Here is an article from the Louisiana Digital Archives that was published in the Times-Democrat newspaper on August 28, 1884, some 135 years ago. If you've ever wondered how Ponchatoula got its name and what life was like for Choctaws living along the Bogue Chitto river in northern St. Tammany, read this tragic account:
The River of The Falling Hair
A Chatta Tradition
(Published Aug. 28, 1884, Times-Democrat)
A Chatta Tradition
(Published Aug. 28, 1884, Times-Democrat)
Those who have traveled the old road between Covington, in St. Tammany Parish, La., and the little town of Franklinton, lying about thirty miles northwardly, can hardly fail to recall the pebbly ford where the Bogue Chitto river is crossed. After a long and somewhat monotonous ride through an unbroken pine forest, as one approaches this beautiful stream the undergrowth becomes thicker, the magnolia, gum and ash take the place of the pine, and the whole aspect of the country undergoes a sudden and refreshing change.
So dense is the foliage overhead, even at midday there remains a soft twilight in these woods, made all the more imposing and solemn by the almost perfect silence hold¬ing dominion here.Some times the mellow note of the cardinal or sharp bark of the squirrel will break upon the ear, but even those familiar sounds, tinged by the magnetic stillness that reigns around, assumes a peculiar weirdness that almost disguises them.
Sweeter even than the Cardinal's call, the listening ear can sometimes catch the faint laughter of the Bogue Chitto, when in the low water its rapid current dances over shallows of pebbles or sings through the branches of fallen trees that seek to impede its course. The sound is so minute, so frail, so exquisitely delicate, that the ear at first fails to record its vibrations, but once detected the music becomes deliciously melodious and seems to fill the air.
The Bogue Chitto River near the Village of Sun
In this respect it is not unlike those insect sounds Tyndall speaks of in his Alpine excursions. Even at the highest altitudes where to the uncultivated ear the silence was oppressive, for up above the clouds, with glaciers and crags around him, he found by closest attention he could catch the attenuated chirpings and raspings of insect life, where before he fancied not a sound was breaking the stillness. The longer his attention was engaged with this hum the louder it became, until at last it sounded like a vast chorus.
Moving down the rood in the direction of the silvery music, the river itself soon comes into view, its rippling surface reflecting the bright sunshine like the facets of a diamond far back into the sombre corridors of the forest. The descent into the river is gentle and the ford easy of passage during an average stage of water. Clear and cold the river flows with considerable current, the white pebbles at the bottom shining in softened outline. After the dusty journey the horse, as well as the rider, enjoys the change from the tiresome undulations of the pine hills, and invariably both indulge in long and refreshing draughts from the limpid stream.
On the opposite bank a bare hill rises abruptly, its foot being sheer down to the water. Surrounded by forest the bareness of this elevation is conspicuous, and unless it has been overgrown within the last twenty years, its nakedness makes such a contrast with its border of magnolia as to attract the attention at once. Covering about twenty acres, the hill was of most symmetrical roundness. The short thick grass covering it added to the impression that it was artificial and involuntarily one looked for the residence to which such a beautiful sweep of lawn was attached.
The Choctaws Life On The River
When LaSalle was pushing his way up through the passes of the Mississippi against the relentless current of that turbid river, this hill on the Bogue Chitto presented a very different scene from what it does now. The Chatta or Choctaw Indians held undisputed sway over this region, and save when a dash was made by the Alabama from the East, the Natchez from the North or the Attakapas from the West, their life was one of tranquil quiet, varied only by the excitement of the hunt or happy ceremonials of wedding and harvest dances. A well marked trail led through the forest to the distant Lake Pontchartrain where abundance of fish was to be had and where at stated seasons great festivals were celebrated by the tribe, here congregated from all directions.
The hill itself was dotted with lodges, around which were gathered the men, women and children, horses and dogs of one of the sort powerful sub-trlbes of the Chatta nation. The site selected was the most advantageous of any for miles around, both as to fertility of the soil and natural means of defense. The salubrious climate, proximity of all kinds of game and the abundance of pure water and it a favorite spot with the Indians, and when the white man had overrun the country they clung to it long subsequent to thelr desertion of other points.
