Homeward Bound, Katahdin Lake, Maine

The Spirit Of Katahdin

The Penobscots had one possession of which they were very proud, a beautiful girl the popular belle of the tribe. Much was expected of her because she was a daughter of the chief and would always be one of the “first ladies.” It only remained to marry her to their smartest brave to insure the future prosperity of the group under reign. But while the old men, members of the council leisurely planned for the future and put off the all-important move, it was discovered that the girl was keeping tryst with an unkown Indian whose dress and bearing seemed to proclaim him a Decotah. The Tarratines were hostile to the Dacotahs who seldom come so far east. The girl was put in charge of a woman whose duty  was to watch her and in a council it was decided to have her married  as soon as a suitable wedding feast could be prepared. It being about the time of the fall hunting it seemed fitting to combine it with the wedding festivities so it was decided to go to the usual campground on the shores of Chesuncook, the long narrow lake west of Katahdin. The canoes were loaded with every member of the tribe. They paddled up the Penobscot and set up their teepees on the lake shore. Always before them rose the rough, rocky mountain. The sun came over its top in the morning and bathed it with a yellow glow at night. They spoke of it with dread and bated breath for it was there that Pamola dwelt. He would visit them with trouble, rain, hail and lightening if they dared intrude on his premises. The weather was fine and the hunting excellent. Every day the men brought in their game and the women cured the meat and the skins until the winter supply was ample. Then for the feast was gathered moose, deer, caribou, bear—even the tender coon and muskrat, also berries, roots, and herbs. The animals were roasted whole before great fires built here and there. Everything was  ready and there was jollity and merriment throughout the camp. No one noticed the black cloud in the west. It rolled over Moosehead swelling and increasing in velocity. Across the country it swept and with a great roar it swooped down on the camp. Smoke and ashes filled the air mingled with hail and rain. The fires were put out and darkness and fear pervaded the place It reared up the mountain and away to the east and again the sun shone and the great pile was bathed in its golden halo. But the girl was gone and they never saw her again. While they stood wondering and afraid, out from the chimney floated a wreath of smoke, then they knew. The secret lover was the disguised spirit of the mountain. He had taken for his bride to live in there and keep his wigwam fire.

  Often you see the smoke floating out of the chimney now, and the intruder is still visited frequently with snow, hail and lightening.

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Told long ago the Rev. Marcus Keep of Ashland by elder members of the Tarratine or Penobscot Tribe.

  Taken from F.H. Eckstorm papers