Item
Beacon
June 27, 1889
(Contributed)
An Indian Legend
Battle at Indian Point between the Soureguois and the Malachutes
The very earliest records agree that the Soureguois or Micmacs were the tribe occupying he shore line of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, and their selection of a portion of the peninsula of St. Andrews as a favorite camping ground was judicious in the extreme, affording as it did an abundance of their food which was principally a product of the sea. Near the foot of Prince William St., about three hundred yards east of the beautiful park owned by the St. Andrews Land Company, there is an elevated ridge of land, its point washed by the waters of the bay, and flanked on either side by a marsh. In the olden time it was covered by a magnificent growth of stately birch, long a recognized landmark in the navigation of the bay. Its position is a strategical one and its numerous and extensive kitchen middens clearly point it out as a permanent camping ground of the red man. Tradition marks it as the scene of a desperate conflict. About the beginning of the seventeenth century the Malachites, who, there is reason to believe, did not occupy any portion of Acadia, intrude themselves into the territory of the Micmacs with whom they waged a constant and unrelenting warfare, eventually pressing them back to the gulf and peninsula of Nova Scotia. On the ridge of which we are speaking the Micmacs made a last and desperate defense in this aggressive war. With an abbatis of logs across this narrow neck of land, a marsh on their flank, his canoes drawn up on the shore as a possible means of escape in case of defeat, the Micmac chief awaited the assault. Despair had fired the breasts of this unwarlike tribe, and filled their hearts with their fierce crying, even slaves who once conceived the thought of freedom feel, and in that hope possess all that the contest cares for. Just before the blush of dawn, the time of deepest sleep, was the hour chosen by the Malachites for the assault. The attack through sudden was not a surprise. One band of warriors led on by the chief in person assaulted the abbatis; another passing along the border of the park endeavored to force a passage across the marsh toward the more exposed portion of the encampment. Gallantly and well did the Micmac warrior defend the palisade behind which was the wigwam of his wife and child. At last an impetuous charge burst through the feeble barrier, from tree to tree the wavering tide of battle ebbed and flowed and the woodland arches rang with the exultant cry of the victor and the shriek of the vanquished. Scream after scream issues from the wigwams, where already the tomahawk and scalping knife are doing their bloody work, and a swirl of flame and an ominous cloud of smoke are too certain indications that safety is but in flight. A tumultuous crowd are now rushing to the canoes, and the conquered yet undaunted Micmac chief who with a few braves, was protecting the retreat, fell with the fatal war point in his heart, face to the foe, on the last and best fought field of his nation for the land they loved so well.