"An Interesting Early History of Decatur County"by Mrs. O.N. Kellogg |
| Chapter Six 'LA! THE POOR INDIAN”-LADY SURPRISED-SQUAWS SWAP- INDIAN PROPOSES-A TRADE-CHIEF |
| In the Spring of 1849 a lady alone with her children sat one day
looking out of a window-hole (they had lately moved into the house, and
the window was still in its primitive condition) and out on the prairie
northeast she discovered something moving, crawling, zigzagging,
dragging its long length along and each moment drawing nearer. Her first
impulse as flight. But, from a monster a mile in length! And so near?
Alas! Flight was impossible. Transfixed, with a horrible dread of she
knew not what, she gazed, and presently discovered a likeness to human
beings, and also to horses, in the now disjointed, moving panorama. WE
all know what “Indian file” means, but it is difficult to imagine the
effect that several hundred Indians, squaws, papooses and wigwams all
loaded upon ponies, with pot, kettle and pan, “coon,” possum and
bearskin, all hanging dangling and moving instinctively like the feet of
a quadraped, would produce. Their wigwams are made of reeds, nicely woven together, and when they move from place to place, they roll them up and hang them across their ponies, making a bulk on each side almost as large as a barrel. Then they pile everything else on top and gt on themselves. The Indians had everything pretty much their own way here, going and coming when and where they pleased. Fortunately, they were friendly, and peaceably disposed toward the settlers, although the government never paid them a cent for the strip between Missouri and Iowa. Had they been hostile, the settlers would have been quickly disposed of, being so scattered. There was not a house east of Garden Grove within fifty miles, nor west within a hundred and fifty in the fall of '46. Northeast, thirty-five miles (by the train) there was a cabin by the creek, a mile from where the town of Chariton now stands, which town had but recently been laid out and staked, but not a single house was there in October of that year. Northwest, there was Lost Camp and Pisgah, both Mormon settlements, between here and Council Bluffs. To return to the cavalcade, they wandered diagonally, past the house on Douglas Avenue, into the ravine near the Burns' place and following that into the woods, they presented an unbroken line a mile and a half long. They set up their tents and stayed there a few days, then moved to a locality which furnished plenty of dry elm. This burns without much smoke which is desirable when fire is needed in their wigwams, as they kindle a fire in the center, on the ground and the smoke is expected to go out through a hole in the top, which is made for that express purpose. Every day came the squaws to swap something for cornmeal, bread, or meat. “Swap” and “how swap” were the only words they could say. All else was either a nod, a shake of the head or a grunt. The Indian men would come, but not for traffic. Work and business they alike disdain. So quietly would they slip into the house sometimes when one's back was turned, and that on looking around one could scarcely suppress a shriek, seeing them all around the cook stove and fireplace, only too willing when opportunity offered, to help themselves to eatables. Speaking of traffic, they did try to drive a bargain with me, offering great inducements in the squaw-papoose line for my youngest boy, Murray, then three years old, whom they fancied amazingly, calling him, “petite skinawa” saying they would teach him to climb tree, catch coon, skin him, eat him, hinting thereby that such regime was what he needed. Thompson River, as we used to call the stream now usually known as Grand River, it being a large tributary of that stream, was their favorite winter quarters. There they made maple sugar, and used to bring it here to sell. Maple sugar is wonderfully sett, and whether in cake of crumb (they made it both ways) is very tempting to those who knew the delights of sugaring off in their childhood days. When they come to encounter every now and then a short yellow hair, or a black, or a white one, and are told that Indian dogs sleep in the kettles all winter, you instantly come to the conclusion that it isn't quite so sweet as you thought it was. The squaws were more civil in their behavior than the Indians, as they never really begged, and never attempted to appropriate anything not their own, but they were very filthy, some of them at least. Fancy the surprise of a party of young gentlemen and ladies visiting their camp to see the young squaws sit and pick vermin from their heads and eat them. These Indians were Pottawattamies, and their young chief, John, was a very respectable man. He dressed like a white man and talked English fluently and intelligently. He was honest and upright in business transactions, furnishing an example which many who dealt with his people were slow to imitate. The dishonesty and trickery which the chiefs are cognizant of in their dealings with the whites probably deters them from making any serious efforts towards elevating their people and leading them out upon a higher plane of achievement and enjoyment. Who can estimate the amount of guilt incurred by our people in this regard. |
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