Nothing, M. Verdier says, can be more picturesque and beautiful than the cascade of St. Anthony, so renowned in the topography of the western world. The irregular outline of the Fall, by dividing its breadth, gives it a more impressive character, and enables the eye more easily to take in its beauties. An island, stretching in the river both above and below the Fall, separates it into two unequal parts. From the nature of the rock which breaks into angular, and apparently rhomboidal fragments of a huge size, this fall is subdivided into small cascades, which adhere to each other, so as to form a sheet of water, unrent, but composed of an alternation of retiring and salient angles, and presenting a great variety of shapes and shades. Each of these forms is in itself a perfect cascade. When taken in one comprehensive view they assume a beauty of which we could scarcely have deemed them susceptible. Few falls assume a wilder and more picturesque aspect than these. The thick growth of oaks, hickory, walnut, &c. upon the island, imparts to it a gloomy and sombre aspect, contrasting pleasingly with the bright surface of the watery sheet which reflects the sun in many differently coloured hues. All travellers have spoken of it as possessing wonderful beauties, and the poor unenlightened Indian, who ascribes every thing of an imposing, a sublime, and a magnificent character, every thing which has phenomena he cannot comprehend to a superior being, and who fancies a governing spirit in every deep glen in the wilderness, has associated many of his wild and fanciful traditions with this singular spot. The following favourite tale of, the Dahcotah is not the only tradition connected with this romantic spot.

An Indian of the Dahcotah nation had united himself early in life to a youthful female, whose name was Ampato Sapa, which signifies, in the Dahcotah language, the Dark-day. With her he lived for many years very happily; their days glided on like a clear stream in the summer noon. There were few husbands and wives who enjoyed as much nuptial happiness as fell to the lot of this Indian couple. Among that people the duties allotted to the female sex are both laborious and incessant; with Ampato Sapa, they were ameliorated by the kindness of her husband, who, in defiance of the customs of our people, performed the greater part of her tasks herself. Their union had been blessed with two children, upon whom both parents doated with a depth of feeling unknown to those who have other treasures besides those which spring from nature. The man had acquired a reputation as a hunter, which drew around him many families who were happy to place themselves under his protection, and avail themselves of such part of his chace, as he needed not for the support of his family. Desirous of strengthening their interest with him, some of them invited him to form a connexion with their family, observing, at the same time, that a man of his talents, and present and increasing importance, required more than one woman, to wait upon the numerous guests whom his reputation would induce to visit his lodge. They assured him that he would soon be acknowledged as a chief, and that in this case a second wife was indispensable. Their pleadings and flattery infused new ideas into his mind, and ambition soon succeeded in dispelling love, and the remembrance of years of conjugal endearment. Fired with the thought of obtaining high honours, he resolved to increase his importance by a union with the daughter of an influential man of his tribe. He had accordingly taken a second wife, without having ever mentioned the subject to his former companion, being desirous to introduce his bride into his lodge, in the manner which should be least offensive to the mother of his children, for whom he yet retained much regard, though bad ambition "had induced him to countenance a divided bed and affections." It became necessary, however, that he should break the matter to her, which he did as follows: "You know," said he, "that I can love no woman so fondly as I doat upon you. You were the first woman I loved, and you are the only one. With regret have I seen you of late subjected to toils which must be oppressive to you, and from which I would gladly relieve you, yet I know of no other way of doing so, than by associating to you, in the household duties, one who shall relieve you from the trouble of entertaining the numerous guests whom my growing importance in the nation collects around me. I have, therefore, resolved to take another wife, but she shall always be subject to your controul, as she will always rank in my affections second to you."

