USA > Michigan > Van Buren County > A History of Van Buren County, Michigan: A Narrative Account of Its Historical Progress, Its. > Part 6
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This report so worked on the minds of the natives that they were
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led to believe that evil spirits that were envious of their prosper- ity were the cause of the great catastrophe. And so it was, that one of the most beautiful valleys of Michigan became depopulated, and so remained for hundreds of years, all on account of their perverted spirituality.
Pokagon fully realizes that some who read the above Legend will say of our race, "How spiritually weak they are." That is true, and it can be as truthfully said of the whole human family. Many times since I have been educated in the white man's books, I have been astonished to witness well informed men of the domi- nant race show, without blushing, an old dried rabbit's foot, or an old horse chestnut, or withered potato, and say, as if proud of it, "This is my mascot; it brings good luck." How or why it is that a Christian people can put their trust in such ridiculous things, ignoring their God, contrary to all the precepts of their religion, Pokagon cannot say. The only excuse he can give is that spiritual superstition is akin, alike, with savage and with sage.
I once camped out with a white preacher several days, hunting deer. He called me a red heathen because I refused to shoot at a white deer, which our people regarded sacred, and yet he would sit around the wigwam fire and shiver all day on Friday, claiming it was an unlucky day and he might get killed if he went out.
ALGONQUIN LEGENDS OF SOUTH HAVEN
By Chief Pokagon .*
No more for us the wild deer bounds; The plough is on our hunting grounds.
Our traditional account of South Haven given us by ki-os-ag (our forefathers) was held as sacred by them as Holy Writ by the white man. Long, long bi-bong (years) ago Ki-ji Man-i-to (the Great Spirit) who held dominion over Mi-shi-gan (Lake Michigan) and the surrounding country, selected Haw-waw-naw a place at the o-don (mouth) of Maw-kaw-te (Black river) as his seat of govern- ment. His royal throne (Ki-tchi-wik) was located on the highest point of that neck of land lying between Maw-kaw-te river and Lake Michigan. This high point of land was called Ish-pem-ing. meaning a high place.
Here it was that Ki-ji Man-i-to worked out the grand concep- tions of his soul. With giant strides he scattered broadcast along
*Used by permission of C. H. Engle, administrator of the estate of the late Chief Pokagon.
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the shore, a day's journey northward, a multitude of beautiful stones of various colors, shape and size, that in sunshine outshone tchi-be-kan-a (the galaxy on high). No such charming stones elsewhere could be found around all the shores of the Great Lake. He also planted in saw-kaw (the forest) the most beautiful wood- land flowers that ever bloomed on earth and filled all the trees with birds that sang the sweetest songs that ever fell on mortal ears. He also made a great mit-ig-wa (bow) at least ten arrow flights in length and laid it along the beach. He then painted it from end to end with beautiful lines, of various hues, that outshone the countless stones he had scattered along the shore. While thus at work a cyclone from the setting sun swept across the great lake. Waw-saw mo-win (lightning) flashed across Waw-kwi (the heav- ens) An-a-mi ka (thunder) in concert with ti-gow-og (the roaring waves) rolled their awful burden on the land. The earth shook. Hail and rain beat against Him. But he stood in his majesty, smiling in the teeth of the storm. At length the gloom clouds rolled away and the setting sun lighted up the passing storm. He then picked up the giant bow he had made, bending it across mi- ka-tik (his knee). Then with his breath he blew a blast that swept it eastward between the sun and clouds. As there as it stood each end resting upon the trees, it painted them all aglow, which, in contrast with their robes of green, added still more glory to the scene.
As he gazed upon its beauty and grandeur, arching the depart- ing storm, He shouted in triumph above the roaring waves, saying in tones of thunder "Kaw-ka-naw in-in-i nash-ke nin-wab-sa aw- ni-quod (All men behold my bow in the cloud). See it has no mit-ig "Bim-ins-kwan ke-ma pin-da-wan (bow, arrow, string or quiver). It is the bow of peace. Tell it to your children's children that Ki-ji Man-i-to made and placed it there, that generations yet unborn, when they behold it, might tell their children that Ki-ji Man-i-to placed it there, without arrow, string or quiver, that they might know he loved peace and hated war." The tradition above given was handed down to us by a tribe of Au-nish-naw-be-og (Indians) that lived in Michigan before my people, the Pottawattamies. They were called Mash-ko-de (Prairie tribe), on account of their clear- ing up large tracts of woodland and living somewhat as farmers. They were said to be very peaceful, seldom going on the war-path. The Ottawas, who have always been very friendly with our peo- ple tell us they drove them out of this country and nearly exter- minated them about four hundred years ago. We had great rever- ence for their traditions, as we occupied the land of their principal odena (village) about Black river. We named it Nik-onong, which
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. was derived from two Algonquin words "nik" (sunset) and o-nigis (beautiful).
