If my brother has seen the River of Fish, he will know that, at the distance of a few moons' journey, below the rush of waters which the white man calls the Falls of St. Anthony, but which the Indians call the Island of Eagles[5], there is a beautiful lake, which the same people have named Lake Pepin. It is a place so beautiful to behold, that distant Indian nations have journeyed thither, and white people come from the city of Strong Walls, to look at it and admire. On one side lies the rapid Mississippi, now in foam, and now in eddies, sweeping every thing thrown upon its current with the rapidity that a man walks, and winding, in devious courses, among many islands, some of which are covered with lofty trees, and some are but banks of sand. On the other side lies the lake, which presents to the eye but a smooth sheet of water, on which there is neither wave nor ripple, and unchequered by a single island. As the eye passes along its sluggish surface, it rests at length upon the lofty bluffs which enclose it. One of these, a high projecting point, a precipitous crag resting upon a steep bank, whose base is washed away by the never-ceasing action of the waters, is called The Maiden's Rock. It is known to every Indian in those regions, by a gloomy story of unfortunate love. It was the scene of one of the most melancholy transactions that has ever occurred among our people.

There was once upon a time in the village of Keoxa, in the tribe of Wapasha, a young Indian woman, whose name was Winona, which means "the first-born." She was good and beautiful, and much beloved by all. She had conceived a strong attachment to a young hunter of her nation, who loved her as much as she loved him. They had frequently met, sometimes in the shady coverts of the wood, at others beneath the river's banks, but, according to the forms of Indian courtship, more frequently at the side of her couch, when all the village were at rest. They had confessed their love, and agreed to be united as soon as the consent of her family could be obtained. But, when he asked her of her parents, he was denied, and told that she was to become the wife of a warrior of distinction, who had sued for her. The warrior was a great favourite with the nation; he had acquired a distinguished name by the services he had rendered the village when it was attacked by the Chippewas; yet, notwithstanding all this, and the support which he received from her parents and brothers, Winona persisted in preferring the hunter. To all their loud commendations of the warrior, she replied that she loved another better; that she had made choice of a man, who, being a professed hunter, would spend his life with her, and secure to her comfort and subsistence, plenty of food, and abundant happiness: while the warrior would be constantly intent upon martial exploits, exposing her, if she staid at home, to the evils of want and hunger; if she accompanied him, to the dangers of defeat and death. Winona's expostulations were, however, of no avail; and her parents, having succeeded in driving away him she preferred to all the world, began to use harsh measures in order to compel her to marry the man of their choice. To all her entreaties that she might not be forced into a union with a man she did not love, they turned a deaf ear—to all her tears they were blind. She begged to be allowed to live a single life, and to spend her days watching the sleep, and preventing the cares, of her father and mother: they answered, No. Winona had at all times enjoyed a greater share in the affections of her family, and had been indulged more than is usual among Indian females. She had not been obliged to join in the labours of the field, nor in the more arduous of those within doors. She planted no corn, and the fire-wood and the buffalo's meat were brought home on other shoulders than hers. Being a favourite with her brothers, they expressed a wish that her consent to this union should be obtained by persuasive means, rather than that she should be compelled to it against her inclination. With a view to remove some of her objections, they took means to provide for her future maintenance, and presented to the warrior all that in their simple mode of life an Indian might covet. They furnished his cabin with the various implements used in Indian housewifery—the skins to form the bed, the boiling pot, and the roasting spit. About that time, a party was formed to ascend from the village to Lake Pepin, in order to lay in a store of the blue clay which is found upon its banks, and which is used by the Indians to adorn their persons. It was on the very day that they visited the lake that her brothers made their presents to the warrior. Encouraged by these fresh signs of their approbation, and inflamed by the beauties of the charming Indian girl, he again solicited her in the most passionate language to become his wife, but with the same ill success. Vexed at what they deemed an unjustifiable obstinacy on her part—for seldom does love among Indians urge to lengthened opposition on the part of the female—her parents remonstrated in strong language, and even used threats to compel her to obedience. They spoke, as parents always do, who have in view a husband to their liking, and care little for the peace and happiness of a daughter, so they see her possessed of what they covet. "Well," said Winona, "you will drive me to despair. I said I loved not the man of your choice, the warrior covered with the blood of peaceable women, and helpless children, and painted to resemble only those hideous things we see in sleep. I said I could not live with him and be his wife. I wished to remain a maiden—my father's daughter, and my brothers' sister—but you will not let me; you wish me to become a wife. You say you love me; that you are my father, my brothers, my relations, yet you have driven from my arms, and would now drive from my heart, the only man with whom I wish to be united—the only man I ever loved. You have persecuted him with wrongs; you have reviled and taunted him; you have compelled him to withdraw from the village. Alone, he now ranges through the gloomy and lonely forests, with no one to assist him, none to comfort him, none to spread his blanket, none to build his lodge, none to pound his corn. Yet, he was the man of my choice, the only beloved of my heart. Often have you taken me on your knee, and smoothed down my hair, and kissed my cheek, and said you loved me. Is this your love? But it appears that even this is not enough; you would have me do more—you would have me rejoice in the absence of my beautiful hunter. While yet his parting words are in my ear, the light of his eyes in remembrance beaming on me, and his tender promises all unforgotten, you wish me to unite with another man, with one whom I do not love, whose image comes before me but to make me weep and shudder. Since this is your love, let it be so; but soon you will have no daughter, sister, or relation, to torment with your false professions of friendship. I will go to the happy land of souls, where I shall be free from your threats and reproaches."

As she uttered these words, the canoe touched the shore in the immediate vicinity of the high precipitous crag of which a description has been before given. Heedless of her complaints, and wearied out with what they regarded as a most unreasonable repugnance, her parents at the moment decreed that Winona should that very day be united to the warrior. Her resolution was at once taken; it was such a one as could have been adopted only in a moment of deep love and deep despair. While all were engaged in busy preparations for the festival, she wound her way slowly to the top of the hill which overlooked the scene of their gay and mirthful doings. When she had reached the summit, boldly approaching the edge of the precipice, she called out with a loud voice to her friends below, upbraiding them with their cruelty to herself and her lover, and thanking the Good Spirit that had put it in her power to baffle their designs, and laugh at their tyranny. "You," said she, "were not satisfied with opposing my union with the man whom I had chosen; you endeavoured, by deceitful words, to make me faithless to him; but when you found me resolved to remain single, you dared to threaten me: you knew me not, if you thought that I could be terrified into obedience. Now, you are preparing the bridal feast, but you shall see how well I can defeat your designs." She then commenced a plaintive song of death, which ran thus:

The light wind which blew at the time wafted the bitter words of her mournful dirge to the spot where her friends were. They immediately rushed, some towards the summit of the hill to stop her, others to the foot of the precipice to receive her in their arms, while all with tears in their eyes entreated her to desist from her fatal purpose. Her father promised her that no compulsive measures should be resorted to, that she should marry or not as, she chose. Her brothers, who loved her with great affection, urged every thing that they thought likely to be of avail, but in vain. She was resolved, and, as she concluded the words of her song, she threw herself from the precipice, and fell at their feet, a corpse.