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The First American Love Story by
Michael F. Bavota
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Shortly before sunset, in the year seventeen hundred, seventy-one, Tomachu, a Mingo
Indian chief completed a successful hunting trip in a copse-covered forest in Pennsylvania. Suddenly his
keen ears heard the faint cry for help coming from the other side of a rock ledge. The chief quickly scaled the rocks in search
of the caller. He was a skillful climber, who could slip quietly through the foliage, usually without being detected by the
animals of the forest. His soft moccasins gripped the rock as he reached the crest of the mound. Tomachu's sharp warrior's
eyes caught the silhouette of a jet black panther crouched in the high brush, eyeing its prey. Then, without warning, the
beast's tail twitched violently, giving a clear sign to the experienced hunter that the cat was about to attack. The intended
victim's weak cry reached the chief's ears again. Tomachu slowly withdrew one straight arrow from the quiver behind his strong
sun darkened back. His eyes fixed tight toward dangerous animal. Suddenly, the cat hunched its back and leaped to the ground.
Tomachu positioned the arrow in his bow, lowered his sights, took aim, and let the arrow go. With a mighty swish, the feathered
rocket hit its mark deep inside the beast's heart, sending the animal hard to the ground with a wicked thud. Now the dark-haired chief, using great caution,
approached the still cat. Just beneath its clutches lay a thin, dirty-faced white boy huddled over a mass of leaves and flowers.
Tomachu took the crying boy into his arms. He offered a gentle caress, and soothing accents common to the human race to win
the boy back to calmness and confidence. It was only then did he notice beneath the leaves and wilted flowers the stiff body
of a white woman. Her body was beginning to decompose, signifying that the blonde-haired boy had stayed by her side for many
days. The withered flowers across her breasts implied that the boy, perhaps four or five years old, had some knowledge of
civilization and the white man's death ceremony. Tomachu carefully searched the body and the surrounding area for
clues as to the struggle that lead to her death. He found little to support any sign of violence, only a summation that the
woman and boy may have escaped the enslavement of a hostile tribe. Thus, the mother may have died of exhaustion in her attempts
to win her son's freedom. In
the twilight sky, the chief constructed a crude sepulcher by building a mound of stones over the woman's body. The burial
place was at the banks of the Monongahela River and the mouth of the George's Creek, upon a level plot of land. An area called
Sugar Loaf Hill. Then in silence, Tomachu
carried the sleeping boy in his arms back to the village. The chief had decided during his journey home to adopt this boy.
Upon arrival to the camp, the
chief's wife took the boy to be prepared for adoption. Then sometime during the night his head was shone in Indian fashion,
leaving just a few strands of hair on the crown of his head. In the morning, his face would be painted red. This meant he
would be spared from otherwise torture and death. A black painted
face captive was usually burned. By the mid 1700s adoption of European captives by the Indians was a practical and necessary
occurrence. Fierce wars between tribes, combined with famine and disease had killed young male warriors
and hunters. Adoption of whites was one way to increase a tribe's population and ensure its survival.
In time the Tomachu's ward became an expert hunter and was a master at making bows and arrows. From what little English
he knew, through Indian translation, his white name was believed to be Marma, which was probably short for Marmaduke. However,
he was not believed to be the Marmaduke Van Swearingen, later known as Blue Jacket. Swearingen was captured along with his
younger brother by the Shawnee warriors in 1771. Although like Marmaduke Van Swearingen who grew up to become chief of the
tribe, Marma being the adopted son of the Mingo chief Tomachu was destined to be chief one day too. Marma was a brave and handsome young warrior with especially keen skills in swimming
and rowing. At age twelve, his family had occasion to travel away from the tribe and across the Monongahela River. On this
day, the river crest was quite high and the wind blew stiff out of the west. Suddenly their canoe capsized in the middle of
the river crossing, near the Cheat River junction. Marma, his stepfather, and stepmother were quickly thrown into the turbulent
river current. Also in the canoe, under tight restraint of the mother, was Marma's two-year-old stepsister, Sylvia. Tomachu struggled to keep hold of his wife, while Sylvia
and Marma had been instantly swept away down stream. Marma through some super human effort and devoted love for his stepsister,
managed to land Sylvia safely ashore.
Meanwhile, upstream Tomachu lost his grip on his beloved wife and with her last words she cried out "O save, Sylvia!"
Tomachu screamed as she finally disappeared beneath the raging current. Late in the evening Tomachu, his daughter and Marma returned to the village.
His wife's limp body lying across his arms sent mournful wailing throughout the tribe. The chief's wife was loved by the tribe
for her skill in medical care. In the lodge of the sick and wounded her kindly presence was always found. Her faith in the
Great Spirit was always manifested in all her doings and she taught
Marma to pray for a better life. Mourners circled her body, where for several hours they held a silent vigil. Then as her
body was slowly lowered into her grave, laminations of the women mourners echoed across the hills. As the years passed, Marma's memories of his early childhood
became more vivid. He taught Sylvia how to fashion her garments like his biological white mother. Many days, he and Sylvia
would canoe down the Monagahela to the George Creek and stop to talk along the side of his mother's gravesite. He told Sylvia
of the long, dark nights he kept solitary vigil at his dead mother's side, and of her soothing last words spoke to him before
she died.
There was an intimate atmosphere growing between Marma and Sylvia. Their eternal happiness clearly dependent upon each
other's love. For a long time Marma loved Sylvia only as a sister, but the chief's grief at the loss of his wife, and the
march of time beginning to move him closer to the Great Spirit world, encouraged Marma and Sylvia's love to become more entwined.