It was a lovely, as well as an important place, Ki-tchi Mi-kan, the great trail, over which for ages all the northern and western tribes went around Lake Michigan to and from the great prairies of the west passed near this place. Traces of that great highway may still be seen along the grand sweep of country near the great lake between the Black and Kalamazoo rivers. In the dense for- est north, south and east of us were great numbers of deer, elk and bears; while ducks, geese and swans clouded our waters, which were swarming with fish.
One half a mile walk north of our village was a sacred camping ground where we celebrated "Tchi-be-kan A-ke-win (our yearly six days' feast for the dead). During this feast bonfires were built along the shore, casting a lurid light far out into the lake and painting the crested waves all aflame. Children, young men and maidens, fathers and mothers, went about the camp, feasting and saluting one another, throwing food into the fire, and as it was being consumed, would sing, "Nebaw-baw tchi baw win (We are going about as spirits feeding the dead)." This feast kept alive the memory of the dead, as do the stones, that rise above the white man's tomb.
Nik-a-nong, in its day, was quite a manufacturing town. Large quantities of white birch bark were brought there by canoe loads and, as it never decays, was buried in the earth for use or trade when called for. Out of this wonderful manifold bark our fathers made canoes, hats, caps, wigwams and dishes for domestic use, and our maidens tied with it the knot that sealed the marriage vow. Sis-si-ba-kwat (maple sugar) was also made and kept in large quantities near this place and sold to southern and western tribes for wampun or in exchange for pi-jis-ki-we-win (buffalo robes). South Haven of the white man, with all its shipping, docks and cottage-crowned shores, does not compare with Nik-o-nong of the red man, with its deep wildwoods, and wigwamed shores. As tradition informs us, here our fathers lived for many generations in the lap of ease and plenty; but after the advent of the white man Nature frowned upon us; our forests were cut down; the game became scarce and kept beyond the arrow's reach ; ke-go (the fish) hid themselves in deep waters; the woodland birds no more cheered us with their songs; the wild flowers bloomed no more. All, all has changed, except the sun, moon and stars; and they have not, because their God, and Ki-tchi Man-ito (our God), hung them beyond the white man's reach. Pokagon does not wish to com- plain ; still, in nin-o-de (his heart) there lingers a love for Nik- o-nong, the o-de-na of his fathers. And now in old age, as with
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feeble steps and slow he is passing through the open door of his wigwam into Waw-kwin (the world beyond) he must sing in his mother tongue, his last song on earth : "Nik-o-nong, nik-o-nong nin-im-en-dam mi-notch-sa bi-naw ki-kaw-ka-kaw-ka-naw kike- tchi-twan-in nin-sa-gia. Nik-o-nong, nik-o-nong, nik-o-nong (I yet shall behold Thee in all Thy glory)."
AFTER ME-ME-OG (SQUABS) IN VAN BUREN COUNTY
By C. H. Engle
In the spring of 1858 in company with Jacob Corwin, late of Keeler township, this county, an old hunter, seventy-five years of age, I went on a wild pigeon chase towards Lake Michigan. At that time there was a vast body of these birds nesting for miles along the lake south of South Haven, extending easterly along the north part of the county to and beyond Saddle lake, covering many square miles where every tree was spotted with their nests. Many times, while going out to feed, they moved in such clouds that they would obscure the sun. One hearing them, not knowing the cause, would imagine a whirwind was abroad in the land.
After netting over one thousand dozen of these birds near Hart- ford, we noticed that they were changing their flight, and the main body was moving northward. From our knowledge of these strange birds, we were convinced that their young were nearly ready to leave their nests.
Learning that a large band of Indians were encamped on the edge of their nesting grounds, we procured an old shingle-weaver with an ox team and double wagon to take us to the nesting grounds. We started in a northwest direction, cutting our way through underbrush as we advanced into the unexplored forest.
