Long before the advent of the Whites, there lived in Central New York an Indian boy by the name of Oriado. When grown up he was called Big Tree or White Pine, a name given him on account of his unusual stature. As a child he was noted as queer on account of his gentle conduct and his fondness for flowers and birds rather than for the usual sports of the young Indian boy. In due time he acquired a wigwam and a squaw and to them several children were born, including a daughter. As a warrior White Pine was one of the bravest and most tireless, as a hunter he had no superiors but when the strife was over he was noted for his peaceful disposition – and in hunting would never kill more than was absolutely necessary for present needs. Returning home with a war party he found his wife had died during his absence and never again did White Pine engage in war with the neighboring tribes. With his children he removed to the Oswah-yah (now known as Oswayo), "The beautiful River of Pines" or the "Lovely Valley of Pines," a fanciful and descriptive name. The stream, considerably larger than since the timber has been cut, clear as crystal, gliding along silently in long reaches, then rippling over gravel bars where the deer came to drink, not timid for there was little to make them afraid. The valley broad was covered with magnificent timber thickly interspersed with lordly white pine, towering far above the beech, maple and elm trees, the forest floor covered with plants and wild flowers, flecked here and there with splotches of sunshine where it had filtered through the dense forest of leaves overhead. The bordering hills for miles and miles were covered to the very top with pine and hemlock that some years later brought wealth to many families. Nowhere in Northern Pennsylvania could be found a fairer location for a home for one who loved nature. Fish, game and fur bearing animals were plentiful and easily captured. The pine trees were always furnishing music, murmuring and whispering their Nature songs – never silent. During a storm or wind loud and clear, sinking away to a whisper when the air was quiet, but never entirely silent, sweeter music than any man-made instrument ever produced. Only to the lonesome is the song of the pine tree a "moaning" sound. In its louder tones it is a song of joy and gladness and its whispering is like the soft crooning of the mother over the fretful child in her arms. Into this beautiful Valley of the Oswah-yah came the sorrowful red man and not far from what is now the village of Ceres, he erected a new lodge and a new home, supplying its wants from the woods and streams which furnished an abundance. This section of Northern Pennsylvania was then neutral ground, especially in peace time, there being no permanent villages, but visitors were not uncommon from hunting parties and those traveling to and fro between the Allegheny and Genesee waters. The daughter grew to be an accomplished and handsome maiden according to Indian standards and, on account of her great beauty, was called the White Lily. Many a young hunter from the Genesee and the Allegheny sought her for wife to grace his wigwam and cook his game, but for a long time she would have none of them. Finally a young (and of course handsome) Seneca from the Genesee succeeded in winning her favor. The two young people moved to his lodge on the Genesee somewhere near the state line where they lived happily and contented. Once each year the young people visited White Pine for a few days and once each year the visit was returned. To the White Lily and her brave only a single child, a daughter, was born. She was given the Indian name "Sawque-Hanna," which meant Trailing Arbutus. One day a hunger from the Allegheny stopped at the peaceful home of White Lily and her husband, remaining for several days. He became infatuated with her, paying her every attention, and finally proposing that she leave her husband and go with him to his home on the Allegheny and become his wife. His request was received with scorn and he was ordered by her never to enter the lodge again. The hunter left in a rage, declaring that he would return later and that she should become his squaw. A year later the hunter came back accompanied by three others. He was seen by White Lily and she was filled with foreboding for herself and her family. That night after the return of her husband from the chase, the door of the lodge was burst open and an arrow from the hunter’s bow killed the husband and a second arrow took the life of Trailing Arbutus as she sat on her father’s lap. The lodge was destroyed after such of its contents as was considered valuable and could easily be transported was removed. The hands of White Lily were bound behind her back and a start made for the Allegheny waters. When near what is now Andrews Settlement a stop was made for breakfast, shortly after daylight, and here the bereaved White Lily was unbound that she might eat. Here the hunter spoke for the first time saying, "I told you that you should be mine. Indians never lie. In two days we will eat at my wigwam on the Allegheny and you shall be my squaw." White Lily, watching her opportunity here, made a break for liberty and sped like a frightened deer away from the hated hunters. Pursuit was almost immediate as the hunters recovered from their surprise. As she came in sight of the beautiful little lake not far away, surrounded by primeval forest, it was evident to her that she could not escape the unwanted hunters. White Lily, breaking into the death song of her tribe, plunged into the icy cold waters and when near the center of the lake, throwing her arms toward the sky above, with a wild despairing cry to the Great Spirit, sank forever. The pursuers were dumbfounded, but soon recovering made a diligent search about the banks and fallen trees that here and there lay partially submerged in the water. They could not believe that White Lily could have been drowned after seeing the speed and apparent ease with which she had reached the middle of the small lake, but rather thought the sinking was a ruse and that she had swum under water and hidden under some treetop or old log, later on to reach the shore and proceed to her old home down the Oswah-yah. Search failed to find any trace of White Lily and, leaving the youngest of their party concealed to watch the shore nearest the Oswah-yah, the three others returned and moved their belongings and stolen property to the shores of the lake. Scarcely had they reached the shores of the lake when dark clouds, wind, thunder and lightning were terrific, the trees bowed before the storm, and the very earth trembled and seemed to rock and crumple as with internal disturbances. The rugged hemlock under which they had taken refuge was shattered and the earth was turned up as by the hand of the Great Spirit. And from that day to this, the waters of the lake which before had flowed into the Oswah-yah, found an outlet into the Genesee, flowing by the one-time home of White Lily. The three hunters were killed and their bodies burned almost to cinders by the lightning – a fitting retribution at the hands of the Red Man’s God. The fourth Indian left to watch the lake shore escaped with his life and conscience stricken fled down the Oswah-yah, telling his tale to some temporary residents who returned with him to search for the body of White Lily. The body was never found, the Lake being very deep, and although watch was kept for some time the body never came to the surface. In examining a treetop bent over into the lake, the last of the murderers missed his footing, fell into the waters, sank to the bottom of the lake and perished miserably. The following year, at the point where the Indian wife entered the lake, a bunch of water lilies grew to the surface of the water, much finer and larger than the surrounding plants and the blossoms were unusually large and of a pearly whiteness, the surrounding plants producing only yellow flowers. From this time on the lake was known as White Lily Lake and the white blossoms were believed to be the spirit of White Lily who had perished in these waters. No Indian would ever pluck one of the white blossoms appearing each succeeding year.
Posted on: Thu, 25 Jul 2013 08:43:46 +0000
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