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In The Distant Past

In The Distant Past image
Parent Issue
Day
9
Month
December
Year
1898
Copyright
Public Domain
OCR Text

We published a letter this week dated at Saline, Dec. 7, 1833, from an army officer which appeared in a volume entitled a "Winter in the West."

In the same volume the following letter which mentions Ann Arbor and Dexter appears and contains many interesting pioneer facts.

"Dexter, Washtenaw Co., M. T.,. Dec. 12.

"I have been here two or three days but so occupied in riding about looking at the country, that I have not till now attempted to finish this letter. Far different is the appearance of the cottages here, from those described above is the common residence of new settlers. They build almost altogether in the oak openings; and as the country is now undulating, I have seen some cabins very prettily situated in clumps of oaks, a gunshot from the road, with fields of young wheat extending in every direction around them. The soil, when first turned up, is a kind of yellow gravel, very unpromising in its appearance; but it rapidly undergoes a chemical change, becoming almost black in the field of two years cultivation, and improving every season without the aid of a particle of manure. I have now got among the rolling land, in a region full of lakes and oak openings, of which hitherto I had only a taste. I need hardly say how much more grateful such a country is to my eye than the level thickly timbered lands about Detroit and Monroe. I came hither by way of the pretty village of Anne Arbour, which contains, I should think about 700 or 800 inhabitants; many of whom, I am told, are very respectable English emigrants. I stopped at a farm house, about five miles from here, to dine. A white headed boy, six or seven years old was turning a grindstone before the door, while a couple of Indians sharpened their knives. Near them a miserable pony, with his wooden saddle covered with a freshly flayed deer, and a brindle wiry haired dog, with the head of a wolf, and a crest of a bone, skulked around the slaughtered game, and snarled in its protection, when after dismounting, I approached it. His swarthy masters and myself entered the house together. "Tenepe tceen chemocomon?" (Where is your American?) said the oldest of the two to a very pretty Connecticut girl, who had recently followed her husband to this country. She replied by pointing to him working at a distance in a field, and the Indians sat down patiently till the farmer entered. The venison was then laid on a table, and a bargaining scene commenced, which lasted full half an hour. "Can-nee-shin, chomocomon," (not a good American,) said one of the red barterers, turning to me, as the white trader offered him what he thought too little for a whole deer. The bargain was struck, however, before a bystander could interpret the appeal for me. The skin still remained with the Indian, and I was not a little surprised to see produced from it a variety of articles of Indian produce, among which were large cakes of deer's tallow, about the size of an ordinary cheese. These were all traded away in succession, and a small cask produced by the Indian, was filled with whisky on the spot; and the eldest mounting the pony, they both shook me by the hand, and soon disappeared with their poisonous burden behind at wining of the road. They were of the Ottawa tribe, well made men, though slightly built, and with aquiline noses and finely shaped heads; and each, when I first saw them, had the freest and most graceful step I ever saw, whether on the sod or in the ball room.

How complete was the metamorphosis when I overtook them half an hour afterwards in the woods! The eldest, who could not have been more than five and thirty, was barely sober enough to guide his horse; and sitting with both arms around the barrel of whiskey on the pommel before him, he reminded me of an engraving of Bacchus, in a very vulgar and not very witty book, called Homer Travestre. The Indian gravity, which had before been preserved amid all the nervousness incident to a trading operation, had now thoroughly deserted him, and toddling from side to side, he muttered a sort of recitative, which combined all the excellencies of the singing and spouting of a civilized toper. His companion, a youth of but 17, seemed perfectly sober, and stopping only occasionally to pick up the whip of the fumbling rider, he stepped so lightly by his horse's side that the leaves scarcely rustled beneath his moccasin. I was somewhat pained of course, at the exhibition, though I confess I was not a little diverted, while riding along for miles in the silent woods with such grotesque company. The pedestrian continued as reserved and respectful as ever; but my fellow cavalier, after talking a quantity of gibberish to me, which was of course, perfectly unintelligible, seemed to be at last quite angry because I could not understand him; then, after again becoming pacified, he found a new source of vehemence in urging me to "schwap pasischegum" (exchange my gun,) to which he took a great fancy, for his "papooshe pascocachee,' (child of a horse) as he called a colt that followed the forlorn pony on which he rode.

I could not help blaming myself however, for having been so long diverted with the frailties of this hospitable Silenus, when at parting, about nightfall, where he struck into the forest, he gave me an invitation to his wigwam, 20 miles off; signifying the distance by raising all his fingers twice, at the same time using the words "Howh! keen mauhee neen wigwam" (come to my wigwam). How strangely are we constituted, that one should derive amusement in the woods from an exhibition which, in a city, would only excite pain and disgust! I have never seen a half intoxicated Indian before without the deepest feelings of commiseration. As for the alleged crime of selling Indians whiskey, it is impossible to prevent it. The love of spirituous liquors is a natural craving of the red man, which is irrepressible, and as such I have heard the most humane and intelligent persons speak of it - people who have passed their lives among the lndians, and have done their best to snatch them from his perdition. The haughtiest chief will travel a 100 miles for a pint of whiskey, and get drunk the moment he receives it, wheresoever he may be.