On our way we passed an Indian shooting arrows into the top of a high tree. I said to him: "What are you shooting at?" "No- fin," he replied. I shook my head with a doubtful look. He then motioned for me to come to him. I did so. He told me in broken English, as well as he could, how he had lost an arrow shooting at a me-me and as he watched to see where it fell, he lost his arrow, and was shooting to find it. His scheme was this-to stand as near as possible in the same place from which he shot the bird and shoot other arrows in the same direction with like force, carefully noting where they fell with the hope that they would show where the missing arrow might be expected to be found. After shooting the third arrow he motioned me to follow him and I did so. Point- ing out to me three arrows he exclaimed "There im am." And sure enough there in plain sight lay the lost arrow. It was made
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MAKING
INDIAN BASKET MAKING
In winter time our present girls and women of the Indian race are most in- dustriously engaged in manufacturing splint baskets of mixed colors in all im- aginable designs, varying in size from ladies' thimbles to hampers holding two bushels or more. They are quick to originate designs Their finest work is made of white birch bark, sweet grass and porcupine quills. You can scarcely name an article in domestic use among the white people which they do not pattern after; tablets, napkin rings, watch cases, and even miniature houses and churches-all fall from their nimble fingers with equal skill. The porcupine quills are stained in all the colors of the rainbow. These they work into the bark of which the articles are made, representing leaves and flowers in all their natural colors. Some western tribes decorate with colored beads, but our In- dian women will use only such material as they can get from Nature's store. which speaks volumes for their ingenuity and originality. They use sweet grass on account of its fragrance, which it retains for many years. Their work is much sought for by summer tourists, for which good prices are paid. No true lover of the beautiful can look through a well arranged collection of their goods without feeling they must have been washed in the rainbow and dipped in the sun.
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of hickory, with a triangular, bluntish head for killing small game so as not to tear the skin. I bought it of him and still keep it as a relic of native shrewdness. :
On nearing the camping grounds we met an Indian boy who certainly must have been Yankeeized. He was almost naked, wearing only a breech clout, showing clearly that he was a full blooded Indian, and yet he could speak broken English quite well for one of his years. He ran along the side of the wagon crying out "Stop, stop! Me want to talk wid you." "Whoa," said the ox driver and the cattle stopped. The little redskin climbed into the wagon and grabbed me by the hand saying "You am my fader ; muder want to talk wid you bad." "What do you mean" I said, "you little red skin?" Still holding my hand he said, "Do come and see muder." Uncle Corwin and the shingle-weaver both said "Go, Engle; the boy knows what he is talking about."
A few feet away, in the door of a wigwam, stood one of the dirtiest, greasiest looking squaws I had yet seen. I held back but the little rascal still held fast, repeating " Do come fader; muder want to see you bad." Suddenly it occurred to me that he had learned a Yankee trick to extort money. So I quickly handed him out a quarter, and he jumped out of the wagon handing it to the squaw who stood by the wigwam. I was astonished, as well as chagrined.
I have lived with several of the Algonquin tribes; hunted, fished and dealt with them for over fifty years; and yet I have never known one of them, to resort to trickery, to extort money, except that little rascal ; and where he came from, where he went, or how he fared, I never knew and I never cared.
We soon reached the camping ground which was located on the south side of the nesting grounds, on either side of a small stream. I inquired if Kek-kek. their interpreter, was there? All shook their heads. saying "me no see im." I afterward learned that he had been arrested a few days before and they feared we might be after him again. Finally they came up around the wagon, ex- amined the boxes and barrels filled with iee, and asked "Meby wat you want ?" We explained to them that we wanted to buy a wagon load of me-me-og (squabs). An Indian then asked, "Do you want to see im Kek-kek?" I nodded "yes," and again asked if he was there ? They then pointed out to me a tall Indian, a middle aged man, saying "There im be." He had a sort of stoical grin on his face. I said "Come here." He walked slowly up to the wagon, as if he doubted whether he should come or not. He could speak fair English and we made arrangements with him that we would pay then one shilling per dozen for all the squabs they would get us, dead or alive. Kek-kek, now being convinced that no harm was
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meant for him, took much pride in giving us an insight into their domestic affairs. He took us all about the camp, pointing out to us long racks of poles and bark on which were spread hundreds of dozens of squabs, being smoked and dried over a slow fire.