"Soon the day will come,
Marma when father will choose for you. He is so old now and to go against his wishes of the woman to be your wife would not
be wise. If, only he was to know of our love," Sylvia turned away from Marma and wept. Marma took her hand and wiped the tears. "It is forbidden
for young couples in our tribe to walk together without an elder, but we have had many meetings unknown to our people. It
is time for our father to know of our feelings. I will see him tonight." Before Marma could plan suitable time to discuss his feelings
with his father, he was summoned to the chief's hut by an elder.
"My Son, who the Great Spirit provided to me from the jaws of the panther, the time has come when I should give
to you those things that I planned for you throughout your youth."
Marma stood to be recognized to speak. The old chief waved him back down and would not hear his words. Marma knew this
meant his father had selected a wife for him. He had to tell his father about Sylvia now. Marma stood once more. Again, Tomachu
waved him off then spoke softly. "My
tribe points to you with pride as their leader when my years have closed. Sylvia's heart clings to you like the vein to the
oak . . . this I know. In your young life, before your arm was clothed in strength, the Great Spirit gave her to you in the
waters of the Monongahela. I choose not to alter that which the Heavens have decreed. All that I have now is offered to you,
and that which is planned by the stars shall be done. I choose Sylvia for you to wed." No other words were spoken. Marma raced to the river
to tell Sylvia of the good news.
"Sylvia! Sylvia!" He called at the entrance of the cave where they had last seen each other. There was no
answer. Marma called again,"Sylvia where are you? The news is good. Our Father has chosen you!" Sylvia appeared cautiously from behind a mound beyond the
cave. Then she rushed to feel Marma's embrace.
"Why did you not answer when first I called?" Marma asked in puzzlement. Sylvia looked away. "I would not see you again if
our father had given you to another."
Marma and Sylvia held each other tight and talked of wedding
plans through the night. Their dream had come true.
An excellent outfit was prepared for Sylvia's wedding day. A beautiful lodge, made of dressed deer
skins, the best provisions and changes of raiment were packed in a canoe. It was time for Sylvia to travel to the village
of friends down the river, where she would await the night when the spring moon stood large in the sky. For Marma, the tedious moons wore away
slowly. Until finally the cold winter nights yielded to the balmy springtime where the forest began to wear its leafy coat
of green. The hour approached when his time of happiness would be complete. Sylvia was to return to his village by morning
light. The
camp on Sugar Loaf Hill was alive with excitement. His followers surrounded the chief's lodge. Here the bride would walk through
the threshold of her marriage chapel. The rarest specimens of deer's horns, eagles' beaks and claws, choice shells and plumage
of strange birds were all tastefully arranged in arches, canopied with evergreens, gemmed with moss, over which the bride
was to walk on arrival. As Marma
awaited his bride, Sylvia met with her father in his lodge. Outside, her beautiful white stallion nudged the flag to the hut
and beckoned Sylvia to offer him attention. She asked her father to wait while she attempted a quick ride through the camp.
Tomachu instantly refused his
daughter's request. "No,
my daughter." He commanded. "Today is a day of celebration. Warriors and chiefs of other villages have come to see
this ceremony, and it would not be proper to make them wait longer." Still, Sylvia was very persuasive and knew just how to get her father to see her
wants fulfilled. Within moments of saying no, Tomachu agreed to one short ride just to the end of the camp. Sylvia mounted
her barebacked horse and handled him in a slow prance toward the end of the camp. Suddenly the wind kicked up from out of
the west. Her mighty stallion reared up, and slashed its front feet toward the sky. Villagers screamed. Tomachu's heart skipped
a beat. Their fears were soon eased when the animal settled back to the ground and continued to step gracefully through the
village. Just above, a strange dark cloud circled the woods and followed the motion of the horse and its rider. Then, within
seconds, both Sylvia and her horse were gone. The beast made a sharp right into the woods and dashed away from the camp. Sylvia
screamed for the animal to stop but it ran faster. "I fear some trouble in the air!" Tomachu yelled to Marma. "Give
chase to Sylvia now!" Marma
heeded the words of the wise chief and rushed into the woods. As if some strange force wanted him to stay away, a sudden strong
wind blew him back and down to the ground. The evil looking black twisting cloud ripped past the village and toward the direction
of Sylvia. Marma fought hard to regain his footing and push forward, for now he felt the worst for his beloved Sylvia. The
mighty cyclone was upon her. Trees were ripped from their roots, sending sharp daggers of branch and limb through the air.
Marma fought back the wind and rain now pressed against his face filled with a strong look of determination. Then, just as
suddenly as the storm appeared, it disappeared and all was quiet in the forest again. Marma could now make out the silhouette
of Sylvia's horse lying motionless on the ground. The young warrior's heart pounded wildly in his chest as he rushed into
the opening hoping to retrieve his precious Sylvia. However, she was not there. He cupped his hands over his mouth and called
her name. A faint cry echoed from his right beneath a huge mound of twisted trees. There he saw the torn white wedding dress
streaming through the branches. Marma ran to the mound and pitched heavy branches aside like a super man. And it was then
that he found his Sylvia expelling her last breath of air. A sharp branch plunged deep into her chest. The cyclone had taken
her life.
Marma screamed in terror. This was too many loses of loved ones for him to bear. His heart and mind now shattered.
Villagers arrived by his side just as he removed his lovely Sylvia from the debris. Marma looked toward the crowd with tears
in his eyes, then turned and ran deep into the woods with Sylvia held tight in his arms. All that he had loved was now gone
forever. Back at the village,
news of the loss reached Tomachu. The brave chief could stand no more. His eyes closed tight, his heart fell silent. Leaving
Marma alone to cry once more over the loss of a love.
Some say the story doesn't end. Modern day ghost chasers claim that in the forest now known as Fallen
Timber, a forsaken spirit can be found crying out for his Sylvia whenever a storm has ended.
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