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SOME three or four years
after we came to the country there came a tribe, or part of a tribe, of
Indians and camped a little over a mile southwest of our house, in the
timber, near the head of the windfall next to the openings. They
somewhat alarmed us, but father said, "Use them well, be kind to them
and they will not harm us." I suppose they came to hunt. It was in the
summer time and the first we knew of them, my little brother and two
sisters had been on the openings picking huckle-berries not thinking of
Indians. When they started home and got into the edge of the woods they
were in plain sight of Indians, and they said it appeared as if the
woods were full of them. They stood for a minute and saw that the
Indians were peeling bark and making wigwams; they had some trees
already peeled.
They said they saw one
Indian who had on a sort of crown, or wreath, with feathers in it that
waved a foot above his head. They saw him mount a sorrel pony. As he did
so the other Indians whooped and hooted, 1 suppose to cheer the chief.
Childlike they were scared and thought that he was coming after them on
horseback. They left the path and ran right into the brush and woods,
from home. When they thought they were out of sight of the Indian they
turned toward home. After they came in sight of home, to encourage his
sisters, my little brother told them, he wouldn't be afraid of any one
Indian but, he said, there were so many there it was enough to scare
anybody. When they got within twenty rods of the house they saw some one
coming beyond the house with a gun on his shoulder. One said it was
William Beal, another said it was an Indian. They looked again and all
agreed that it was an Indian. If they had come straight down the lane,
they would have just about met him at the bars, opposite the house,
(where we went through). There was no way for them to get to the house
and shun him except to climb the fence and run across the field. The
dreaded Indian seemed to meet them everywhere, and if possible they were
more scared now than before. Brother and sister Sarah were over the
fence very quickly. Bessie had run so hard to get home and was so scared
that in attempting to climb the fence she got part way up and fell back,
but up and tried again. Sister Sarah would not leave her but helped her
over. But John S. left them and ran for his life to the house; as soon
as they could get started they ran too. Mother said Smith ran into the
house looking very scared, and went for the gun. She asked him what was
the matter, and what he wanted of the gun; he said there was an Indian
coming to kill them and he wanted to shoot him. Mother told him to let
the gun alone, the Indian would not hurt them; by this time my sisters
had got in. In a minute or two afterward the Indian came in, little
thinking how near he had come being shot by a youthful hero.
Poor Indian wanted to
borrow a large brass kettle that mother had and leave his rifle as
security for it. Mother lent him the kettle and he went away. In a few
days he brought the kettle home.
A short time after this a
number of them had been out to Dearbornville and got some whisky. All
but one had imbibed rather too freely of "Whiteman's fire water to make
Indian feel good." They came down as far as our house and, as we had no
stick standing across the door, they walked in very quietly, without
knocking. The practice or law among the Indians is, when one goes away
from his wigwam, if he puts a stick across the entrance all are
forbidden to enter there; and, as it is the only protection of his
wigwam, no Indian honorably violates it. There were ten of these
Indians. Mother was washing. She said the children were very much
afraid, not having gotten over their fright. They got around behind her
and the washtub, as though she could pro- tect them. The Indians asked
for bread and milk; mother gave them all she had. They got upon the
floor, took hold of hands and formed a ring. The sober one sat in the
middle; the others seemed to hear to what he said as much as though he
had been an officer. He would not drink a drop of the whisky, but kept
perfectly sober. They seemed to have a very joyful time, they danced and
sang their wild songs of the forest. Then asked mother for more bread
and milk; she told them she had no more; then they asked for buttermilk
and she gave them what she had of that. As mother was afraid, she gave
them anything she had, that they called for. They asked her for whisky;
she said she hadn't got it. They said, "Maybe you lie." Then they
pointed toward Mr. Pardee's and said, "Neighbor got whisky?" She told
them she didn't know. They said again, "Maybe you lie."
When they were ready the
sober one said, "Indian go!" He had them all start in single file. In
that way they went out of sight. Mother was overjoyed and much relieved
when they were gone. They had eaten up all her bread and used up all her
milk, but I suppose they thought they had had a good time.
Not more than two or
three weeks after this the Indians moved away, and these children of the
forest wandered to other hunting grounds. We were very much pleased, as
well as the other neighbors, when they were gone.