Chief Ota-Ima
Of all the tribe here resident there was none toward whom such deep reverence was paid as Ota-Ima. His reckless temerity, gallant dash and wonderful craft in numerous forays had earned for him a reputation we would call nowadays "national," and these characteristics united with a ripe experience and rare judgement made him almost the Idol of the tribe.
His rule as chief had been marked for its abundance of crops and absence of disaster, so that during his later years his great family looked upon him as something next to supernatural. If the tribe reverred him, the young men at least idolized his daughter Ulalima, whose beauty tradition says, was so great "one had to shade his eyes with his hand when looking upon her."
Down the vista of the years the story comes to us, with all the vivid coloring of aboriginal poetry, and Ulalima becomes to the lonely Chatta we see in our market place, what some unfortunate Goddess was to the ancients. When she was born the stars did not shine that their light might sparkle in her eyes! Neither did the birds sing in the forest for they gave all their notes to the forming of her voice.
The Birth of Ulalima
All that day the flowers gave forth no perfume, for this they sacrificed to add sweetness to her breath. Her mother died whan she was an infant, and reared by an old woman in tha lodge of her father, she became to him the essence of his existence. The loss of his mate had created a worship, almost, of the chlld, and her happiness became the only desire of his heart. Withdrawing from the wilder sports of tte field, he devoted his remaining years to this sole reminder of happier days and to the internal government of the tribe.
Then, as now, the seasons followed one another in procession, but looking back to them from the busy, practical present, one cannot but see through the misty distance, something of their pastoral delights and wild splendors. Ths faintest pictures we catch from that far-off time have about them an atmosphere such as tinctures the ether, of poesy itself, and the faintly-heard echoes of those primitive days comes to us in a ryhthm more palpitating than sonorous Alexandrines..
That September Night
The harvest moon never poured forth a richer flood of gold on woodland, lake swamp and river than it did that September night. The little hill beside the singing Bogue Chitto shone in relief above the deep green of the surrounding forest, and each lodge could be marked in a definite outline in the opulence of such a light. The wind barely seasoned with a foretaste of autumn, was deliciously cool, and as it had traveled over miles of pine forest, stealing at every step a burden of resinous fragrance, it came to the nostrils refreshing and re-invigorating.
At the doors of their lodges the more sedate of the tribe sat looking out upon the pleasing picture around them and puffing silently at their pipes. The doleful bay of some moon-worshiping dog came up now and again from the base of the hill, and as if laughing at the ludicrous attempt at music, the Indian ponies would whinny and neigh.
On the open ground surrounding the chief's lodge, the children, the youth and maidens were at play. Above all sounds their shouts could be heard and vying with the liquid music of the river, the laughter of the maidens floated upon ths breeze. Ulalima just past her eighteenth year, sat a little apart from the happy players applauding the young men as they made desperate sallies to catch one of their number who personated "The Bear."
At-to-li
Near her lay At-to-li prone upon ths grass, gazing up into that lovely face apparently lost in the intoxication of her beauty. He was a noted brave and a bold leader whenever there was danger to be met. He had been married but a year and already the village was acquainted with the infelicity of his matrimonial experience. His wife, contrary to all Chatta precedents, had resolved to be the chief of his lodge, and such was his opposition to this new order of things, he made that abode quite lively at times.
It had been noted that of late he had spent much of his time with the lovely Ulalama, but such were the rigid laws of the tribe against any violation of Marital obligations no attention was paid to his very natural adoration of the chief's daughter. As the moon mounted higher in ths heaven the sports of the young people grew less boisterous until at last the remaining few disbanded and retired.
The fires in front of the lodges had burned down to a few flickening embers, and the village began to look deserted. Here and there a silent figure passing from lodge to lodge, but nearly all had some time since gone to sleep. Ulalima moved off toward her father's lodge, accompanied part of the way by At-lo-li. They held a short conversation in an undertone and then separated. Soon the village was wrapped in slumber.
