A History of Van Buren County, Michigan: A Narrative Account of Its Historical Progress, Its., Part 4

Author: Rowland, O. W. (Oran W.), 1839-
Publication date: 1912
Publisher: Chicago : Lewis Pub. Co.
Number of Pages: 671


USA > Michigan > Van Buren County > A History of Van Buren County, Michigan: A Narrative Account of Its Historical Progress, Its. > Part 4


Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).


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"As if all the fiends from Heaven that fell Had pealed the banner cry of Hell."


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HISTORY OF VAN BUREN COUNTY


As I met the tribe starting home, they informed me that the whole tribe had turned out and commenced cutting the timber part way down on the east side of the job and when they reached the west side they had formed in line across the entire front and felled the timber eastward and that one tree had pushed down the next and all had fallen, saving them much chopping. But what a job!


It is generally believed by the best men and women who have made a careful study of the issues between the two races that if the Indians had been treated under the golden rule, "Do to others as you would that they should do to you," they would have been the best kind of Christians. They never worshiped idols from the fact than they believed in one Great Spirit, known by them as "Ki-tchi Man-i-to," and one Great Spirit called "Mau-tchi Man- i-to." The first they believe to be all wisdom and goodness, who created all things and governs all. The other was bad and did all the evil he could. Hence it was that they loved and adored the first missionaries who taught them that the Great Spirit had re- vealed His will to man through Christ, His only Son. But when bad designing white men went among them to steal and rob, they naturally thought that all our race, of course, were Christians, and in their innocence looked upon their acts as the offspring of their religion; hence concluded that the white man's God was not "Ki-tchi Man-i-to" who loved and cared for them and their chil- dren.


In considering the natural character of the red man from what we read about him in our books, we must bear in mind that his his- tory has been written by white men-by a race that invaded his country for conquest and settlement-and that it is a hard matter for the historian to write a correct history of a race that his own people are trying to subdue.


In order that future generations of this county may have un- prejudiced views of the natives who were the former occupants of this beautiful land which they inherit, I will introduce them to the writings of the late Chief Pokagon, an educated Indian who spent over seventy years in this county. I will first present his address given under the auspices of Oricono Tribe No. 184, I. O. R. M., at Liberty, Indiana, on January 7, 1898. Read it carefully and note his opinion regarding the issue between the two races.


CHIEF POKAGON'S ADDRESS


For many years I have had a warm heart for the pale-faced "Redmen, " but never expected to be invited to address them. I would not have you think that I flatter myself that I have been invited here on account of my intelli- gence or reputation, as I most keenly realize you have looked forward to my coming here with a sort of novel pride that you might point me out to your (Continued on page 7)


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CHIEF POKAGON


A correct likeness of Chief Pokagon in his tribal attire as he appeared at the World's Fair on Chicago Day, October 9, 1893, as painted by M. O. Whit- ney. Being an invited guest of the city on that day, the old veteran rang the new liberty bell for the first time, and was honored by addressing the vast throng in behalf of his race.


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The old chief gained, while a guest of the World's Fair, a national reputa- tion for native ability. He wrote in his lifetime several articles for leading magazines, which were highly eulogized by the press, both in this country and abroad. He is the only Indian who ever wrote his own courtship and married life, which is most touchingly told in his "Queen of the Woods." His words came from his heart and apparently never fail to reach the heart of the reader. It is the only book written by an Indian that was ever dramatized. This won- derful book has been so well received that the third edition is now being closed out. Van Buren county has just reasons to be proud of having produced the most remarkable Indian writer in America. "Queen of the Woods" was in the press at the time of the old chief's death in 1899.


Published and for sale by C. H. Engle, Hartford, Van Buren county.


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HISTORY OF VAN BUREN COUNTY


children and say: "Behold a living specimen of the race with whom we once neighbored-a race we sometimes loved; and yet that love was mingled with distrust and fear." No greater compliment could have been bestowed upon our vanishing race than by naming one of the grandest orders after them. And that compliment was made perpetual in giving each officer of the Red Men's order Indian names pure and simple, as well as by giving each lodge some appropriate Indian name.