Father had a good opinion
of the Indians, though he had been frightened by the first one, John
Williams, and was afraid of losing his life by him. He considered him an
exception, a wicked, ugly Indian. Thought, perhaps, he had been driven
away from his own tribe, and was like Cain, a vagabond upon the face of
the earth. He was different from other Indians, as some of them had the
most sensitive emotions of humanity. If you did them a kindness they
would never forget it, and they never would betray a friend; but if you
offended them or did them an injury, they would never forget that
either. These two traits of character run parallel with their lives and
only terminate with their existence.
I recollect father's
relating a circumstance that happened in the State of New York, about
the time of the Revolutionary War. He said an Indian went into a tavern
and asked the landlord if he would give him something to eat. The
landlord repulsed him with scorn, told him he wouldn't give him anything
and to get out of the house, for he didn't want a dirty Indian around.
There was a gentleman sitting in the room who saw the Indian come in and
heard what was said. The Indian started to go; the gentleman stepped up
and said: "Call him back, give him what he wants, and I'll pay for it."
The Indian went back, had a good meal and was well used; then he went on
his way and the gentleman saw him no more, at that time.
Shortly after this the
gentleman emigrated to the West, and was one of the advanced guards of
civilization. He went into the woods, built him a house and cleared a
piece of land. About this time there was a war in the country. He was
taken captive and carried away a long distance, to an Indian settlement.
He was tried, by them, for his life, condemned to death and was to be
executed the next morning. He was securely bound and fastened. The chief
detailed an Indian who, he thought, knew something of the whites and
their tricks and would be capable of guarding the captive safely, and he
was set as a watch to keep him secure until morning. I have forgotten
what father said was to have been the manner of his execution; whether
he was to be tomahawked or burned, at all events he was to meet his fate
in the morning. Late in the night, after the warriors were fast asleep
and, perhaps, dreaming of their spoils, when everything was still in the
camp, the Indian untied and loosed the captive, told him to be careful,
still, and follow him. After they were outside the camp, out of hearing,
the Indian told the white man that he was going to save his life and
show him the way home. They traveled until morning and all that day, and
the night following, the next morning they came out in sight of a
clearing and the Indian showed him a house and asked him if he knew the
place; he said he did. Then the Indian asked him if he knew him; he told
him that he did not. Then he referred him to the tavern and asked if he
remembered giving an Indian something to eat. He said he did. "I am the
one," said the Indian, "and I dare not go back to my own tribe, they
would kill me." Here the friends parted to meet no more. One vent home
to friends and civilization; the other went an exile without friends to
whom he dared go, with no home, a fugitive in the wilderness.
There was a man by the
name of H. Moody who often visited at father's house he told me that
when he was young he was among the Mohawk Indians in Canada. This tribe
formerly lived in what is now the State of New York. They took up on the
side of the English, were driven away to Canada and there settled on the
Grand River. Mr. Moody was well acquainted with the sons of the great
chief, Brant, and knew the laws and customs of the tribe. [The Mohawk
settlement on Grand River was a short distance from present-day
Brantville, Ontario. Here Joseph Brant spent the latter portion of his
life, and many of the descendants of the Mohawk still reside here.] He
said when they considered one of their tribe very bad they set him aside
and would have nothing to do with him.
If one murdered another
of the same tribe he was taken up and tried by a council, and if it was
found to be wilful murder, without any cause, he was condemned and put
to death; but if there were any extenuating circumstances which showed
that he had some reason for it, he was condemned and sentenced, by the
chief, to sit on the grave of his victim for a certain length of time.
That was his only hope and his "City of refuge." If any of the relatives
of the deceased wanted to kill him there they had a right (according to
their law) to do so. If he remained and lived his time out, on the
horrible place, he was received back again to the fellowship of his
tribe. This must have been a terrible punishment. It showed, however,
the Indian's love of his tribe and country, to sit there and think of
the danger of being shot or tomahawked, and of the terrible deed he had
committed. He had taken away what he could never give. How different was
his case from the one who left tribe, friends and home, and ran away to
save the life of a white man who had given him bread.
About two and a half
miles southwest of our house there was a large sand hill. Huckleberries
grew there in abundance. I went there and picked some myself. On the top
of that hill we found Indian graves, where some had been recently
buried. There were pens built of old logs and poles around them, and we
called it the "Indian Hill." It is known by that name to this day. The
old telegraph road runs right round under the brow of this hill. This
hill is in the town of Taylor. I don't suppose there are many in that
town who do not know the hill or have heard of it, and but few in the
town of Dearborn. I don't suppose there are six persons living who know
the reason it is called the "Indian Hill" for we named it in a very
early day. ["Indian Hill" was in the immediate vicinity of present-day
Hand Station. The ridge, or hill, has long since been graded or hauled
away, and the name itself seems to have vanished from the local memory.]
