Legend of White-bear Lake

In 1883, Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi was published. In it he writes of the legend of White-bear Lake.

Every spring, for perhaps a century, or as long as there has been a nation of red men, an island in the middle of White-bear Lake has been visited by a band of Indians for the purpose of making maple sugar.

Tradition says that many springs ago, while upon this island, a young warrior loved and wooed the daughter of his chief, and it is said, also, the maiden loved the warrior. He had again and again been refused her hand by her parents, the old chief alleging that he was no brave, and his old consort called him a woman!

The sun set again upon the sugar-bush, and the bright moon rose high in the bright blue heavens, when the young warrior took down his flute and went alone, once more to sing the story of his love, the mild breeze gently moved the two gay feathers in his head-dress, and ads he mounted on the trunk of the leaning tree, the damp snow fell from his feet heavily. As he raised his flute to his lips, his blanket slipped from his well-formed shoulders, and lay partly on the snow beneath. He began his weird, wild love-song, but soon felt that he was cold, and as he reached back for his blanket, some unseen hand laid it gently on his shoulders; it was the hand of his love, his guardian angel. She took her place beside him, and for the present they were happy; for the Indian has a heart to love, and in this pride he is noble as in his own freedom, which makes him a child of the forest. As the legend runs, a large white-bear, thinking perhaps, that polar snows and dismal winter weather extended everywhere, took up his journey southward. He at length approached the northern shore of the lake which now bears his name, walked down the bank and made his way noiselessly through the deep heavy snow toward the island. It was the same spring ensuing that the lovers met. They had left their first retreat, and were now seated among the branches of a large elm which hung far over the lake. (The same tree is still standing and excites universal curiosity and interest.) For fear of being detected, they talked almost in a whisper, and now, that they might get back to camp in good time and thereby avoid suspicion, they were just rising to return, when the maiden uttered a shriek which was heard in camp, and bounding toward the young brave, she caught his blanket, but missed the direction of her foot and fell, bearing the blanket with her into the great arms of the ferocious monster. Instantly every man, woman, and child of the band were upon the bank, but all unarmed. Cries and wailings went up from every mouth. What was to be done? In the meantime this white and savage beast held the breathless maiden in his huge grasp, and fondled with his precious prey as if he were sued to scenes like this.

One deafening yell from the lover warrior is heard above the cries of the hundreds of his tribe, and dashing away to his wigwam he grasps his faithful knife, returns almost in a single bound to the scene of fear and fright, rushes out along the leaning tree to the spot where his treasure fell, and springing with a fury of mad panther, pounced upon hi prey.

The animal turned, and with a stroke of his huge paw brought the lovers heart to heart, but the next moment the warrior, with one plunge of the blade of his knife, open the crimson sluices of death, and the dying bear relaxed his hold.

That night there was no more sleep for the band or the lovers, and the young and old danced about the carcass of the dead monster, the gallant warrior was presented with another plume, and ere another moon had set he had the living treasure added to his heart. Their children for many years played upon the skin of the white-bear –from which the lakes derives its name – and the maiden and the brave remembered long the fearful scene and rescue that made them one, for Kis-se-me-pa and Ka-go-ka could never forget their fearful encounter with the huge monster that came so near sending them to the happy hunting-ground.
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Legends are fascinating glimpses into life when they started, and I find it interesting to read and remember them. This is one of two legends of this community, and as in the telling of most legends, their is always some truth woven into it.