My heart is always made glad when I read of the Daughters of Pocahontas kindling their council fires. I have often thought if they dressed as be- comingly as our maids and matrons did in their native style, I would be glad indeed to see them confer the Pocahontas degree work. The name Poca- hontas and my own name were derived from the same Algonquin word, "Poka, " meaning a "shield," or "protector."


And again we are highly complimented by the order of Red Men in dating their official business from the time of the discovery of America. I suppose the reason for fixing that date was because our forefathers had held for un- told ages before that time, the American continent a profound secret from the white man. Again, the Red Men's order highly compliments our race by dividing time into suns and moons, as our forefathers did. All of which goes to show that they understood the fact we lived close to the great heart of Nature and that we believed in one Great Spirit who created all things and governed all. Hence that noble motto, born with our race, "Freedom, Friendship and Charity!" Yes, freedom, friendship, charity! Those heaven-born principles shall never, never die! It was by those principles our fathers cared for the orphan and unfortunate, without books, without laws, without judges; for the Great Spirit had written his love and law in their hearts and they obeyed. Tradition, as sacred to us as Holy Writ, has taught us that our forefathers came here from the Atlantic coast. When they first entered these woodland plains they said in their hearts "surely we are on the border-land of the happy hunting grounds beyond." Here they found game in great abundance. The elk, the buffalo and the deer stood unalarmed before the hunter's bended bow. Fish swarmed in the lakes and streams close to shore. Pigeons, ducks and geese moved in great clouds through the air, flying so low they fanned us with their wings, and our boys whose bows were scarcely a terror to the crows would often with their arrows bring them down. Here we enjoyed ourselves in the lap of luxury.


But our camp fires have all gone out! Our council fires blaze no more! Our wigwams and they who built them, with their children, have forever dis- appeared from this beautiful land, and Pokagon alone of all the chiefs is permitted to behold it once again! But what a change! Where our cabins and wigwams once stood, now stand churches, school houses, cottages and castles. And where we walked in single file along our winding trails, now locomotives scream, and as they rush along their iron trails like monstrous beasts of prey, dragging after them long rows of palaces with travelers therein outstripping the flight of eagles in their course! As I behold the mighty change all over this broad land, I feel about my heart as I did in childhood when I saw for the first time the rainbow spanning the departing storm !


I do not speak of the past complainingly. I have always taught my people not to sigh for years long gone by, nor pass again over the bloody trails our fathers trod. I have stood all my life as a peacemaker between the white people and my own people.


Without gun or bow, I have stood between the two contending armies, receiving a thousand wounds from your people and my own.


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I have continued to pray the great Father at Washington to deal justly with my people. When they were robbed of their homes and lands, and felt mortally offended, I said to them: "Wait and pray for justice; the war path will lead you but to the grave!"


At the beginning of the present century my father became chief of the Pokagon tribe. At that time the heroic Tecumseh with his great eloquence stirred up the Algonquin tribes to unite as one and strike for liberty. My father most emphatically declared in all their war councils that they might as well attempt to stay a cyclone in its course as to beat back the onmarch- ing hordes of civilization toward the setting sun. But in their loyal zeal they could not comprehend their own weakness and strength of the dominant race, but, being pressed onward by as noble motives as ever glowed in mortal hearts, they fought most desperately for home and native land.


Historians have recorded of us that we are vindictive and cruel, because we fought like tigers when our homes were invaded and we were being pushed toward the setting sun. When white men pillaged and burned our villages and slaughtered our families, they called it honorable warfare; but when we retaliated they called it butchery and murder! When the white man's re- nowned statesman, Patrick Henry, proclaimed in the ears of the English colonies "Give me liberty, or give me death," he was applauded by his peo- ple; and that applause still rolls on, undying, to freedom's farthest shore. When William Tell pierced the apple on the head of his son, Gesler noticed a second arrow drop from his vest. In tones of thunder he demanded, "Slave! why didst thou conceal that arrow?" As quick as lightning came the bold response, "To shoot the tyrant, if I had harmed my son." And all the civilized world since then, through the centuries of time, have continued to applaud that sentiment. But let Pokagon ask, in all that is sacred and dear to mankind, why should the red man be measured by one standard and the white man by another? The only answer I can give is that "mine and thine" the seed of all misery, predominates in the hearts of men when they become civilized and wealthy.