Some twelve or fifteen
years after this a man by the name of Clark had the job of grading down
a sand hill nearly a mile south of Taylor Center. In grading he had to
cut down the bank six or seven feet and draw it off on to the road. He
hired me with my team to go and help him. I went. He had been at work
there before and he showed me some Indian bones that he had dug up and
laid in a heap. He said that two persons were buried there. From the
bones, one must have been very large, and the other smaller. He had been
very careful to gather them up. He said he thought they were buried in a
sitting or reclining posture, as he came to the skulls first. The
skulls, arm and thigh bones were in the best state of preservation, and
in fact, the most that was left of them.
I took one thigh bone
that was whole, sat down on the bank and we compared it with my own. As
I was six feet, an inch and a half, we tried to measure the best we
could to learn the size of the Indian. We made up our minds that he was
at least seven, or seven and a half, feet tall. I think it likely it was
his squaw who sat by his side. They must have been buried a very long
time. We dug a hole on the north side of a little black oak tree that
stood on the hill west of the road, and there we deposited all that
remained of those ancient people. I was along there the other day (1875)
and as I passed I noticed the oak. It is now quite a large tree; I
thought there was no one living in this country, but me, who knew what
was beneath its roots. No doubt that Indian was a hunter and a warrior
in his day. He might have heard, and been alarmed, that the white man
had come in big canoes over the great waters and that they were stopping
to live beyond the mountains. But little did he think that in a few
moons, or "skeezicks" as they called it, he should pass to the happy
hunting ground, and his bones be dug up by the white man, and hundreds
and thousands pass over the place, not knowing that once a native
American and his squaw were buried there. That Indian might have sung
this sentiment:
"And when this life shall
end,
When calls the great So-wan-na,
Southwestern shall I wend,
To roam the great Savannah. —Bishop.
No doubt he was an
observer of nature. In his day he had listened to the voice of Gitche
Manito, or the Great Spirit, in the thunder and witnessed the display of
his power in the lightning, as it destroyed the monster oak and tore it
in slivers from top to bottom, and the voice of the wind, all told him
that there was a Great Spirit. It told him if Indian was good he would
go to a better place, where game would be plenty, and, no one would
drive him away. No doubt he had made preparation for his departure and
wanted his bow, arrow, and maybe other things, buried with him. If this
was so they had disappeared as we found nothing of the kind. It is known
to be the belief of the Indian in his wild state, that he will need his
bow and arrow, or his gun and powder horn, or whatever he has to hunt
with here, to use after he has passed over to the happy hunting ground.
About the time that Clark
dug up the bones, I became acquainted with something that I never could
account for and it has always been a mystery to me. An Englishman was
digging a ditch on the creek bottom, to drain the creek, a little over
three- quarters of a mile west of father's house. He was digging it six
feet wide and two feet deep, where brush called grey willows stood so
thick that it was impossible for a man to walk through them. He cut the
brush and had dug eight or ten inches when he came to red earth. Some
day there had been a great fire at this place. The streak of red ground
was about an inch thick, and in it he found what all called human bones.
I went to see it myself and the bones we gathered up were mostly small
pieces, no whole ones; but we saw enough to convince us that they were
human bones. The ground that was burned over might have been, from the
appearance, twelve feet square. It must have been done a great many
years before, for the ground to make, and the brush to grow over it.
This creek, the Ecorse,
not being fed by any rivulets or springs from hills or mountains, is
supplied entirely by surface water. It is sometimes quite a large
stream, but during dry weather in the summer time it is entirely dry.
The Englishman was digging it deeper to take off the surface water when
it came.
It is possible that, sometime, Indians had burned their captives there.
In fact there is no doubt of it. It must have been the work of Indians.
We may go back in our imaginations to the time, when the place where the
city of Detroit now stands was an Indian town or village, and ask its
inhabitants if they knew who were burned twelve miles west of there on a
creek, they might not be able to tell. We might ask the giant Indian of
the sand hill, if he knew, and he might say, "I had a hand in that; it
was in my day." But we have no medium, through which we can find out the
dark mysteries of the past. They will have to remain until the light of
eternity dawns, and all the dead who have ever lived are called to be
again, and to come forth. Then the dark mysteries of the past which have
been locked up for centuries will be revealed. |
