will destroy the Mad Chief."

Just as had been predicted, a long and bitterly cold winter had set in shortly after the Assunepachlas had repaired their tepees and gathered together their few remaining stores. The wind roared down the hollows and through the trees. Tepees were blown over, the sap in the trees froze and burst the bark with sharp, pistol-shot cracks. Even when a warm wind came and melted some of the snow, it soon turned to a cold heavy storm that tore up the snow-laden trees and crashed them to earth. Snow drifts piled higher and higher and food supplies became scarcer and scarcer until the villagers were hollow-eyed and so weak they could scarcely walk. There was no game to be had -- and if there had been, no one was able to wade the deep snow to get it. Some of the dogs had long since been killed and eaten. Shingas raiders had spilled a small amount of grain in their haste and this had been recovered and stored for meal -- but it, too, was almost gone. Many of the Indians died from cold and exposure, among them the beloved chieftain, Shickalemy. His subjects had sacrificed their own meagre rations and placed their food at his door -- but he had refused to accept it and declared he would live as they did -- or die. And so he had died.

By then, it was early spring -- but the wind still cut like a knife and howled through the trees. The little band of half-starved Indians that had just carried their old chief to his last resting place on the way to the "Happy Hunting Grounds" huddled in their village and "made medicine" to the "Great Spirit," beseeching him to help them. What should they do? Had the "Great Spirit" deserted them entirely?

When their spirits were lowest, a warm wind came up the valley . . bringing the promise of spring. Then, the sun – with its heart-warming rays -- visited the valley. Snow on the ridges began to dissolve into small rivulets that splashed down over the hills. The creeks became rushing, noisy torrents of muddy water and sped into the Juniata River. . . then on to the sea. Green foliage appeared and the Indians were able to live on roots and herbs. Blossoms followed quickly and created a riot of beautiful colors . . . the white dogwood and cherry, the pink apple, and the green carpet of grass tacked down by dandelion and buttercups and fringed with the fragrant, beautiful trailing arbutus.

Heartened by this display of nature, a new Chief was selected to rule; determined, powerful man who gave confidence to all who saw him ... man of large stature and great dignity . . . named The Eagle. One day, just as the sun was setting in a large golden ball, returning faith and courage to the disheartened villagers, the new Chief called for a meeting of the Tribal Council. When all had gathered the Chief arose . . and in a firm voice declared:
“My brothers, for many moons we have been expecting the Great Spirit to deliver us from the persecution of the Mad Chief to the south of us, without making any effort to help the Great Spirit in this undertaking. Now we will make the effort -- and with the help of the Great Spirit, we cannot fail. My brothers, how do you suggest we start?"

Many minutes elapsed before anyone spoke since all present realized that careful thought must be given to any suggestion. Then a prophet of the tribe, noted for his wisdom in teaching how to raise crops to the best advantage, arose -- and looking over the Council, began to speak:
“My brothers, what our chief has spoken is true. We must protect our people. It is the Great Spirit's will that we do so. I would suggest that a spy be placed within sight of the Mad Chief's village to notify us when the Shingas braves are preparing for another raid. This will take a brave who is a swift runner, very observant, and who knows all the trails and streams of the forest for many miles around. The Chief's son, High Shield, is such a brave."

Around him, all the council members nodded their assent. The Chief arose and called for High Shield, his eighteen-year-old son and a fine specimen of young, handsome manhood, to be brought before him.
"High Shield,'' said the Chief, "a spy must be placed near the village of the Mad Chief. It is a dangerous mission and you have been chosen to be that spy. Select a location over looking the village and prepare for what may become a long vigil. When you see Shingas' tribe assembling to raid, notify us at once so that we may set an ambush to destroy the Mad Chief." And with a wave of his hand, he dismissed High Shield.

The mission held no fear for High Shield. Young and powerful, he knew ever foot of the forest and he was almost as fleet as a deer. With the help of several of his fellow tribesmen, he carried supplies to a cave in the mountain, over looking the village on the Juniata Riuer that he was to watch, and settled down for his long wait. Below this cave was a clear, fresh spring to supply his water.

ln his hideout, High Shield had an excellent panoramic view of the village. He soon learned to distinguish the different tribesmen who lived there, and to know their business. He watched the departure of the graceful canoes for distant hunting and fishing grounds. He saw the old arrowmaker take his daily canoe trip to his working ground across the river, where he would heat flint stone over a fire and, when it was hot enough, drop cold water on it to chip off small pieces and make a graceful sharp pointed arrow or spearhead. High Shield also could see the pasture where the large, black horse called Black Spirit grazed. Everything in the village reflected the thoughts of a warring chief, who lived by oppressing others -- and High Shield compared this to his own village, where all efforts were directed to preparing for the coming winter and where the main occupations were tilling the fields and living as a happy family.

