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Legend of Lake Pocotopaug |
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WITHlN THE NATURAL bowl formed by the gentle slopes of Meshomesic ("great rattlesnake") Mountain to the north, Baker Hill to the east and Clark's Hill to the west, lies placid, temperamental Lake Pocotopaug ("divided pond"), East Hampton's flawed jewel. Here, centuries before Governor and Mrs. William O'Neill built their home beside its waters, before the summer cottages and the bell factories, even before old Adrian Block explored the great river which curled in close, a few miles to the southwest, the Wangunk Indians found the fish and game so plentiful that they could almost forget the wiles of Hobomoko, their omnipotent and terrible-tempered Great Spirit. Under the leadership of the grand sachem, Sowheag, and his local chieftain, Terramaugus, the Wangunks pitched their wigwams on the shores of Lake Pocotopaug and on the Twin Islands that sit like emeralds at the center of the lake. From their "long house" three miles north of Pocotopaug the braves ranged the woods to track and slay the fox, deer, bear and small game so abundant there, while from the crystal lake itself they harvested the bass and pickerel, swarming in endless plenty. They say that if ever there was an Indian equivalent of the Biblical "land of milk and honey," it was Lake Pocotopaug and the forests touching its shores for miles around. Through all the seasons, the Great Spirit smiled upon the Wangunks. But one day tragedy came, all unexpectedly, to the Wangunk tribe. One of their braves drowned when his canoe capsized on Lake Pocotopaug at the height of a brief, fierce summer thunderstorm. It was almost inconceivable to the Indians that one so skilled in the use of canoe and paddle, so strong at swimming through the roughest water, could possibly perish during a brief squall on the small pond. Their religion taught them that nothing which occurred in the natural world -- or to human beings -- was a matter of chance or mere accident. Hobomoko must have recog- nized some wrong-doing, some evil not recognized by them, which caused him to reach out in the midst of that storm and snuff out the life of one of the tribe. Hobomoko was displeased, they feared. Their alarm soon turned to panic when a second, and then a third member of the tribe lost control of their canoes on the turbulent waters of the lake and failed to reach the shore safely. There could now be no doubt that the hand of the Great Spirit had overturned those canoes and dragged the swimmers to their watery graves. Grief and fright blended together as the Wangunks looked heavenward and called out to Hobomoko to be merciful, for they knew not the reasons for his wreaking vengeance upon them. But Hobomoko was deaf to their pleas. Soon after the drownings of the heartiest braves, a terrible plague swept through the villages of the Wangunks, taking the strong along with the weak and the young as well as the elderly. The wigwams were full of the dead and dying -- and terror stalked the shores of Lake Pocotopaug. In such a crisis, they decided, some means must be found to appease the mighty Hobomoko, to cause him to lift his yoke of horror from the suffering tribe. His people having prevailed upon him to call together a tribal council, Terramaugus gathered all of his men, young braves and elders alike, under a great oak tree beside the waters of Lake Pocotopaug. As twilight fell, suddenly the Medicine Man of the Wangunks made his dramatic entrance into the circle of braves around Terramaugus and sat directly before the solemn chief. Then Terramaugus, tall and dignified and sad, arose to speak. In words both pained and eloquent he reviewed the awful events which had brought suffering and fear to his once prospering tribe. It must be, he said, that the great Hobomoko is angry and is seeking retribution from the Wangunks for some failure or affront of which they have no knowledge. Why has he spread so much death and disease among his people? What can be done to appease the wrathful god and cause him once more to smile upon the unhappy tribe? Perhaps the wise Medicine Man could find both answers to these questions and some means by which the Wangunks could be delivered from disaster. No sacrifices, vowed Terramaugus, would be too great, if Hobomoko would but lift his scourge. With that, he resumed his seat. After each of the braves in the circle had stood, one by one, and given his firm pledge to carry out whatever demand the angry god might make, Terramaugus rose once more, and addressing the brightly painted and feathered shaman before him, said, "You have heard our words, Gitchetan. Now go, with your chants and