was victorious; and acquired rights in the nation, an Indian name, and
last, but not least, pretty Markrete.
The Wyandots have been gradually absorbed by the white race, and those
who maintain tribal relations are located in the Indian Territory. Many
prominent residents of Kansas City are descended from the Wyandots.
VII.
THE POTTAWATOMIES.
The Pottawatomies were of Algonquin descent and were termed
"Firemakers," in reference to their secession from the Odjibwas and
becoming the makers of their own fires. The Odjibwa tradition says that
there were two brothers at St. Mary's Falls. The fishing-rod of the
younger was taken into the rapids by the other and accidentally broken.
A quarrel ensued. The elder brother went south. This was the origin of a
new tribe. The Pottawatomies of the Woods, located in Wisconsin and
Michigan; and the Prairie Bands, of Illinois and Indiana, formed the two
principal divisions of the nation, whose homes were scattered from the
shores of Lake Superior to the Illinois River. In language and customs,
the Pottawatomies were similar to the Ottawas and Chippewas, with whom
they were closely allied. They crowded the Miamis from the vicinity of
Chicago.
In the war of 1812, the Prairie Bands, under the leadership of
Suna-we-wone, fought against the Americans, and were at the massacre at
Fort Dearborn. The United States effected a treaty of peace with them in
1815, and afterward purchased a portion of their land. Eighteen years
later, the cession known as the Platte Purchase was made, in
consideration of which the Government granted 576,000 acres adjoining
the Shawnees and Delawares, in Kansas. Subsequently, the tribe became
widely scattered. Portions located in Wisconsin, Iowa, Kansas and the
Indian Territory.
The Pottawatomies believed in two Great Spirits, Kitchenonedo, Good
Spirit, and Matchemondo, Evil Spirit. Kitchenonedo made the world and
its first inhabitants; they looked like people, but were wicked
ungrateful dogs that never lifted their eyes from the ground, to return
thanks.
In punishment, the Creator dropped the earth, with everything upon it,
into a great lake, from which it emerged only after the destruction of
the race. Then a handsome young man appeared, who seemed sad because of
loneliness. Kitchenonedo pitied him and sent a sister to brighten his
life. Many years later the young man had a dream. Telling it to his
sister, he said:
"Five young men will come to your lodge door this night. The Great
Spirit forbids you to answer or even look up and smile at the first
four, but when the fifth comes, you may speak and laugh and show that
you are pleased."
She obeyed his directions. The first who arrived was named U-sa-ma, or
Tobacco, and being repelled, he fell down and died; the next, Wa-pa-ko,
or Pumpkin, meeting a like reception, followed his example; the third,
Esh-kos-si-min, or Melon, and the fourth, Ko-kees, or Bean, had the same
misfortune; but she smiled upon the fifth, who was named Tamin, or
Montamin (Maize), and opened the lodge door that he might enter. They
were married; and from them are descended the North American Indians.
Tamin buried his ill-fated rivals; and from their graves sprang tobacco,
melons, beans and pumpkins; and the Pottawatomies said that was the way
in which the Good Spirit furnished his people something to put into
their _a-keeks_, or kettles, with the meat, and something to offer as a
gift at feasts and ceremonies.
Long after a majority of the nation had become Christianized, they
clung, in a great measure, to the ancient superstitions.
Not many miles distant from the place where Topeka now stands, lived a
chief called Menweshma. Menweshma was a believer in the Indian doctrine
of transformation, and gravely asserted that he could turn his four
hundred and eighty pounds of flesh into a bird or beast. Tradition says
that it was a favorite pastime of his, to assume the form of an owl.
Being an inveterate gambler, he at one time became the victim of a
scheme by which he was defrauded. This so enraged the Pottawatomie that
he killed the seven Indians who participated in the trick, and
according to the laws of the tribe, was called upon to pay a heavy
ransom or submit to death. After surrendering all his possessions,
Menweshma was yet indebted to the amount of five hundred dollars. This
sum was borrowed from the trader, and year after year passed and the
chief continued to disregard the solicitations of the white man to pay.
One night, after Menweshma had appeared particularly annoyed by these
requests, the settler and his family were disturbed by the hooting of an
owl. Seizing a rifle, the man shot in the darkness at what appeared to
be the outline of the bird, and saw an object fall to the ground. On
reaching the spot, he stooped to pick it up--and the nocturnal visitor
could not be found.
