A Legend of Indian Village : The Story of White Faun and Paul Harcourt

I
found this article a few years ago in The
Monroe Bulletin, Wednesday, December 15, 1886. No proof has been found for this sad
tale. It is highly unlikely it happened,
since Filhiol was here at the time and would have at least mentioned it in his
surviving correspondence. Still, it
makes for a great story!

Now that winter in all its rigor is upon us;
when we can draw up our chairs to the cheerful fire and hear the wail of the wind
as it sweeps by us, dying away in the distance like some living thing, your
readers will perhaps, under such circumstances, appreciate a tale of long ago,
a legend of the past.

One
hundred years ago, when this country was inhabited almost exclusively by
Indians,the place known as Indian Village was, in truth, our Indian Village.

In a beautiful grove of stately oaks, with
here and there a graceful maple to enliven their dark beauty, was placed the
Indian Village. Here the musical voice
of the Chief’s only child, the beautiful White Fawn, might be heard as the
maiden rambled through the grove, as happy and care-free as the birds that sang
so joyously over her head. And had you
looked closely, reader, you could have seen another form following the steps of
the Indian girl and gazing upon her with so much devotion that you could have
easily guessed his secret he loved. This
person was Strong Arm, the bravest warrior and the best hunter in the tribe. He had long loved the graceful White Fawn and
had obtained the Chief’s consent