High Shield's favorite pastime was watching a number of young squaws who regularly visited the spring below his cave or gathered berries along the hill. He could tell they enjoyed being away from the village and in the happy surroundings of the deep forest he heard their laughter. He knew they dared not laugh in the village. Sometimes a lone squaw made the trip and he became curious to know Just who she was. After several weeks, his curiosity was so great that he decided to hide near the spring and see what she looked like. He waited most of one day, then finally she came with several others -- and they drank at the spring and used its clear, still water as a mirror to arrange their hair and admire their beauty. They did this because they thought none of the village braves were near to tease them.

High Shield was surprised and greatly pleased at the beauty and grace of the young squaw when he saw her close up, and he made frequent visits to his hiding place by the spring. When she came alone, he was always tempted to speak to her, but decided against it because he feared he would betray the trust of his own tribe.

After weeks of restraint, the young brave realized that he had fallen in love with the Indian maiden and could wait no longer. As she gazed into the mirror-like spring, he stepped behind her. Seeing the reflection of the handsome brave in the water, she thought it must be a vision, for she knew there was no brave in her whole tribe with the kindly face and masculine beauty of this image. Before she could turn around, he disappeared into the forest -- and with a sigh of disappointment, she returned to the village.

The next day, the Indian girl returned to the spring -- but the vision did not appear. However, the next time she went alone, it was there . . looking over her shoulder into the spring. Each day she looked into the water, hoping to see the kindly, handsome face. Sometimes it was there and sometimes not. Gradually she learned to love the vision and to hope that someday it would become real.

At last one day, she turned quickly and there he was, the young brave she had thought was only a vision. She did not cry out, because she had had a premonition that this would happen -- but she said softly, "Who are you, a spirit sent by the Great Spirit?"

His reply was, "No, 1 am not a spirit. I am real – and I have loved you these past moons. I am High Shield of the tribe of Shickalemy." "But why are you here, High Shield? Have you come to war on my
people?”

"It is true that I have come to spy on your people," he answered, "but not to war on them. I came only to protect the lodge of my people from a surprise attack. Tell me, what is your name, that I may address myself to you properly."

"My name is The Fawn," she said, lowering her eyes, "and I am the daughter of Shingas. You will no doubt hate me as he is hated."

With a smile, he assured her that he loved her and hoped someday she would be his squaw.

"High Shield,” she said earnestly, "I too love you -- Shingas will never consent to my marrying a brave of the tribe of Shickalemy. We must meet again and make plans."

So the two young lovers met often now at the spring and at last decided that The Fawn should accompany High Shield to his village, for he assured her his people would treat her well and that he would love her always.

They met early one morning and started on their journey, hoping to cover most of the distance to the Shickalemy uillage before Shingas could start in pursuit. But before noon The Fawn was missed by her father, who called her squaw companions to his council tent for questioning. One timid young maiden informed the chieftain that she had seen The Fawn talking to a handsome brave, a stranger to her, whom she thought might be of the tribe of Shickalemy. Upon hearing this, the Chief became livid with rage and swore vengeance on the brave and his people.

The irate Chief mounted his swift black stallion and signaled his braves to accompany him. They sped along the trail in pursuit for a number of miles and would almost surely have caught the fugitives in a few hours. But the speeding horse hit soft sand in the trail and stumbled and faltered. For more than a mile, the warriors were slowed to a walk, while their chief's rage mounted with every wasted minute.

Once out of the sand, the swift horse sped faster than ever, until Shingas and his braves arrived at Big Gap in the mountains in the midst of a heavy rainstorm. Hundreds of rocks on the mountainside, loosened by the rain, were tumbling down into the Gap, making it unsafe to pass through. When the storm ended, the trail through the Gap was filled with tons of rocks. It took hours for the braves, heaving and sweating, to remove enough rocks for the big, black horse to pass through. By this
time, Shingas was wild with rage, a rage that later caused him to lose all caution.

Meanwhile, the Indian lovers were moving as fast as they could through the forest. They knew the speeding stallion would catch them long before they could reach Assunepachla ... unless Shingas did not learn of their absence until late in the evening or some unforeseen event
favored their flight.

ln the deep forest, between the giant trees, the trail wound like a great serpent to avoid a rock here, a swampy place there, and to provide as easy traveling and as firm footing as possible. High Shield and The Fawn were in danger constantly, since they knew that Shingas scouts followed them and crossed all the trails to within fifteen miles of Shickalemy's village, meeting one of them would mean capture or death.

Many times High Shield stopped and motioned to The Fawn and together they hid in the underbrush as a warrior dashed past. Snakes slid through the leaves and over their path and frightened deer scurried off through the forest at sight of them. Once they saw a quiet form stealing through the underbrush toward them and High Shield quietly drew an arrow from his quiver, placed it on his bow, drew the bow back until the arrow was covered, then aimed carefully and let go. At the twang of the bowstring, a large, tawny body leaped into the air and fell with a thud. High Shield had shot a panther through the throat so that its outcry would not draw their enemies.

The Fawn trusted her escort completely, but she could only tell him so by touching him, as they dared not talk. Even so, one wiley scout of Shingas - passing along the trail as they hid in the bushes - noticed dim signs and became suspicious. After waiting patiently for some time, he returned along the trail and soon saw The Fawn, waiting alone while High Shield went ahead to make sure the trail was clear. Quietly, he stole up behind her, placed his hand over her mouth, and dragged her into the bushes where he bound and gagged her so he could wait in ambush for High Shield.