At nine o'clock next morning came a messenger with the request that he
go at once to Menweshma, who was dying. Entering the hut, he was left
alone with the medicine man and the dying chief. The Pottawatomie,
disclosing a great wound in his side, said:
"Didn't you shoot an owl at your house, last night? I was that owl, and
had gone there to poison your children."
Queer explanations were accepted without question, by the Indians, and
often white folks were puzzled to account for strange events.
Even the most warlike tribes did not hesitate to resort to deception,
if, perchance, a victory were to be gained without striking a blow.
Below the junction of the Republican and Smoky Hill rivers was a
reservation of the Pottawatomies. Just without its limits, the Pawnees,
always at war and straying from rightful boundaries, were wont to lie in
wait for their less courageous neighbors.
On a sunny afternoon in the spring of 1856, seven or eight hunters and
trappers, going westward from Fort Riley, were confronted by a
panic-stricken band of several hundred Pottawatomies. The fugitives,
galloping toward the reservation, shouted, "Pawnee! Pawnee!" Later in
the day, the plainsmen came upon the Pawnees, a party of fifty men,
celebrating with great satisfaction, their success in putting the foe to
flight. The latter, in the morning, had camped not far from a large
hill, or bluff, behind which the enemy were holding consultation as to
the best mode of attack. In order to give the impression of numerical
strength, the fifty braves filed around and around the bluff, seemingly
an interminable line, then, with blood-curdling war-whoops, dashed
toward the camp. The Pottawatomies fled precipitately, leaving the
entire supplies to fall into the hands of the strategists, who took
advantage of every opportunity to intimidate the more pacific nations of
eastern or southern origin, removed west by the Government.
With the exception of the Shawnee Prophet, the cruel and vindictive
war-chief, Wa-baun-see, was, doubtless, the most famous Indian among the
emigrant nations. His brave deeds have formed the subject of many
interesting anecdotes. Notable among them is
THE STORY OF THE FLAT-BOAT.
Near the close of the eighteenth century, the Americans again commenced
to encroach upon Indian territory, and some of them proceeded
southwestward down the Ohio River in large boats about thirty-five or
forty feet in length and ten or twelve feet in breadth, with barricaded
decks. The rightful owners of the soil, determined to prevent further
settlement, disputed every mile of progress by all possible means.
One day the scouts, led by Wa-baun-see, watched a floating fort from the
north bank of the river. An attack was feasible, since the pilot kept
well to the middle of the stream, beyond reach. The Indians consulted as
to the best method of overcoming this difficulty. Word was sent to the
main body of warriors to conceal themselves at a certain point that
jutted out into the water, at some distance below their present
location. They were also instructed to be prepared for battle when the
boat should go ashore. Meantime, despite all efforts to the contrary on
the part of the pilot, the raft showed a decided tendency to approach
the river bank. The man at the helm was admonished again and again, but
insisted that he had been doing all in his power to keep off from shore.
The pilot then made a careful examination of the boat on the side next
to land. A black object bobbed up occasionally, then disappeared. Closer
scrutiny revealed a nude Indian, swimming under water and tugging away
at a rope held in his teeth. The other end was fastened to the boat.
Once in a while the swimmer was compelled to come to the surface for
breath.
Quietly obtaining his bayonet, the pilot watched the water with
interest. Again the dark head and shoulders emerged. They were those of
the war-chief. Quick as a flash, the bayonet plunged downward into his
back. Wa-baun-see sank out of sight, keeping under water until he
reached the shore. The braves conveyed him to a place of safety and
carefully dressed the dangerous wound. The daring chief recovered.
When the Osages were strong and powerful, and claimed thousands of broad
acres south of the Missouri River, they were frequently at war with the
Pottawatomies. During a battle, Wa-baun-see was routed, in addition to
losing a friend in the sally. The proud spirit of the war-chief was
injured; and the humiliation caused by defeat and the death of the brave
rankled in his mind after other warriors had seemingly forgotten the
circumstances. He determined to seek revenge, should it ever become
possible. Years passed without the gratification of his wishes. Then
came the news that, at an appointed time, a delegation of Osages would
visit a certain western fort. Wa-baun-see, with some of his best men,
repaired to the post, and, after a formal interview, withdrew. They
galloped a few miles away and waited for darkness. The Osages feared
treachery and communicated their suspicions to the commandant.
