KISHONGA, CHIEF OF
CHEWATAS, RETURNS.
VISITS KANSAS CITY PADDLE
AND CAMP CLUB.
Leads Procession of Canoes and
Grand March at Club House
Then Disappears for
Another Year.
With searchlights along the bank of the Blue trained upon him, Kishonga, ancient chief of the Chewatas, from the land of the Illini, returned to the land of the living for a brief sojourn last night. Clad in aboriginal dress, the old chief, in his canoe, headed a procession of twenty-six other similar water craft with modern decorations and pyrotechnical effect.
Lanterns and flanbeaux lighted up the whole procession, while green and red lights on each shore illuminated the river to a weird brilliancy. All the canoes were towed by the launch Ferro from Camp Bughouse, about a quarter of a mile above the bridge, to the clubhouse of the Paddle and Camp Club, just below it, and then back again to the camp.
In true Indian fashion, Chief Kishonga was on his knees in the canoe and everything that an orthodox Indian ought to wear, he wore. His faithful valets had seen to that, for they had gone to the costumer's and bought all in the way of aboriginal dress that looked good to them. His outfit was capped with a huge war bonnet that bristled savagely above his head and trailed down his sinewy back.
THE BIG CHIEF LED.
Upon returning to the camp, the string of canoes cut loose and reassembled in front of the clubhouse below the bridge again. With proud mien, Kishonga set his moccasined foot on the wharf and walked up the steps into the clubhouse where the grand march was declared on. The big chief led it.
When the merriment was high, there came a sudden interruption. The voice of the Great Spirit was heard -- that is, bombs were set off outside and the drummer in the orchestra rolled his sticks on the tense sheepskin. Then there was a blinding flash. It marked the supernatural translation of Kishonga from the chlubhouse to the wharf where he was seen to re-enter his canoe. Down the river he paddled and disappeared around the first bend, not to be seen again until this time next year.
BLACK BEANS AND WHITE.
Although it was 200 years since he incurred the wrath of Gitchie Manitou, and was sent to the Happy Hunting Grounds for his pains, Kishonga didn't have much to say during his brief reincarnation.
Fred B. Schnell, E. E. Branch and Frank A. Missman, constituting the regatta committee of the Paddle and Camp club, were the only ones who were supposed to be accomplished in the language of the chief, and they said he didn't say much. What he did say, however, was brief and to the point.
No one is supposed to know whom impersonated Kishonga. Two black beans and one white one were presented to the three committeemen to draw from . The one who drew the white one was to have the appointment of the chief, but was sworn to secrecy. Thus the mystery was sustained. At noon yesterday the chief was taken in an automobile downtown and given the freedom of the city. About 100 couples danced last night at the club-house after Kishonga had vanished for another year.