A Wild Shouting
Just before dawn there was a wild shouting. In the gathering mist there was a hurrying this way and that throughout the village. On all sides dogs were barking, and filling in ths interstices of sound, the murmur of many voices could be heard. Horses were saddled. Young men still dozed with sleep rushed out, weapons in hand, thinking of an attack. Women were wailing and striking their heads with open hands in fierce expression of deep sorrow. The gathering about the chief's lodge became greater; even the little children came trouping up.
In all this wild excitement Ota-Ima stood sold, passionless, unmoved. The blood had left his face and there was a demoniacal gleam of vengeance in his eye. Presently some twenty braves, all well armed and mounted, rode up and formed a semi-circle about their chief. He inspected them for a few minutes in silence, and then in deep husky tones, said, "My sons, the greatest sorrow that can come to a Chatta has fallen upon me. While I was asleep the wolf At-to-li has stolen from my lodge Ulalima, my Ulalima. He has left his wife to rob me of my treasure. You know the law of our nation. See that you spare neither him nor her. Go!"
The Chase Across St. Tammany
There was a clatter of hoofs down the hill, a splashing of water at the ford, and then a sharp vindictive shout in the woods beyond, as one of the pursuers discovered the footprints of two horses in the soft ground.
The day dawned, the sun passed the meridian, and night fell, but no sign came from the band that had so madly rushed to the chase. On the second day in a slow trot, one of the most youthful braves descended from the other side of the ford, the pony covered with foam and staggering with its fatigue. In a few minutes the rider was with the Chief, and the village knew that the guilty had been taken,
Ota-Ima sent for his fastest horse, mounted and soon disappeared down the road, following the direction of the returned herald. Mile after mile was passed, but still the rider urged his steed onward. At last through the trees the shimmer of water was seen and as he approached it he discerned a group of his braves. He rode up and with the agility of a youth threw himself from the saddle.
Seated on a log, guarded by a circle of men, sat Ulalima, still beautiful in her wretchedness. Just beyond, his face buried in the blood-wet grass was the dead body of At-to-li. The chief did not give even a sign of recognition of his daughter. Advancing to her side, he touched her on the shoulder and said, "Rise."
The Law of the Fathers
The trembling girl, summoning all her courage arose, her eyes remaining fixed upon the ground. The chief drew from his pouch two flat stones which he lay on the ground at his feet. Then turning to those around he said, "My children, I am about to carry out the law of our fathers. Hereafter will Ulalima be on outcast from an our tribe."
He loosened her raven hair and it fell in raven tresses to her knees. He took one of the stones in each hand. Commencing at the back of the neck he placed a stone beneath a glistening tress and struck sharply with the other stone. With each blow there fell to the ground a long streamer of soft hair, for a single strand of which any one of the braves present would have given up his life. The wind sorrowing in dreary monotone through the pines caught up some of the shiny coils and bore them off only to let them drop into the crystal water of the river.
Not a word was uttered, and still the work went on. Olalima stood unmoved. A hectic flush was on either oheek, and her lips were compressed as if shut in a prayer for forgiveness. It was not long before the last blow of ths stone had been given, and there remained hanging from her head only the jagged ends of what was once her beautiful tresses. Even in her disfigurement she looked queenly.
Sent Into Exile
The law of ths tribe had been carried out, and hereafter she was an exile to roam the earth apart from her kindred. Ota-Ima, pointing to the West, told the girl to go. The circle of young men opened and she moved out unmolested.
High above the tall pines over rolling hill, through lonesome swamp, a cry went up such as had never been heard. It was the wail of a despairing heart, the shriek of a blasted life and even to this day the Indians say they hear it beside this stream.
There was a rustle of her dress, a shadow of her form across the vision and with a bound Ulalima leaped into the river. No one moved to save her. A motion of the chief inferred restraint and soon the struggles in the water ended, and a lifeless form went drifting down circling in eddies here and shooting forward impetuously in the rapid current there. So from that day the river was named The River of The Falling Hair, Panshi-toula, or as now written, Ponchatoula.
See also:
The Bogue Chitto River
