There is some question as to the origin of the name of Newton County. Some investigators contend that it was named after a sergeant in the Revolutionary war, while others give the more poetic explanation that at the time of the organization of the county one of the commissioners, who was somewhat of an astronomer, was an ardent admirer of Sir Isaac Newton, and saw that the county was named after him.

Noble County was named after Governor Noble; Owen, after Colonel Owen of Kentucky, who was killed in the battle of Tippecanoe; Pike, after Zebulon M. Pike, killed at the capture of York; Ripley, for General E. W. Ripley, an officer of 1812; Rush, for Dr. Benjamin Rush, a prominent citizen; Scott, for General Charles Scott, the Revolutionary soldier and later governor of Kentucky; Spencer, for Captain Spier Spencer, who fell at the battle of Tippecanoe; Sullivan, for Daniel Sullivan, who was killed by the Indians on the road from Vincennes to Louisville while carrying public papers; Tipton, for General John Tipton, who served in Congress; Vanderburg, for Henry Vanderburg, captain in the Revolution, member of the Legislative Council of the Northwest, and presiding judge of the first court organized in the Territory; Warrick, for Colonel Jacob Warrick, who fell at Tippecanoe; Wells, for Captain W. H. Wells, killed by the Indians while carrying papers from Fort Wayne to Fort Dearborn, now Chicago; White, for Captain Isaac White, killed at Tippecanoe; and Whitley, for Colonel William Whitley, who was killed in the battle of the Thames.—Indianapolis News.

INDIAN LEGENDS

IV.
THE DANCING GHOSTS

That beautiful phenomenon known to the white man as the Aurora Borealis, or Northern Lights, is called by the Chippewa Indians Je-bi-ne-me-id-de-wand, or the Dancing Ghosts. The legends accounting for it are numerous, and the following, which was related to the translator by a Chippewa hunter, named Kehes-Chock, or Precipice Leaper, is quite as fantastic as the phenomenon itself. That it is a very ancient tradition is evident from the fact that the sacrifice to which it alludes has not been practiced by the Chippewas for at least a century (1850).

There was a time when all the inhabitants of the far North were afflicted by a famine. It was in the depth of winter, and the weather had for a long time been so cold that even the white bear was afraid to leave his hiding place. The prairies were so deeply covered with snow that the deer and the buffalo were compelled to wander to a warmer climate, and the lakes and rivers were so closely packed with ice that it was only once in a while that even a fish could be obtained. Such sorrow as reigned throughout the land had never before been known. The magicians and wise men kept themselves hidden in their cabins. The warriors and hunters, instead of boasting of their exploits, crowded around their camp-fires, and in silence meditated upon their unhappy doom. Mothers abandoned their children to seek for berries in the desolate forests, and the fingers of the young women had become stiff from idleness, for they had not any skins out of which to make the comfortable moccasin. From one end of the Chippewa country to the other was heard the cry of hunger and distress. That the Great Spirit was angry with his people was universally believed, but for what reason none of the magicians could tell. The chief of the Chippewas was the oldest man in the nation, and he was consulted in regard to the impending calamity. He could give no reason for the famine, but stated that he had been informed in a dream that the anger of the Great Spirit could be appeased by a human sacrifice. How this should come to pass, however, he could not tell, and therefore concluded to summon to his lodge all the medicine-men who lived within a day’s journey, for the purpose of consulting with them. He did so, and when the council was ended it was proclaimed that three Chippewas should be immediately bound to the stake and consumed. They were to be selected by lot from among the warriors of the tribe; and, when this sad intelligence was promulgated, a national assembly was ordered to convene.

The appointed time arrived, and, in the presence of a large multitude, the fatal lots were cast, and three of the bravest men of the tribe were thus appointed to the sacrifice. They submitted to their fate without a murmur. Whilst their friends gathered around them with wild lamentations, and decked them with the costliest robes and ornaments to be found in all the tribe, the youthful warriors uttered not a word about their untimely departure, but only spoke in the most poetical language of the happy hunting grounds upon which they were about to enter. The spot selected for the sacrifice was the summit of a neighboring hill which was covered with woods. Upon this spot had three stakes been closely erected, around which there had been collected a large pile of dry branches and other combustible materials. To the stakes, at the hour of midnight, and by the hands of the magicians, unattended by spectators, were the three warriors securely fastened. They performed their cruel duty in silence, and the only sounds that broke the stillness of that winter night were the songs and the shoutings of the multitude assembled in the neighboring village. The incantations of the priests being ended, they applied a torch to the faggots, and, returning to their village, spent the remainder of the night in performing a variety of strange and heart-sickening ceremonies.

Morning dawned, and upon the hill of sacrifice was to be seen only a pile of smouldering ashes. On that day the weather moderated, and an unusual number of hunters went forth in pursuit of game. They were all more successful than they had been for many seasons, and there was an abundance of sweet game, such as the buffalo, the bear, and the deer in every wigwam. A council was called, and the patriarch chief proclaimed the glad tidings that the Great Spirit had accepted their sacrifice, and that it was now the duty of his children to express their gratitude by a feast—the fast of bitter roots.

The appointed night arrived, and the bitterest roots which could be found in the lodges of the magicians were collected together and made into soup. The company assembled to partake of this feast, was the largest that had ever been known, and, as they were to conclude their ceremony of thankfulness by dancing, they had cleared the snow from the center of their village, and on this spot were they duly congregated. It was a cold and remarkably clear night, and their watchfires burnt with uncommon brilliancy. It was now the hour of midnight, and the bitter soup was all gone. The flutes and the drums had just been brought out, and the dancers, decked in their most uncouth dresses, were about to enter the charmed ring, when a series of loud shoutings were heard, and the eyes of the entire multitude were intently fixed upon the northern sky, which was illuminated by a most brilliant and unearthly light. It was a light of many colors, and as changeable as the reflections upon a summer sea at the sunset hour. Across this light were constantly dancing three huge figures of a crimson hue, and these did the magicians proclaim to be the ghosts of the three warriors who had given up their bodies for the benefit of their people, and who had thus become great chiefs in the spirit-land. The fire by which their bodies had been consumed had also consumed every feeling of revenge; and ever since that remote period it has been their greatest pleasure to illume by their appearance on winter nights the pathway of the hunters over the snowy plains of the north.