Permission to sleep inside the fortifications was asked and granted.
In the night, when all was silent, Wa-baun-see rode quietly toward the
place. He stationed his men at a safe distance and went forward to
inspect the defenses. It was necessary to employ the utmost caution, in
order to avoid the guards. Approaching, he threw himself upon the ground
and crept around the walls, finding, at last, an embrasure, almost too
small to permit the passage of a man's body. The chief was seeking
revenge and was not to be daunted, therefore, after a long and painful
effort, succeeded in writhing through the aperture, and warily sought
out the adversaries of his people. They were sleeping soundly, feeling
secure in the protection afforded by the presence of soldiers. Wrapped
in a blanket, and lying upon the ground a short distance from the group,
was the head chief. Crawling through the grass, the Pottawatomie reached
his side. There was no disturbance, only a dull thud, as the tomahawk
buried itself in the head of the slumberer. Securing the scalp,
Wa-baun-see retired as noiselessly as he had come.
In the morning the Osages were greatly surprised and enraged to learn
that the enemy had been in their midst.
The impression that the relentless chief was the most ferocious Indian
of his time, was confirmed by the frightful punishment of one of his
wives, accused by another wife, probably a favorite, of cruelty to his
children. Without giving the poor woman an opportunity to plead her
cause, he commanded the accuser to split open her skull.
Wa-baun-see accompanied his tribe to Kansas in 1846, and during the
latter part of that year, went to Washington, with other influential
men, to conclude a treaty with the Government. The stage-coach, in which
they passed through Missouri on the way home, overturned near Boonville,
and Wa-baun-see sustained severe injuries, which ultimately resulted in
death.
VIII.
THE SHAWNEES.
The capital of Kansas now occupies a portion of the former
hunting-grounds of the Kaw and Shawnee Indians. The Shawnees were the
first emigrant tribe to arrive in the Territory. The ancient home of the
nation was near the Cumberland River. Early in the Seventeenth century,
the Iroquois invaded that region and vanquished its owners, who fled
south and became scattered, settling in Carolina and Florida. At a later
period, the divisions of the tribe reunited and returned to the vicinity
of their old home, taking possession of a more extended country and
founding towns in the Ohio Valley. When they were driven west, the Baron
De Carondelet granted them land near Cape Girardeau.
As the white people entered Louisiana, the Shawnees sought new homes,
again and again. Finally, they relinquished all claims in Missouri, in
consideration of a large purchase in Kansas. In 1854 a treaty was
signed, disposing of all their land except two hundred thousand acres,
which were divided among individuals; and in 1869 the remnant of the
tribe removed to the Cherokee country, in the Indian Territory.
A migration tradition says that once, when the Shawnees lived in the far
East, on the shores of the Great Salt Lake, they were surprised to see,
riding along on the back of a large fish, a creature that looked like a
man, although it had long green hair like weeds, a face like a porpoise
and a beard the color of ooze. Around its neck were strings of
sea-shells, and in its hand was a staff made from the rib of a whale;
and, most astonishing of all, the strange being had the bodies of two
fishes for legs. He stopped near shore and sang of the beautiful things
in the depths of the sea. The people heard, in amazement, for he spoke
their language.
Day after day and week after week, the Man-Fish might be seen, seated on
the water, with his legs curled up under him; and all the time he sang
of new countries; and the people, charmed, left their work and listened.
Men forgot to go hunting and the women no longer busied themselves
around the wigwams, but stood on the beach and watched. Repeatedly, the
creature sang: "Come, follow me"; but they refused to go. At last the
supply of food in the village was exhausted. Hunters entered a boat and
tried to catch fish, but without success. The Man-Fish flirted water
over them with his legs, and laughed at their trouble, chanting a melody
about the wonderful Spirit Island, in the midst of the Great Salt Sea.
The Shawnees said:
"Can you show us anything better than we have--good wives, good
children, good dogs and plenty of deer?"
