THE PHANTOM FISH OF SAYNER'S BAR. 



E. E. HICKOK. 



Long before the white man's foot had 

 marked a trail through the pathless woods 

 of the Northland, a village of Winnebagoes 

 stood on the Southern bank of one of the 

 loveliest lakes of Northern Wisconsin. 

 Overhead Norway and white pine 

 trees towered ioo feet without a limb, 

 their canopied tops giving protection 

 against the summer's sun and winter's 

 snow, while under foot the fallen needles 

 of ages formed a carpet soft as velvet, and 

 the sandy soil removed all moisture and 

 made this an ideal dwelling place. 



Immediately in front of the village land- 

 ing place the water went off quickly to a 

 depth of 70 feet ; but extending diagonally 

 to the right was a bar, or shallow ridge, on 

 which, at 100 yards from shore, the water 

 was scant 10 feet deep. 



There grew up the maiden We-ne-wan-ta, 

 "Light of the Waters." The only child of 

 the chief, she was, from her earliest days, 

 petted and spoiled, every whim being a law 

 to the entire village, As she grew in years 

 she excelled all others in their sports and 

 easily distanced those of the opposite sex in 

 her skill with the bow, paddling the canoe 

 or swimming. At 18 she was imperious, 

 self willed, obstinate, capricious and as 

 arrant a coquette as ever lived. Of lovers 

 she had the young men of the entire tribe 

 at her feet, and ruled them with a rod of 

 iron, alternately favoring and ignoring each 

 in turn. 



The elders of the village thought she 

 gave most encouragement to the son of the 

 chief of the village a score of miles away, 

 "Win-a-que-sa-gon," but even with' him 

 she was as changeable as the skies of April. 



One summer evening, in a mood more 

 gracious than usual, she met him at the 

 landing as his canoe touched the shore and 

 bade him go with her out on the lake. The 

 twilight had fallen, but the lingering light 

 of day still colored the clouds which hung 

 on the horizon at the lower end of the lake, 

 3 miles away, a gorgeous picture. No ripple 

 curled the water, and no sound was heard 

 save the occasional hooting of an owl in 

 the dense forest across the lake, or the 

 plash of some leaping fish. 



Win-a-que-sa-gon again pressed his suit, 

 earnestly and eloquently, but the maiden's 

 mood had changed, and she scornfully re- 

 fused to listen. He then informed her that 

 unless she at once promised to be his she 

 should never reach the shore alive. She re- 

 plied that she would have none of him 

 and defied him to do his worst. "Then we 

 die together," said he, and with a bend of 

 his body the frail craft was overturned. 



Left to herself, there was no danger to 

 the maiden, as she could swim to 

 shore, but as the canoe capsized he seized 

 her in his arms and sank to the bottom, 

 where, with one hand holding her and the 

 other grappling the weeds, their bodies 

 were found the next day. 



Great was the lamentation, and imposing 

 the ceremonials with which the body of the 

 maiden was laid away on an island in the 

 lake. The body of her slayer was chopped 

 to pieces and these burned to ashes, so that 

 even his last resting place should not be 

 known and that he should never enter the 

 happy hunting grounds of his fathers. 



Time passed, and the tragedy was being 

 forgotten. It was noticed by some of 

 those who, during the dark of the moon in 

 August, went fishing on the bar, that often 

 the primitive tackle which they used was 

 not strong enough to land the fish which 

 had taken the bait. At one time a stalwa~t 

 young fellow of the tribe prepared a 

 stronger tackle and when the fish fastened 

 he held on. The fish proved the stronger, 

 and, overturning the canoe, dragged the 

 angler down. Search for his body was un- 

 availing. The older squaws, remember- 

 ing the crime which had been com- 

 mitted and that each year at its an- 

 niversary was the time when the gi- 

 gantic fish made its appearance, said, 

 "It is the spirit of 'We-ne-wan-ta,' which is 

 permitted for this brief time to revisit the 

 scenes of her early triumphs, and again to 

 play the coquette with those who come 

 near. She does not take the hook, but sim- 

 ply seizes the line and draws it down hand 

 over hand, until it either breaks or the 

 man holding it is drawn under." 



This finally came to be believed by all 

 the tribe, so that the bar was shunned by 

 all during the month of August, except in 

 the light of the moon, until finally the 

 white men came and the tribe left the lake. 



Thus runs the tradition as told substan- 

 tially by an old, old Indian woman in 

 Northern Wisconsin last summer. She 

 said she lived on the identical ground once 

 occupied by the village of the legend. 



The surroundings of the place seem to 

 conform to the story. The same tall pine 

 trees are there ; the same beautiful sunsets 

 close the day; and the bar extends out 

 from shore as it did on the day of the 

 tragedy. 



Many of the visitors at the lake have 

 had experiences with a fish or something, 

 whatever it is, on this bar. 'I hey leisurely 

 pull in after a day on the lake, when the 

 line is seized and held half an hour or 



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