With the utmost anxiety and deepest concern did his companion listen to this unexpected proposal. She expostulated in the kindest terms; entreated him with all the arguments which undisguised love and the purest conjugal affection could suggest. She replied to all the objections he had raised, and endeavoured to dispel all the clouds his seemingly disinterested kindness had thrown over her present situation. Desirous of winning her from her opposition, he concealed the secret of his union with another, while she redoubled her care and exertion, to convince him that she was equal to all the tasks imposed upon her by his increasing reputation and notoriety. When he again spoke on the subject, she pleaded all the endearments of their past life; she spoke of his former kindness for her, of his regard for her happiness, and that of their mutual offspring; she bade him beware of the fatal consequences of this purpose of his. Finding her bent upon withholding her consent to his plan, he informed her that all opposition on her part was unavailing, as he had already selected another partner; and that, if she could not see his new wife as a friend, she must receive her as a necessary incumbrance, for he was resolved that she should be an inmate in his house. The poor Dark-Day heard these words in silent consternation. Watching her opportunity, she stole away from the cabin with her infants, and fled to her father, who lived at a considerable distance from the place of her husband's residence. With him she remained until a party of Dahcotahs went up the Mississippi, on a winter's hunt. Not caring whither she went, so it was not to the lodge of her faithless husband, she accompanied them. All hope had left her bosom, and even her interest in her children had faded with the decay of the impassioned love she had felt for their father. The world, the simple pleasures of Indian life, had no farther charm for Ampato Sapa. She would wander for hours, listless and tearful, by the shaded river bank, or gaze in the night with a distracted look upon the silver moon and star-lit sky. At times, as if fearful of impending pursuit, she would snatch up her children, and rush out into the woods. The Red Man of the forest has a kind of instinctive veneration for madness(1) in every form; the mere supposition of such a misfortune has procured the liberation of a victim bound to the stake, whom no arts or persuasion could operate to save. The people of her tribe saw, with deep commiseration, the seeming aberration of intellect of the poor Indian woman, but, knowing little of the feeling which possessed her bosom, could apply no healing medicine.

In the spring, as they were returning with their canoes loaded with furs, they encamped near the falls which our white brother has seen, and which have became so celebrated in Indian story for the many tragical scenes connected with them. In the morning, as they left their encamping ground on the border of the river, she for a while lingered near the spot, as if working up her mind to some terrible feat of despair. Then, launching her light canoe, she entered it with her children, and paddled down the stream, singing her death-song. The air was one of those melancholy airs which are sung by our people when in deep distress, or about to end the journey of life.

As she paddled her canoe down the stream, her friends perceived her intent, but too late; their persuasions and attempts to prevent her from proceeding were of no avail. She continued to sing, in a mournful voice, the past pleasures which she had enjoyed while she was the undivided object of her husband's affections: at length, her voice was drowned in the sound of the cataract; the current carried down her frail bark with inconceivable rapidity; it came to the edge of the precipice, was seen for a moment enveloped with spray, but never after was a trace of the canoe or its passengers discovered. Yet the Indians imagine that often in the morning a voice is heard singing a mournful song along the edge of the fall, and that it dwells on the inconstancy of a husband. They assert that sometimes a white dove is seen hovering over the neighbouring sprays; at other times, Ampato Sapa wanders in her proper person near the spot, with her children wrapped in skins, and pressed to her bosom.

NOTE.

(1) Instinctive veneration for madness.—p. 194.

Insanity is not common among the Indians. Men in this unhappy situation are always considered as objects of pity. Every one, young and old, feels compassion for their misfortune; to laugh or scoff at them would be considered as a crime, much more so to insult or molest them. Heckewelder tells the following story concerning their treatment of one suspected of insanity, which proves their peculiar feeling with regard to this unfortunate class of men:—

"About the commencement of the Indian war of 1763, a trading Jew, who was going up the Detroit river with a bateau load of goods which he had brought from Albany, was taken by some Indians of the Chippewas nation, and destined to be put to death. A Frenchman, impelled by motives of friendship and humanity, found means to steal the prisoner, and kept him so concealed for some time, that, although the most diligent search was made, the place of his confinement could not discovered. At last, however, the unfortunate man was betrayed by some false friend, and again fell into the power of the Indians, who took him across the river to be burned and tortured. Tied to the stake, and the fire burning by his side, his thirst from the great heat became intolerable, and he begged that some drink might be given him. It is a custom with the Indians, previous, to a prisoner being put to death, to give him what they call his last meal; a bowl of pottage or broth was therefore brought to him for that purpose. Eager to quench his thirst, he put the bowl immediately to his lips, and, the liquor being very hot, he was dreadfully scalded. Being a man of a very quick temper, the moment he felt his mouth burned, he threw the bowl with its contents full into the face of the man who had handed it to him. 'He is mad! he is mad!' resounded from all quarters. The by-standers considered his conduct as an act of insanity, and immediately untied the cords with which he was bound, and let him go where he pleased."