Benton High School - Wahwahlanawah Yearbook (St Joseph, MO)

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The Legend Of Wahwahlanawah The true history of Benton High School extends back many hundreds of years ago when this land was inhabited only by scattered tribes of Indians. The land was covered with lush green forests and criss-crossed by clear, clean streams. The rich soil and abundance of game animals made life here much easier than other areas which were not blessed with such abundance. Very early in their ex- istence here, the Indians recognized the value of this land and called it the beginning of the Road to Paradise. Near the present city of St. Joseph, on the mighty Missouri River, stood a lofty hill like a sentinel watching over the valleys below. To the In- dians who came here, this was a sacred place — Wahwahlanawah — the Road to Paradise. Only legend remains to provide us with the story of these proud, noble people. Let us now watch and listen as Alate, the story-teller: Many moons ago. more moons than there are grains of sands along the banks of the great river, there dwelt a chieftain, mighty in valor, great in war, swift as the deer, and fleet as the eagle. Wisely and well he ruled the great tribe of his people, the Mus- quakies; ruled them and led them to victory against all their foes. In his wisdom he chose a tall hill-top for his people where their dying spirits could most easily ascend to Heaven. By and by, it became the custom of the In- dians of the West to hold council each year on this most sacred spot Religious ceremonies also were held here for no other place on earth was so near the Happy Hunting Grounds as this place. Each year as the time for council grew near, nothing, not even the bloodiest, fiercest war, would deter them from attending. Friends and enemies alike came side by side. The sick, the weak, the old all were borne carefully along for it was the wish of every Indian who could not die in battle to die upon this sacred spot, since only the strong and the brave could enter Paradise immediately upon their death. For the sick and the feeble the journey was a long and an arduous one. If one should die along the way, his soul was released and condemned to wander over the ghost road” until a relative who died in battle was able to help him find a place where the rays of the setting sun formed a bridge for the earth to the Happy Hunting Grounds. Such a place was Wahwahlanawah.” To die here, meant all trouble was ended. Being the nearest place to Heaven, the journey was short and easy so that, even the weakest of them, all might make it to eternal peace. Here also, they buried their great chiefs so that they might also escape the long wandering. To die upon the Road to Paradise was perfect happiness. The hill dominated their lives. No one was allowed to live there. It was never to be profaned by quarrels or bloodshed. The whole thought of the old was to live until the next council; young chieftains hoped that they might have a seat in the next council; each tribe looked forward with reverence to the next meeting. Each day was greeted with the name of the sacred meeting place and each evening when Gitchee-Manitou, the Creator, in his Great Canoe of the Sun, departed for his home they sang out their covenant with him. Wahwahlanawah was a sym- bol of their highest ideals — a link between them and their Creator. For many moons, the tribes came here to worship and to make council and to bury their dead. The woods which covered the sides of the sacred peak were untouched by the axe; the waters of the sacred spring poured forth pure and sweet — un- touched by the lips of outsiders. Then as swiftly as the north wind, stories came of the approach of white men. Soon the day came when a boat ap- peared, advancing steadily up the great river at the foot of the hill. The Indians crowded down to the shore. Their Chief, Mohosca, welcomed the strangers. The pipe of peace was taken from the sacred medicine bag and a friendly feeling between white man and red man soon spread over the gathering. As this feeling grew stronger, several wooden kegs were brought from the white men's boat. Soon the effect of the firewater contained in the kegs began to show itself among those on both sides. An argument over the distribution of the firewater arose. Suddenly, both sides reached for their weapons and a bitter skirmish followed. When the Indians finally retreated into the woods, it was found that one white man, Charles King, had been killed. To avenge his death. King's comrades buried his body on the summit of “Wahwahlanawah. This was a great desecration, for only the bodies of great cheifs were permitted to be buried on the peak of the sacred hill. After burying King’s body, the whites christened the hill, King's Hill, the name it is called today. 2 Opening

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Wahwahlanawah 'Road to Paradise Benton High School 5655 So. 4th St. St. Joseph, Mo. 64504 L. E. Hager. Advisor Elizabeth Atkins, Co-Editor Susan Wallace, Co-Editor Volume 74

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The coming of these first whites was to signal the invasion of Mohosca's territory. The whites felt it was wrong to waste such abundance on the red man. Great pressure was exerted on the white men's chiefs to remove the Indians from this land. Soon the whites would be as many as the leaves on the trees. One white man who was an exception to Mohosca's bitterness toward the whites was a fur trader named Joseph Robidoux. Robidoux had always treated the Indians fairly and did not try to take advantage of them as others of his kind had. He demanded nothing of the Indians except to be treated fairly in return. His trading post, in the Blacksnake Hills, a few miles upstream from Mohosca's village, attracted Indians from many miles away. Here they brought the furs of animals to be traded for steel knives and hatchets, cloth and beads, and iron cooking pots which they could not make themselves. As more white men pressed against the boundaries of Mohosca’s territory, their cries for the removal of the Indians grew louder and louder. They approached the chiefs of other tribes who finally agreed to sell or trade their lands and move across the great river. Mohosca, however, refused all offers. His people would remain in their valley beneath the protecting shadow of ‘Wahwahlanawah' until they received a sign from Gitchee-Manitou that they should leave this land. Before long, Mohosca found his territory shrink- ing before the advance of the white settlers. Sadly he mounted the hill to the sacred spring to make a sacrifice and to pray to Gitchee-Manitou for guidance. For three days and nights, he prayed and fasted, asking for a sign. Finally, in despair, he raised his arms to the sky. Was it the will of Gitchee- Manitou, the Creator, that the white man should possess Wahwahlanawah? As he bowed his head in silent contemplation, a look of hopelessness and despair came across his wrinkled face. Only a few inches from his moccasin-clad foot grew three stalks of plantain. Mohosca knew that this was the sign he had been seeking. Among his people, the plantain was called the footprint of the white man.” He knew that his people must leave their sacred place and never return. With his heart heavy with sorrow. Mohosca gazed for the last time upon the valley so dear to his peo- ple. He saw the peak of Wahwahlanawah shelter- ing the graves of his ancestors, touched by the last rays of the setting sun. The woods upon the hillside were filled with dark shadows. The great river, red- dened by the sun setting in the west, continued to move ever so slowly to the sea. Finally, he looked down one last time to see the lodges of his people nestled in the valley. The next day the old chief watched as his people assembled to hear his words. Gitchee-Manitou has given us a sign. The tribe of Mohosca must leave Wahwahlanawah.' Let the whites advance in peace. And so. the red man departed from Wahwahlanawah, driven westward by the steady advance of the white man. — Compiled by John Foley Opening 3