incantations, and commune with the Great Spirit. Find out, we implore you, why he is angry. If you discover that he is bringing a curse upon our heads for some misdeeds, learn from him in any way you can what we may do to gain his favor once more. You have heard our promise: whatever Hobomoko wishes will be our command." Slowly Gitchetan arose, made his way through the council circle and disappeared into the woods, now black with night. As the men waited in tense silence, their faces looked haggard in the dancing light of the fire which now burned at the center of the ring, and no sound broke the stillness but the call of a loon, far out on Lake Pocotopaug. After what seemed an eternity, the distant thump of a drum and the weird chanting voice of the Medicine Man announced the imminent arrival of the priest. Soon Gitchetan emerged from the shadows and returned to his place in the circle, facing Terramaugus. The Wangunk braves rose to their feet, as they waited with sinking hearts for Hobomoko's word. Gitchetan began with a long recitation of his approach to Hobomoko, recounting in great detail the ancient ritual, ending with mystic drum beat and incantations, through which he was able to communicate with the Great Spirit. Then, as he reported the great displeasure of Hobomoko and his thunderous demand for sacrifice, the Medicine Man's voice quavered and lowered almost to a whisper. He paused, seemingly unable to go on. Then arose Terramaugus, his body shaking in anticipation, and challenged the shaman to speak without fear: "Give us Hobomoko's word, O, Gitchetan. We are all ready to hear and obey." But when the Medicine Man replied, the words cut like a knife in the hearts of Terramaugus and every man in the circle. "The Great Spirit," he said, "requires the sacrifice of the fairest daughter of this tribe in the waters of Lake Pocotopaug. Your daughter, Na-moe-nee, O, Terramaugus, must die." Scarcely able to conceal his feelings, the chief was silent for a time and only a throbbing at his temples revealed the rapid beating of his heart. His beloved daughter or the salvation of his people? Such was the choice facing the leader of the Wangunks. After a brief time, however, the chief raised his hand for silence. His decision was nobly rendered: "The will of Hobomoko will be carried out." So saying, Terramaugus slowly left the council circle, spoke no word to anyone and, with head held high, walked off in the direction of his wigwam. There, though it broke his heart to do so, he awakened Na-moe-nee, and taking her by the hand, led her through the trees and out along the path that followed the north shore of the lake to the hill overlooking the northeast bay. As they walked, Terramaugus explained to Na-moe-nee the events that had taken place earlier that evening: the tribal council, the Medicine Man's talk with Hobomoko, the terrible sacrifice demanded by the Great Spirit. Only the chief's sense of commitment to his people and his fear of Hobomoko's wrath permitted him to reveal all to his daughter. Na-moe-nee's reply was as noble as her father's vow. Accepting without self-pity her role in removing Hobomoko's curse from her people, she told her father that she felt fortunate to be chosen as the one who would deliver the Wangunks from evil. "I am willing to do this thing at once," she said, "if only Hobomoko will bring relief sooner to our suffering tribe." Terramaugus nodded sadly, and motioning to his daughter to follow, proceeded to pick his way around the head of the lake, until he reached the top of the ledges on the east shore of the inlet. Finally, father and daughter stopped at the summit of the steep cliff. Na-moe-nee asked her father to tie her hands and feet with heavy thongs, lest her will to live inadvertently foil her selfless act of mercy. Then, after stepping to the very edge of the precipice, she suddenly hurled her body forward and plunged into the unforgiving waters of Lake Pocotopaug. Hobomoko could smile once more upon the Wangunks -- and he did. From the moment the lake closed over Na-moe-nee, the disasters which for so long had beset the tribe, ceased. The records show that not a single death by drowning ever again took a Wangunk brave. Indeed, the benevolence of Hobomoko was even extended for several hundred years to the white men who began to settle the hunting grounds of the Wangunks soon after Na-moe-nee's death. Not until December 8, 1885, when a young man named Jeremiah D. Wall drowned when he fell through the ice while skating, was the peace of Hobomoko broken. But, of course, that was a long, long time after the last of the Wangunks had disappeared from the shores of Lake Pocotopaug.
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