A Ghost of the Eriehonan
By Chuck Semenuk
John and his grandson Tommy had just finished a great day of fishing and were getting ready to go home.
“Let’s take a little breather before we start the long hike back to the house,” said John.
It was a long walk up the old logging trail and John’s knees weren’t as good as they used to be. Taking a seat on an old log, John took a plastic bag of cookies from his shirt pocket and shared them with Tommy.
“It sure is nice down here, Grandpa. I really like it,” said Tommy.
“Yes, it sure is. It’s one of my favorite places. This river valley and the surrounding woods probably look pretty much the same today as it did when the Indians lived here.”
Tommy’s eyes widened. “Gosh, grandpa. Were there really Indians around here?”
“There sure were. Archeologists believe that the first Indians in recorded history living in this area belonged to the Erie tribe. They were called Eriehonan by the Iroquois which lived further east. Eriehonan meant “long tail” which referred to the bob cat or cougar which was very plentiful in this area. Often referred to as the “cat people”, the Eries were fierce warriors and were known to use poison tipped arrows on their enemies. Over time, they fought many battles with the Iroquois, the Huron, and a number of other tribes before they were pretty well scattered and pushed out of the area. There were inhabitants here before the Eriehonan but little is known about them other than that they were ‘mound builders’ and are considered to be ‘pre-historic’.”
“Wow,” said Tommy. “I bet you know a lot of stories about this place, Grandpa.”
“Yep. I can think of a few good ones,” laughed John.
Tommy could hardly control his excitement.
“Tell me one. Please?”
John made himself comfortable by sitting on the ground and resting his back on the log.
“Well, long before you were born, I used to fish this river every chance I got. I got so I knew it like the back of my hand. Every once in a while I thought that I saw an old man in the woods, or sometimes along the river. But then, he would disappear. I used to work with an old guy who knew a lot about this place and one day I told him about the man I thought I saw.
He started to laugh and then told me that I had probably seen the ghost of old Tocho. Tocho was thought to be a descendant of the original Erie tribe that lived in the area. Tocho hunted and fished this river valley back when the area was being settled by the white man. He generally got along quite well with the settlers and developed a love for the fresh apple pies made by one of the local women. His taste for the white man’s apple pie turned out to be his undoing.
One day, he happened to catch the fragrance of a fresh pie cooling on a window sill. Had he knocked on the door and asked for a slice, the woman would have likely given it to him but for some reason, he snatched the whole pie and ran off with it.
Seeing Tocho disappear into the woods with the whole pie, the woman thought she’d teach him a lesson. Pretending to be upset when her husband returned from town, she told him that Tocho had stopped for pie but had gotten fresh with her and she had to fight for her honor. Before she could explain further, her husband grabbed his rifle and ran from the house. By dark, the man and some of his neighbors had tracked down old Tocho and hanged him from a large tree in the woods at the top of this very logging trail. When he returned home, his wife told him that she just made up the story to have some fun with Tocho. She thought they would all have a good laugh. Unfortunately, poor Tocho wasn’t laughing. The next morning, the men cut Tocho down and buried him beneath the old tree.”
“That was terrible, grandpa.”
“Yes, it was. You know, when you tell a lie, even if it’s just a little fib, you never know how someone might be hurt by it.”
“Did you see Tocho’s ghost anymore?”