In conclusion, permit Pokagon to say: I rejoice with the joy of child- hood that you have granted a son of the forest a right to address you; and the prayer of my heart, as long as I live, shall ever be that the Great Spirit will bless you and your children, and that generations yet unborn may learn to know that we are all brothers of the same fold under one Shepherd and that the Great Spirit is the father of all.


Chief Pokagon seemed to glory in the fact that Van Buren was the banner temperance county in the state of Michigan. In view of that fact, in justice to his temperance proclivities, I wish to leave on record an extract from his last speech delivered at Ply- mouth, Indiana, near Twin Lakes, from which his people were banished in 1838. Since then the state of Indiana has erected a splendid monument in memory of the unjust banishment of his people from that commonwealth. His granddaughter, Julia Pok- agon, a graduate of Lawrence Indian school, Kansas, delivered the unveiling address. I was present on that occasion. Her speech was wonderfully eloquent, insomuch the great crowd was moved to tears. That night I said to her "Julia, during your talk, I saw not a dry eye." She simply said "I wept too."


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The old chief, in his speech referred to, in conclusion said : "My dear friends; listen! Is there a father or mother among you who have laid in the grave all your children but the youngest of the flock, cut down by that fatal disease consumption, just as they were about to step upon the stage of manhood or womanhood? And have you looked upon that one spared you with bright hopes and prayers that he might live to support and comfort you in old age; and has that hope been cut short as the dreaded monster, consumption, has fallen like lead upon your heart ? If so you can form some faint shadowy idea of my feelings at the thought of that accursed 'fire water' ever falling like death upon my heart, mor- tally wounding my highest hopes which, like a soaring eagle by a poisoned arrow pierced, fluttering falls !


"By adoption I am a citizen of these United States, therefore I . beg of you, my white countrymen, who now occupy and enjoy this loved land of my infancy, draw near me in your hearts as a mother to her sorrowing child, and tell Pokagon frankly, 'Do you know of any good reason why that loathsome monster, born of your race, which is coiling about the vitals of your children and ours, should not be utterly destroyed ?' You send missionaries across the great deep to save Hindu children from being drowned in the Ganges, or crushed under the wheels of the idol Juggernaut, and yet in your own Christian land, thousands yearly are being drowned in the American Ganges of Firewater, while the great Juggernaut of King Alcohol is ever rolling on night and day, crushing its victims without mercy. Hark! Do you not hear the agonizing wails on every side? Fathers and sons are falling into drunkards' graves. Mothers and daughters are weeping over them. Wives are lamenting as they bend over the bruised heads of their husbands as they return from their midnight brawls. Maidens weep in shame as they wipe the death damp from the brows of their drunken lovers, and briars of the deepest disap- pointment encumber the bridal chamber. Brave men and women who have fought long and well to redeem and save the fallen shrink before the power of the saloon and its votaries, and the pious are almost beginning to doubt the favor of God. But a few more words and I must close.


"My dear white friends, listen! This place is the cradle of my infancy. As Pokagon thinks of it and considers it, there comes creeping through his old and feeble frame an electric inspiration not born of earth but of Heaven. The Great Spirit whispering in my soul tells me to say to you who now own and occupy this, my native land: 'All of you from the least to the greatest join hands with Pokagon.' Let us kindle here a great temperance fire and commence at once with sledge and anvil of total abstinence


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CHIEF SIMON POKAGON


The photograph of the above portrait was taken at the request of the gover- nor of Michigan on the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the city of Hol- land, Michigan. The guests of honor were The Holland Society, of Chicago, and many important residents of Michigan. The orators of the day were Gov- ernor Pingree, Hon. Alden Smith, and Chief Pokagon. The rosette which ap- pears in the picture was the badge of the day, and was pinned on by the gover- nor.


to forge the greatest chain on earth. Shrink not from the task. Then others about you, seeing your good works, will join hands with you by the millions and help you complete one mighty chain which will reach from sea to sea and from the gulf to the great lakes. Then shall appear that angel spoken of in your Holy Writ who carries the key of the bottomless pit, descending out of Heaven crying with a loud voice, saying : 'Well done ye workers for God and humanity ;' and grasping in his hands the mighty chain you have forged, he will lay hold of the dragon, that cruel serpent, which is King Alcohol, the devil, and bind him and cast him into the bottomless pit, and shut him up, and set a seal over his mouth that he shall deceive the sons of men no longer. Then shall ap- pear the worshippers of the beast, and those who fought against him, and they shall shake hands with each other, and rejoice to-


