An Indian Legend

The Chippewa Tribe tells a story, a legend of the Princess Mattowahn who saved the life of the tribal Shaman during a raid by an enemy tribe. As a young woman, and the daughter of the Chief, she was not expected to fight in battles but she and her younger brother struggled courageously against a band of warriors who tried to murder the tribe’s religious leader. The fifteen-year-old girl slew two mighty warriors and even though she was seriously wounded herself, she pulled the wounded Shaman from danger, saving his life. She and her brother put him a canoe then he pushed them away, she paddled until she lost consciousness. The little boat eventually drifted ashore on a small island miles from the battle. Mattowahn and the Shaman stayed on the island until they were healed and the Shaman was so grateful for his life he blessed the pretty young Princess with gifts of well-being, health and happiness for her and her daughters forever, he gave her the island where she and her brother would always feel his gratitude. Mattowahn was so overjoyed that she took her only brother, the future Chief of the Tribe to share in their good fortune. They went often to her island and shared in the mystical power bestowed by the Shaman. The island passed from Mattowahn to her daughter and down through ten generations until:

We were sixteen when my twin brother Russell and I were sent to spend the summer with our grandmother. Our parents had taken a six-week European tour and rather than drag us along they shipped us off to Grandma’s house which was an hour north of Green Bay. She had a three-bedroom cottage on Lake Michigan complete with dock, canoes and absolute privacy for a half mile in any direction. My brother and I hated it. Don’t get me wrong, my grandma was one of the coolest old people I knew and we were glad to stay with her but we were not glad to be so isolated from our friends for half the fucking summer.

It took Russ and me about two days to get completely and utterly bored. Grandma came into the kitchen early on the fourth morning and said “This isn’t going to work, you two moping around like the world has ended, we need to find something to keep you occupied.”

“What?” asked my brother.

Granny looked at him then me and pointed out the window, “We’ll start by canoeing to that little island out there where we can picnic, it is mystical, magical, and has always been a special place for our family. There is a pretty little clearing near the shore, great for camping.”

“What makes it magical?” I asked.

“You wait, I think you’ll find out.” We spent the morning packing fishing poles, tents and other vital camping necessities. Granny took the lead and the three of us left the dock in canoes, Russ and I followed her as she led the two boat flotilla to the small island a few hundred yards from her house. She took us to a gravel beach that opened up to a clearing surrounded by tall hemlock, fir and maple trees. My brother and I had never been in the wild before so I asked Grandma tentatively, “Are there any wolves or bears here?”

Granny chuckled then said something odd, “No, dear, a few bugs, but nothing out here will eat you except mosquitoes and maybe your brother.” The rest of the afternoon was spent setting up our campsite. Once the two tents and the fire pit were done, Grandma suggested that Russ and I explore the island while she fished for dinner. Being city born and raised he and I were both a little nervous about being alone in the unknown wilds of the tiny bump of land, but grandma insisted.

It took a little over an hour to walk around the island, we rock hopped and wandered through the trees experiencing our first close encounter with unmanned nature. In the short time we explored, both Russ and I agreed that being alone was almost exhilarating, the thought that it was just the two of us against whatever hid in the woods, ignited some sort of primal instinct in us that sharpened our senses, brought us closer, reliant on a newly formed dimension of our relationship, a timeless need to be near the other on the island.

That night as we ate baked fish my brother told grandma he enjoyed his day, the first since we came to stay. I thought so too but I didn’t say anything. Grandma answered him with a satisfied smile, “The power of the island is beginning to work on you.” She went on to tell us about some Indian princess and how she was a war hero or something and that we were direct maternal descendants of that long-ago woman; “That is where you get your black hair and brown eyes Beth, they are a gift from the Princess Mattowahn, your Chippewa ancestor.”

My first night started out scary as hell. Maybe there weren’t any big animals on the island but there was lot of noises I didn’t know. The gravel on the beach rolling under the lapping waves of water, two owls hooting in conversation and the tall trees complaining as the wind moved their branches were just some of the sounds that kept me awake. I finally managed to fall asleep then began to dream.

I was standing on the shore of the island when an old man rose from the water and walked stooped and careworn to me. He wore hand-sewn buckskin clothes, the kind I saw in paintings and pictures of Indians. His long black hair was pulled back into a single braided tail, the depth of the universe shone in his ancient eyes. I felt comfortable, as if I were meeting a friend, I sensed this was the old Shaman our grandmother had told us about. He spoke to me in a soft melodious tone, the words rising and falling as if he were singing them, “I have had a long and good life because of you, I shall ever be grateful.” He cradled my face in his calloused hands then raised his head to the sun and sang in a strange language for two minutes then returned his attention to me. “Never fear for you, your children, or your brother, I will always be here.” The old man stepped back, became transparent then faded away and in moments I was looking over the empty water again.

The night sounds returned but they were comforting, erasing my fear of the night, I slept in complete security.

The next day was hot, Russ and I spent most of the morning exploring the interior of the island. We walked through the thick stands of trees and brush and let our imaginations take us on trips of discovery and fantasy. It was a cloudless blue sky, the sunlight sparkled off the clear water inviting us to splash and swim. We hadn’t brought swimsuits so he and I played in the water up to our thighs but it wasn’t long before we were splashing enough that our clothes were thoroughly wet. We got out of the water to dry off complaining to Granny that she hadn’t told us we might want our swimsuits. She listened to us whine, then offered, “Why don’t you go skinny dipping? If you want to swim, take off your clothes and go.”

Russ looked at her with disbelief in his eyes, “What, you want us to get naked out here?