"In July he made his way to the Rock River village, where he secreted himself in the woods until he could meet the maiden he loved, who came out to the field with her mother to assist her in hoeing corn. Late in the afternoon her mother left her and went to the village. No sooner had she got out of hearing, than he gave a loud whistle, which assured the maiden that he had returned. She continued hoeing leisurely to the end of the row, when her lover came to meet her, and she promised to come to him as soon as she could go to the lodge and get her blanket, and together they would flee to his country. But, unfortunately for the lovers, the girl's two brothers had seen the meeting, and after procuring their guns started in pursuit of them. A heavy thunderstorm was coming on at the time. The lovers hastened to and took shelter under a cliff of rocks, at Black Hawk's Watch Tower. Soon after a loud peal of thunder was heard, the cliff of rocks was shattered in a thousand pieces, and the lovers buried beneath, while in full view of her pursuing brothers. This, their unexpected tomb, still remains undisturbed. "This tower, to which my name has been applied, was a favorite resort, and was frequently visited by me alone, when I could sit and smoke my pipe and look with wonder and pleasure at the grand scenes that were presented by the sun's rays even across the mighty water. On one occasion a French-man, who had been making his home in our village, brought his violin with him to the tower, to play and dance for the amusement of a number of our people, who had assembled there, and, while dancing with his back to the cliff, accidentally fell over it and was killed by the fall. The Indians say that always at the same time of the year soft strains of the violin can be heard near that spot." The following beautiful word painting by a recent visitor to the tower we take from the Rock Island Union: BLACK HAWK'S WATCH TOWER. BY JENNIE M. FOWLER. "Beautiful tower! famous in history, Rich in legend, in old-time mystery, Graced with tales of Indian lore, Crowned with beauty from summit to shore. "Below, winds the river, silent and still, Nestling so calmly 'mid island and hill. Above, like warriors, proudly and grand, Tower the forest trees, monarchs of land. "A landmark for all to admire and wonder. With thy history ancient, for nations to ponder, Boldly thou liftest thy head to the breeze. Crowned with thy plumes, the nodding trees. "Years now are gone--forever more fled. Since the Indian crept with catlike tread. With moccasined foot, with eagle eye The red men our foes in ambush lie. "The owl still his nightly vigil keeps. While the river, below him, peacefully sleeps, The whippoorwill utters his plaintive cry. The trees still whisper, and gently sigh.