As we expressed our surprise over such great quantities of birds, he said "Look um dis way," and pointed out to us many mokets (bark boxes) that would hold a bushel or more, each packed full of these young birds cured for future use. I asked him if they would keep. "Dem vill neber rot," he replied.
"Are they good eating?" I asked. He nodded his head saying "Num! Num! Num!" and handed me a mummy squab, saying "Eat um. It be gooder than white man's doves."
I did so with a relish, for I was hungry. "How you like im?" he asked. "It is all right," I replied. He then pointed out to me some mokets that he said were filled with "me-me bi-mi-da (squab butter ;) "gooder," he said, "than cow butter." He then handed me a piece of corn bread and wooden knife, saying, "Eat um it wid de squab butter." I did so finding it quite pleasant to the taste. I finally said "Say, Kek-Kek, we are waiting here for your people to bring us in a wagon load of squabs." He then went and held a long pow-wow with the tribe; then came and told us, "De Inguns no no um shilling dozen. Da say give one cent, one pigeon, two cent, two pigeon, three cent, three pigeon; then um vill go." "Well," I said, "we will pay then one cent for each squab. Kek- kek then gave a sort of war whoop and in less than five minutes the camp was all astir. The men formed in single file moving northward, followed by the women on pony back, with their pa- pooses strapped to their backs, while the children and dogs fol- lowed behind and we, with our stag team, brought up the rear. About one mile distant they halted among thick hemlock trees, not far from where the Packard mills were afterward built in the township of Covert. Here they started in all directions, the squaws sitting their papooses up against the trees leaving them in our charge. Uncle Corwin said he was "mighty glad there was no hogs running in the woods."
The squabs at this time were as large as the parent birds, though still in their nests. In less than two hours, the band began to re- turn, each one with a back load of me-me-og. It was a hot day and there was no water in that locality. They were thirsty, and began to climb into the wagon, helping themselves to ice. We pro- tested, telling them we could not buy their birds without ice to pack them in. One old Indian said, "We can lib with no muny, but die come wid no vater." They continued to take our ice until every pound was gone. We then counted their birds and paid for them. There were two hundred and ten dozen and they filled the
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wagon box chock full. The old shingle weaver declared it would kill his team to draw them home. On our way back we came to a stream where we poured water onto the load until the birds were cooled off. We sent them to Boston and New York where they were sold for $1.50 per dozen.
THE "BUCK PONY" RIDE
In order that the reader may more fully understand the joy, love and fear of the red man I place the following experience on record.
The rude Indian with untutored mind, To all our pride and glory blind, Could we his inward feelings gain We'd find affection, in white and red the same.
In the autumn of 1856 an Indian known as Little Weso came to see me on pony back saving "The chief has sent me to get you meby to go wid me to go on pony back, Saddle Lake to find um Joe Kaw- kee." "Is he lost," I inquired ? With a tremulous voice he re- plied "Bad, very bad! Some white man say him be killed by a white hunter cause im kill um so many deer and make him mad." "Say Inglam, will take your pony and go wid me? Poor Joe, him good man, kill um lots of deer."
I got out my pony. a tall lank lean horse, and we started to find Joe. My horse was a fast walker and I laughed at Weso, telling him his pony was lazy and could not keep up. He said "Say Ing- lam, dis pony am very smart. Him can outrun your big pony." I said "we will try it," and started my big pony on the run. As he galloped off at full speed and I was beginning to think I would get out of sight of the Indian, I heard him give a loud war cry for me to clear the way. I urged my horse on with whip and heels, but all in vain. Poor Lo passed me like the wind and was soon out of sight among the trees. I felt dumfounded and stopped my horse in amazement. Soon I saw the redskin galloping back to- wards me. As he came up he said, "Inglam, what tink now of my pony ?" "He can keep up all right enough," I said.