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POKAGON'S WIGWAM


This is a photo of the late Chief Pokagon's wigwam, which stood for several years after his death on the lawn of C. H. Engle at Hartford. Last summer (1911) it was purchased by the State Normal School at Ypsilanti, and now stands in front of the science building protected from relic vandals by an iron tubular fence. The granddaughter of the old chief, Julia Pokagon, appears in the door of the wigwam, which is made of two thicknesses of the manifold white birch bark. It is a pyramidal decagon, sixteen feet base and twenty-four feet high.


gether : and their voices shall be like the mingling of many waters as they roll on undying to freedom's farthest shores. And their joyous song shall be 'Glory to God in the highest, Who hath re- deemed and saved us, and on earth peace and good will to all men !'


"And now farewell! Remember the words I have spoken in weakness are words of soberness and truth, and by reason of old age, envy, malice, hatred and revenge have long since faded from my heart. Hence Pokagon's words should be received as the con- fessions of a dying man ; for already with one hand I have pulled the latch string of time and one foot is passing over the threshold of the open door of the wigwam of life into the happy hunting


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HISTORY OF VAN BUREN COUNTY


grounds beyond. Soon Pokagon will stand in the presence of the Great Spirit, where I shall plead with Him as I have pleaded on earth, that he will lead all by the hand who have so bravely fought that old Dragon, Mautchi Manito (the Devil), the destroyer of your children and ours and lead them on to glorious victory !"


CHIEF POKAGON'S LAST WIGWAM


On the preceding page is a picture of Chief Pokagon's last Wig- wam. It stood for several years on the lawn of C. H. Engle, op- posite the Hartford public park. It is a pyramidic decagon in shape, made of the manifold bark of the white birch tree, being sixteen feet at the base and twenty-four feet high. During the past summer it was procured by the advanced class of the study of nature at Ypsilanti, and now stands on the campus in front of the science building in the grounds of the State Normal School of Michigan. It is protected from relic fiends by a high tubular fence. When dedicated, C. H. Engle, of Van Buren County, after giving a brief history of the chief and his wigwam, introduced to the vast audience the granddaughter of the late chief, Julia Pokagon, who gave the dedicatory address, a portion of which is given below.


JULIA POKAGON 'S ADDRESS


I am glad that I am here; indeed glad that you have granted to a child of the forest an opportunity to address the teachers and students of the greatest institution of Michigan; am glad this college has honored my race by placing on these grounds the wigwam of my fathers. There is nothing more sacred to our people than "wigwam." It is as dear to our hearts as "home" to the white race. It brings to us all the kindred ties of father, mother, sister, brother, son and daughter. We too can sing with overflowing hearts "Wigwam, Sweet Wigwam: there is no place like Wigwam!" About one year since I was honored, by making the unveiling address of an Indian statue erected in memory of the unjust banishment of my people from the state of Indiana in 1838. As I there stood in the presence of a great multi- tude gathered to atone as far as possible for the wrongs their fathers had dealt out to our people through the influence of bad men, my heart mourned; for well I knew that the broad stretch of land about me, with its beautiful lakes and streams, just seventy years before was wrenched without cause from my ancestors. As I stepped down from the platform to unveil the Indian statue, I realized it stood on the very spot where my people had built a church in the wilderness after their conversion to Christianity, and that the last time they met there for worship it was surrounded by an army of white soldiers, who barred the windows and door and demanded that the worshipers surrender as prisoners of war. They were then marched out between lines of soldiers into the smoke of their burning wigwams and the church, where they had taught their lisping children to repeat "Our FATHER, who art in HEAVEN, hallowed be Thy name" was burned to the ground before their eyes. As I thought of that great wrong my heart was sad and I wept. Thank Heaven, not so here on this occasion; for my heart is joyous as I con-


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HISTORY OF VAN BUREN COUNTY


template the fact that the Pokagon band at that time fled into this state to escape banishment. They were here received with open arms. Michigan at that time, as a state, was less than one year old. Indiana had passed her twenty-first birthday. She demanded of infant Michigan that we should be given up and exiled with the rest of the Pottawattamie tribe. All praise to in- fant Michigan! She boldly said to her sister state "Stand back! You shall


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JULIA POKAGON


not molest a single child of the forest within all our borders!" and a few years thereafter every Indian in Michigan was granted the right of citizen- ship, so we now can sing with you


"Michigan, Michigan, our Michigan! Long may she wave the flag


O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave."