But the stranger reminded them of storms in the Moon of Falling Leaves,
of snow and ice, of hunger and constant danger from wild animals and
painted warriors, saying:
"Come with me and I will show you a land where the air is always warm
and soft, and the flowers are always in bloom; where you will find as
many deer as are among your icy hills, and great herds of animals called
bison; where the men grow tall and the women beautiful as the stars of
night."
The Shawnees were afraid, and attempted to go toward shore, but were
held back by an unknown hand. They consulted among themselves. The
Man-Fish bobbed up his head and sang: "Follow me." They decided to obey.
Out on the water, a mighty storm arose. The Great Spirit could be heard
hissing in the depths of the ocean. The boat rocked and swayed on the
billows; but the protector was near and told them not to fear. He
brought food and a shell of fresh water from the bottom of the sea. Two
moons passed before land appeared. It was the glittering Spirit Island,
with big trees and high mountains. From some of them lightning seemed to
shoot. Along the shores were seals and ducks. The inhabitants fled into
the woods, when they saw the Man-Fish, who went to find the Spirit of
the Island. He entered a cave and soon returned, accompanied by a being
as strange as himself. It had a head like a goat, with horns and beard,
and moss-colored hair. Its legs and feet were covered with handsomely
decorated leggings and moccasins. Speaking with the voice of a man, it
said:
"I will take you, men of the Land of Snows, to a beautiful place, where
you will find all that could be desired."
The Man-Fish departed, and under the guidance of their new friend, the
strangers reached the interior of the Spirit Island. They married the
maidens of the country and grew into a bold, strong and valiant nation,
overcoming all tribes east of the River of Rivers.
The Shawnees were of Algonquin stock and were the roving clans, the
gypsies of the wilderness, described by William Penn, belligerent under
ill-treatment but peaceable when dealt with justly. Referring to the
creation, they said:
"The Master of Life made the Shawnees first, from his brain, and gave
them all his knowledge. Other red people descended from them. He made
the French and English from his breast, the Dutch from his feet and the
Long-knives (Americans) out of his hands."
One of the most interesting legends is that which has reference to the
origin of the Piqua Shawnees. The word "Piqua" signifies "Man Made from
Ashes."
It seems that long ago, in the dim past, the nation made a talk against
the Walkullas, who lived not far away, on the shore of the Great Salt
Lake. The older men opposed a war; but Mad Buffalo and the young
warriors refused to listen to their counsel.
"We are strong," said they, "and the Walkullas are weak."
A party, eager for a fight, went out from the village. Two moons passed
and there were no tidings of the young men. The Walkullas were distant
only six suns journey. The third moon went by; and Chenos, the oldest
and wisest man of the tribe, called the people together in council; he
told them that the young warriors had been slain. There was a shriek of
horror and the women began to lament for their husbands and sons.
"Yet," said Chenos, "there is one left, who has had vengeance on the
enemy and has drunk their blood; he will soon be here."
Even as he spoke, the Mad Buffalo entered the Council Wigwam. One arm
was tied up with a piece of deer skin; and there was dried blood upon
his body. Attached to a pole, over his shoulder, were seven scalps. Six
of them had long black hair, but the seventh was the color of sunshine,
and curling. He told them how the braves had crept up to the enemy and
watched them prepare a feast to the Great Spirit; then, when all was in
readiness, the war-cry had been sounded. The Shawnees had killed many,
but the foe had been visited by people with skins as white as the
clouds, who had taught them to use thunder and lightning in battle. Mad
Buffalo's men had done well, but were slain, at last.
Chenos told the leader that he should not have gone at a time when the
Walkullas were making sacrifices. The relatives of the dead warriors
called out for vengeance. The wise men counseled as to what would most
surely appease the Master of Breath. Chenos said:
"The Mad Buffalo must give up that which is most dear."
The leader, casting a fierce glance toward him, said he would offer none
of his own blood, but would kill a deer. Then Chenos said:
"The Mad Buffalo has not told all. There is another, a prisoner, with
trembling heart."
The warrior replied:
"Mad Buffalo never lies; he has a prisoner"; and with that, he went out
of the Council Wigwam and brought in a woman. He motioned her to lift
the veil that covered her face. The wild men of the forest gazed
entranced. She had a skin white as snow, and cheeks, red, but not with
paint, like the Indian's. More beautiful than the flowers, than the
sun, moon or clouds, was the maiden. The Mad Buffalo claimed her as his
own, telling how he had saved her and carried her in his arms.