As we rode on deeper into the north woods, Weso asked if I was hungry ? I told him I was, for in my haste to start I had forgotten to eat dinner. He asked "Do you like um jerk venson?" I re- plied that I had never seen any. He took from an old bark sack about his shoulders something that looked like a dark clay ball, gnawed at it a few times himself and then handed it to me saying "Take im; eat im; it am jerk venson; very good." I grabbed it with half closed eyes so as not to spleen against it, but as I dimly
Vol. 1-8
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saw teeth prints all around it, I closed my eyes, gnawed at it several times and handed it back to the Indian, telling him he had saved me from starving. It had a kind of sweetish smoky taste and tasted fairly well to a hungry man. I thought if it had been salted it would have been very palatable. We rode on in silence, with the redskin ahead, until darkness began to close about us, when all at once the monotony was broken, as the Indian cried out "Me see um light. Me tink it am Kaw-kee's wigwam. Me know it am, for me see Saddle lake, dat way and de small lake de uder way, and me know Kaw-kee's wigwam am tween um." We dismounted, walked to the wigwam and, in true Indian style, peeked in to see if anyone was there.
The redskin said, "Me see um Joe's wife, but no Joe." We then rapped at the door. A tall white woman opened it and Weso asked, "Am Joe alive." "Why yes, he is gone to the spring for a pail of water." Weso then told her: "We heard him am killed, and Inglam, with me, hab come good ways from Hartford to know if so." I now began to realize that she was his wife, for she was wonderfully excited and threw up her arms exclaiming "De Lord will punish um for lying about Joe! De Lord will punish um! Yes He will. This be the fourth time they have had poor Joe killed !" Kaw-kee came in as the last words were spoken, but his wife was so excited that she continued to do all the talking, telling Joe all about our mission there, until Kaw-kee said: "Shut up! Sit down, you old squaw!" She did so and cried like a child. I concluded she felt mortally offended to think she had made such a big fool of herself in marrying an Indian.
The two Indians talked for an hour in their native tongue, of which I could understand but little. I understood he had killed fifty deer, three bears, and one wolf in four weeks and that the white hunters had stolen five of the deer, and were mad because he had killed so much game. I know I thought they could hardly be blamed for their feelings of bitterness.
About ten o'clock, Kaw-kee told his wife she had pouted long enough and to get up and get supper. She sprang to her feet like a jumping-jack, soon having a deer liver and tongue stew, with corn soup on the table and announced: "Your supper is ready." I was indeed glad to hear that, as I had eaten nothing in twelve hours but a little jerked venison. We three men sat down on a log before a slab table while the hostess waited on us as best she could under the circumstances. We had but two plates and two knives and forks to accommodate three, but the good wife cut the meat up for us in fine shape so we could handle it to the best advantage. The two Indians ate off of one plate, that I might enjoy the other all to myself. I must admit that I never before or since
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enjoyed a better supper. In fact, I congratulated Kaw-kee on be- ing so lucky in procuring a wife, but she kindly kicked it over by saying, "And you old Ingun don't know enough to know it!"
We slept that night on hemlock boughs between green deer skins. I slept soundly all night. At breakfast we finished what was left of the evening meal. Kaw-kee, after our meal, said "Me want you come out dis way." Following him a short distance, he said "See um big buck. Him am yours, to take home wid you." We both told him we did not think it possible to take him on pony back.
Kaw-kee looked sad and finally said, "Me feel um bad if you no take im. You be good to come way up here in de storm to find um Kaw-kee dead, and find me live Ingun." "How can we take im ?" asked Weso.
"Me will load im on pony back as tight as an arrow point to um arrow." So saying he stepped to a small basswood tree and stripped off some long pieces of the inner bark. Then he re- quested Weso to bring his pony forward, telling him to take hold of the buck's hind legs and he at the same time grasped the fore legs, throwing the big buck astride of the pony, when he fastened him so securely one might think they were born together. The deer's big horns reached just above the pony's head, while their noses reached out about the same distance. Both pony and deer had short tails which extended behind nearly the same distance. The two Indians laughed aloud as they surveyed the double mon- strosity and so did I.
Weso proposed to lead his pony home, but I persuaded him to straddle the buck and he did so. That put on the capsheaf and so
THE START FROM SADDLE LAKE
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pleased Kaw-kee, that he yelled out to Polly Ann, his wife, to come out and see the sight. She did so, exclaiming "Holy Moses and all the saints!" It had a good influence over Polly Ann for that sober face of hers, which had not smiled since the night before when she was ordered to shut up her mouth, now grinned from ear to ear until she laughed so loud that Kaw-kee told her to quiet down or she would scare all the game out of the woods, and all the fish out of Saddle Lake !
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