I must frankly confess I am sorely vexed regarding certain publications read in the home and schools of our state, the authors of which depict our race as vindictive and cruel, illustrating their works with war dances and bleeding scalps, and yet some of these authors never saw an Indian in their life; but the sole purpose of their mischievous publications has been to make money, irrespective of the result of creating a prejudice against our race. Again, many parents use their tongue instead of the whip to frighten their children into obedience by telling them, "Look out or the Inguns will git you,"


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HISTORY OF VAN BUREN COUNTY


thereby creating a prejudice against us in the minds of their children that cannot be eradicated.


Again I thank you for this opportunity to address you, and please do not forget that I, a child of the forest, will ever pray that all you teachers who go forth from this school may be imbued with such noble principles that you cannot fail to impress upon the young that we are all brothers and sisters and that the Great Spirit is God of all.


OLD WAPSEY


Having given Chief Pokagon's address in full before the Order of Red Men and his last speech in part at Plymouth, Indiana, as well as his granddaughter's address at the dedication of her grand- father's wigwam at Ypsilanti, Michigan, I will now introduce you to old Wapsey, an unlettered Indian who was known in Van Buren county among the Pottawattamies as a mighty bear hunter. It was said of him that he killed more bears than any ten of his tribe and that he always drove them near to his wigwam to kill them. He was a better shot with his bow and arrow at a distance of two hundred feet than any of his white neighbors with their rifles. In order that my readers may better understand the peculiar char -. acter of this Nimrod among his people I will give an account of my visit to his wigwam fifty-five years ago.


What though his form was bent with age, What though he never read a single page, His heart was full of native lore, He shared with me his muskrat dish With Ingen soup and fine dogfish- All he had ;- a King could do no more.


When I first became acquainted with the Pottawattamie Pokagon tribe of Van Buren county in 1856, I was frequently told that old Wapsey was the most successful hunter among them, and that he killed more large game with his bow and arrows than any ten of their tribe could with the best white man's gun. Among other things the Indians told me he never left a bear's track night or day until he got his hide; and further, that he always drove the bears near to his wigwam to kill them. Hence it was frequently said "Wapsey drives bears home to kill them." Mr. Northrup, a white man who lived near these Indians several years before I knew them, told me of a remarkable bear chase in which he took a hand with old Wapsey. He said: Early one morning late in December, old Wapsey routed me out of bed telling me he had treed a big bear up a large white-wood tree which stood just below my clearing. He said "Now Norup, me want to git um your gun to shoot 'im ma-kwa (a bear). Me shoot um, my arrows in top of


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HISTORY OF VAN BUREN COUNTY


OLD "WAPSEY" (SEES ALL)


Pottawattamie Indian who participated in the massacre of Fort Dearborn in 1812. This photograph was taken in January, 1897, when he was 110 years old.


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HISTORY OF VAN BUREN COUNTY


tree and they no come back." I told him to go back and watch the bear and just as soon as I could dress myself I would come down with the gun. Arriving at the tree I said "Wapsey, I have al- ways wanted to kill a bear. Let me shoot him. You can have his meat and hide the same as if you had shot him yourself." Wap- sey said "You shoot um, in odo (heart)-shoot um dead, or meby um get away-meby kill us." I shot, grazing his head, he came tumbling to the ground and started off on the run. In passing Wapsey, he straddled the bear as a farmer would a hog in butch- ering time, sticking him in the neck until he fell for loss of blood. While he lay dying Wapsey said "Dare Norup: me tells you to shoot um dead, but you no do it." We found three arrows in the bear. One was shot clear through his side protruding three or four inches.




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