The Legend of Winnebago

 The Legend of Winnebago was written in the early years of the camp by a staff member.  It has been retold and acted out by the staff at the closing campfire as long as anyone can remember.  Seeing a re-enactment of the Legend is a moving and unforgettable experience for the thousands of scouts and scouters who have been to Winnebago.  Come to WSR and see it for yourself!
 

 

Many, many moons ago,
The redmen ruled the plain,
And here each year,
From hoe to snow,
The Indians gathered grain,
They fished the streams,
They hunted hare,
They trailed the bison herd;

They plucked the eagle from the air
They feared the Thunderbird.

The tribesmen here were hearty ones-
A ban we may describe
As Manataoh's favored sons,
The Winnebago Tribe.

 

Above their peaceful prairie home
There rose a mighty rock
Where none but wolves, Were wont to roam
And vultures feared to flock.
Upon its heights of heartless stone
Rude huts of mud and clay
Sheltered pots of broth and bone
As scrawny Indians lay
Among the barren, jagged peaks
To watch their plainsmen kin
Reap the toil of many weeks
And bring the harvest in.

They schemed of how they'd swoop that day
On the Winnebago village,
When braves had wandered well away
They'd pounce to rob and pillage.
But the cliff dweller's chieftain had a son
Who rose and loudly said,
"Brotherhood can't be undone
Let's trade with them instead".
But one against the multitude
Finds himself bereft,
So he remained in solitude
As the greedy warriors left.

The cliff dwellers gave no warning hint,
But pounced with spears and knives.
Their arrows, tipped with flashing flint,
Took their share of lives.

 

When the sun had sunk from sight
And the hunting day was done,
The plainsmen saw by evening's light
That their work was just begun.
As they returned to their skeleton town
They tried to count their dead,
The chieftain heard, with furrowed frown,
What each survivor said

Then called his angered braves together
And said, "Our wrath must cease,
You know our tribe has sworn forever
That we must keep the peace.

Look here my men, I smoke the pipe
And pass the pipe around.
Now, let us keep our promise ripe
By kneeling on the ground
And praying to fiery sky,
That through our loss be frightful
We may put our spirits height
And keep from being spiteful."

 

And as they prayed the winds broke free
Across the blacked sky.
Manataoh had heard their plea,
And then, as his reply
A bolt of lightning,
STRUCK THE ROCK.
It quavered, swayed and rumbled,
Then with a crunching, crashing shock,
Down to earth it tumbled!
The tremors ceased, the dust dispersed,
The boulders came to rest.
The shambles of a fortress cursed
Was now the valley's guest.

 

Of all the rock there stood one piece
Which escaped the crushing blow,
The chieftain's son who'd asked for peace
Was spared from those below.
And through the gates of leveled stone
They saw a lake, a hill
Where wheat and corn were easily grown
And fertile soil to till.

 

In our camp which bears their name
We tell of them this night
Of how the things they prayed for came
Because they stood for right,
In our Scouting council ring
We have on display
A replica of everything
They saw that fateful day.
Behold the stones on which we tread,
And scuff with careless heed,
The home of cliff dwellers lying dead
The symbol of their greed.

And the the rock which held the son
Who scorned his family's malice
Remains the sole-surviving one of
All the cliff top palace.
And there the lake, the soil, the hill,
The land they needed so
Theirs at least to hunt and till
And coax their crops to grow.
Gaze we now upon the things to which
this tale belongs
Our monumental council ring,
A tribute to right, the curse of wrong.