On returning, High Shield heard a faint noise and faded from the trail. He crept through the bushes to where he heard the sound and saw The Fawn, bound and helpless, but still able to nod her head toward where the scout waited to spring on High Shield. Without a sound he crept to the spot, but as he raised his tommyhawk, instinct caused the scout to turn and sidestep. High Shield's blow missed its mark, and the powerful and agile scout grappled with him, forced him back over a small rock, and raised his knife to finish the struggle.

ln desperation, The Fawn -- unable to help -- kicked loosed a rock which rolled down a small hill and struck the Scout's ankle such a blow that he groaned with pain and lost his balance long enough for High Shield to spring on him. Clutched together, they rolled over and over in a death struggle, with High Shield having the advantage one moment, the scout the next. Both braves were nearly exhausted when the scout's head struck a sharp rock. As he winced with pain, High Shield had a quick chance to sink a knife into him and end the battle. But he himself ;as completely exhausted and lay on the ground unable to move.

The Fawn thought both braves were dead -- and though she knew her father would soon arrive to take her back to the life she hated, she no longer cared because she thought High Shield had been killed. For a few moments, she closed her tearfilled eyes; and when she opened them again, she was sure she was dreaming. High Shield was sitting up and trying to rise to his feet. Then he staggered toward her and seemed to be gaining strength. When he reached her, he removed the gag and bonds; and with a glad cry, she threw her arms around his waist.

Valuable time had been lost -- and the two lovers were sure that their pursuers must be very close by now – but they kept on although the nervous strain caused The Fawn's feet to lag.

High Shield was glad when the trail became more rocky and they forded a stream because he knew they were entering the big Gap. Water rushing over the rocks made a great noise that was echoed back and forth from the face of the mountains running almost straight up for hundreds of feet. The Fawn shrank back timidly as she looked up the mountain. She had never seen the Big Gap before and the gigantic rocks looked as though they would come tumbling down on her at any moment.

As they passed through where there was barely room for the trail and a small stream, the Indian maiden was forced to stop and rest for a short time before starting on the long but almost level trail through the Cove, where she knew they would have to make all possible speed if they had any hopes of outdistancing their pursuers. Suddenly a heavy storm passed over them, lightning flashed among the rocks and trees, and the thunder roared. Quickly, she and High Shield sought shelter in a small cave, from which they could hear the giant rocks crashing down the mountainside onto the trail through the gap they had just passed over. Although they did not know it, it was these rocks that stopped their pursuers and gave them a chance to get another head start.

When the storm had passed, High Shield did not take time to see what damage had been done to the trail -- but hurried on. Meanwhile, Shingas and his warriors were struggling to remove the rocks so they could get through the Gap. ln the time they gained, High Shield and The Fawn managed to reach a point several miles from the village of Shickalemy.

There The Fawn sank to the ground in exhaustion. She pleaded with High Shield to go on and save himself, but he refused. As he hunted cover for them, a brave from his own village happened along. High Shield sent him at top speed to spread the alarm and rush back with a band of armed warriors to intercept Shingas.

When the brave returned with The Eagle's warriors, an ambush was set up in a beautiful wooden glen, where three sides could be covered by fighting men and the fourth side was a rocky hill that the Indians felt sure no horse could climb.

Shingas on his horse and his warriors on foot, furiously trying to make up for lost time, rushed madly into the ambush and all were slain except Shingas on his black stallion. Surrounded on all sides except the steep, rock-strewn hill, he wheeled his powerful horse and raced for the hill. The horse plunged high up among the rocks -- and for a moment, it looked as though Shingas might escape, but the Black Spirit slipped back, plunged again and again, and the mighty hoofs plowed into the earth among the rocks. The hole dug by the churning hoofs became deeper and deeper until, with an angry roar, a great wall of water broke through the earth and crashed to the little glen below, carrying the cruel chieftain and his faithful horse to their death among the rocks and rubble.

The Indians who witnessed the tragedy were amazed and gave thanks to their Great Spirit, because they felt sure he had sent the Angry Water to destroy the Mad Chief.

After Shingas' death, The Fawn became High Shield's squaw – and they lived happily ever after. With their help and leadership, the tribes of the two villages became peaceful and friendly and never made war on each other again.

On the flat along the Juniata River at Everett, PA, can still be found an occasional spear or arrowhead made by Chief Shingas' old arrow maker. As for the wooden glen where Shingas met his end, it became a sacred spot to the Indians. When the white men settled the area, it was a natural place for a village with its steady and pure water supply.

Today, this spring -- with its flow of seven million five hundred thousand gallons of clear, sparkling water each twenty four hours -- supplies an all-important ingredient for making the high-grade paper featured by Appleton Papers - Spring Mill. It also furnishes the water supply for a town of three thousand people. And the name of the town – derived from the noise of the water that tumbles down the rocks from the underground spring that trapped and killed Chief Shingas so many years ago -- is Roaring Spring.