The relatives of the dead men cried out for blood. Chenos forbade the
sacrifice, saying that perhaps she had come from the Great Spirit. Then
the wicked ones left the place and sought the aid of a bad man named
Sketupah. Sketupah said the beautiful woman must be sacrificed; he
directed that certain religious rites be performed, with a wolf, a
tortoise and a rattlesnake.
A large ball rolled up the hill and unwound itself. A queer little old
man with green eyes, stepped out. The ball was made from his own hair,
which was the color of moss, and so long that when blown around by the
wind, it seemed like the tail of a star. The little old man, who was the
Evil Spirit, commanded them to bring forth the beautiful woman and tie
her to a stake. They did so, and piled sticks around her feet. As the
flames arose, the Mad Buffalo, giving his war-cry, ran forward against
the Evil Spirit. A breath from the powerful one, and he lay stricken
with death. Chenos called on the Master of Life for help. The Ruler of
All came, his eyes visible from afar, shining like two great stars. The
evil one grew small, and his power failed when the Great Spirit
advanced. The beautiful woman was spared and the Master of Life said:
"Men of the Shawnee nation, the pale-faced people from over the Great
Salt Lake are your brothers."
He told them that he had made all races; that the Indian was red because
fear never entered his breast; that the heart of the white man was so
chilled that the blood was scared from his cheeks; that the Shawnee had
been brought from the land of the pale-face, long ago, but had lost his
paleness. Then he said:
"Rake the ashes of the sacrificial fire; and when the Star of the
Evening rises, put in the body of Mad Buffalo and cover it over with
wood; keep the fire burning for two whole moons; bring out the beautiful
woman and place her near the ashes. This is the will of the Great
Spirit."
The people obeyed these commands, and when the time had been fulfilled,
there was a disturbance in the ashes, and a man, tall, strong and
perfect, came forth. He walked up to the maiden and looked into her
eyes. Chenos gave her to him as a wife; and from them were the Piquas
descended.
A Shawnee religious belief, the doctrine of a pre-natal existence, bears
some resemblance to that of the Buddhists, and reminds one of the fact
that all nations have a common ancestor in the Aryan race. The following
incident, related by an Indian agent, proves the implicit faith reposed
in this particular belief.
When the United States Government removed the tribe to Kansas, the
Pawnees waged incessant war against the new arrivals. Many times, ere
the country became their home, had war parties of the Shawnees
traversed the rolling prairie, passed out upon the plains, battled with
the wild Indians of the West, and returned, sometimes laden with booty,
to their reservation east of the Mississippi.
The red man never forgets what he considers an indignity. The spirit of
revenge is always an incentive to action; hence, the recent comers were
under the necessity of keeping themselves in readiness for an encounter
at any moment. Rumors of an attack by the enemy floated into the
settlements, and the head chief marshaled out his men to check the
advancing warriors. After a ride of one hundred miles to the northwest,
the scouts, far to the front, espied in the distance, what appeared to
be a great number of small black objects, outlined against the sky. A
nearer view disclosed the fact that the Pawnees were approaching.
Information was carried to the main body.
Both parties called a halt. Then, the war-chief of the Shawnees,
accompanied by an aide, rode forward, signifying that he desired a
conference. He was met in the open space between the lines, by an
opponent, a fierce-looking Indian, and by his side a brave of unusual
size and strength. Contrary to custom, it was agreed, after a parley,
that two of the most skillful warriors should meet upon the prairie, in
the presence of both sides, and decide the battle by a hand-to-hand
conflict.
Returning to their men, the chiefs called for volunteers. A quick
response, and the chosen ones rode to the central ground, dismounted,
and consigned their ponies to the waiting assistants, to be led back to
the lines. There was a moment of hesitation--of suspense to the
spectators. The warriors regarded one another with looks of astonishment
and recognition. Then La-ma-to-the, the Shawnee, spoke:
"Know you not, Pawnee, that we have met, far back in the past, the past
that appears to us now as the distant mountains when wrapped in smoke
from heaven's pipe of peace?"