Providence seems to have designed that this mysterious race should not continue upon the earth; and fate has infused a fatal thirst into their bosoms, which is hastening their doom with earful celerity. But six years ago, and the woods around me were alive with Indians; now they are only traversed by a few such stragglers as these. You may talk of civilizing them - but that, too, is impossible. You may more easily civilize the stupidest African than the most intelligent Indian; and yet, who for a moment would compare the erect post and manly tread, the air, and blooded look of the one, with his keen sagacity and rare instincts, to the misshapen form, the shuffling gait, and stupid bearing of the other? Where, then, lies the difficulty? The African is an imitative animal, the Indian is not. He will copy the form of weapons, for he has felt their edge, and he will make himself ridiculous by wearing a cocked hat, cause he conceives it to be an emblem of authority. Rings and bracelets he may wear, for they recommend him to his own tribe, but the forms and fashion of civilization he despises. The negro furnishes the best raw material for a dandy that can be had; he learns at once how to wear his hat and adjust his shirt collar according to the last mode of the white man. The Indian, if a fop, departs even farther than usual from the costume of a European. He comes from nature's hands all that he ever intended him to be - the wild man of the woods. To the fleetness of the deer in traversing the forest he unites the instinct of the hound in finding his way; and when you add to these the mental gift of a certain wild eloquence, wholly unimprobable by cultivation, you have nearly summed up the intellectual qualifications of the American savage - the genuine child of nature - the untamed - the untameable.

I had a long conversation on this subject yesterday with a middle aged gentleman of high intelligence and character, for many years settled in the territory, and who has availed himself of usual opportunities of studying Indian life and manners. We had been all day in a canoe paddled by ourselves, exploring a chain of small lakes in this vicinity; (probably Zukey Lake - Ed.) and the perfect stillness of the woods round, while floating, at sunset over he transparent water, induced him to remark upon the rapid disappearance of the inhabitants; who, but six years since, when he first visited this part of Michigan, kept their canoes upon every stream in the country. The observation suggested the discussion, already alluded to, upon the feasibility of civilizing the Indians; and he told me a variety of anecdotes about a young Ottawa chief with an unpronounceable name, whom, on various accounts, he had once thought the fittest subject for social life he had ever met with among the aboriginees. The confusion of his elation was so whimsical and strikingly characteristic, that I will finish his letter with the details, precisely as I took them down on my notebook from the lips of my informant; oar canoe the while being allowed to float as she listed along the placid bosom of one of those beautiful lakes into which the river Huron expands a few miles from its sources.

"As we came one day to the Indian encampment, Ketche-waum-doug-enink caught me by the hand as usual, with his shrill exclamation of welcome; and my party proceeded at once to pitch our tent near his, before a blazing fire of logs. After affording us what assistance he could, the young chief left us; but in the evening he called again at our tent, and brought his father and mother, his wife, and three sisters with him. They all looked quite solemn; and in manner, particularly, there was something altogether unusual. Young Ketche-waun-doug-enink had been quite my friend, always appeared glad to see me, and was generally sociable in his way; but now he was grave and reserved, almost to severity. My familiarity with Indian character induced me to suppress everything like surprise at such an extraordinary change of deportment, and we sat thus, I should think, at least half an hour. At last the young Indian rose up in a formal way, and taking a position full in the light of the fire, began speech abounding with gesture and vehemence. The amount of it was this: 'Listen, my friend; I see that you are wiser than any of your white brethren.' (I must interrupt my story, said my companion,' to remind you, that believing my young Indian friend, who was a fine looking fellow, had some relish for civilization, and half a mind, indeed, to turn white man, I anticipated that some proposition to that effect would be the purport of his speech.) He continued - 'I am glad to see that you love the Indians; that you are not ashamed of our mode of life. Let me tell you what I presume you already know, that the life of the white man is one of care and trouble. The Great Spirit has blessed his red children in a peculiar manner. We have no care. We are as Che-manitou (Chemanitou God, or the Great Spirit; Mi-che-manitou, the devil, or evil spirit) made us. We have not degenerated, but are still his favorites. You never see a wrinkle on the brow of an Indian. Look, my brother, at the forehead of my old father; it is as smooth as my own, though 60 winters have whitened his head. His days have glided on as undisturbed as the smooth stream before you. - '(We were on the banks of the Shiawassee, interrupted the narrator.)' - Do you see, my brother, those pebbles in the bottom of the clear stream, as it throws back the light of your fire? It is thus that every thought can be seen that dwells in the mind of the Indian. He has no disguise - no cause for it; the troubles of the white man disturb not the clear stream of his soul. Come with us - share with us the gifts of Che-manitou, think no more of those distant lands of your childhood, where men live but to harass each other, and gather riches that eat the soul up with care. Come - here you will build your wigwam - I will help you; you shall have my sister for your wife - she shall weave your mats; and raise your corn, and dry your venison, which we will kill together in the woods. You have lived long enough a life of wretchedness; come and be happy with us.'

"I was curious to learn how the rest of the family, and especially the fair member of it particularly designated in his singular harangue, behaved while her brother was pronouncing it; and more than all, how the object of it himself received the address. I will endeavor to give you the exact replies of my interesting companion, without repeating the various questions from me which elicited them.

"My young friend sat down. Throughout his speech the family observed the utmost silence. The lady in question was as indifferent as an Indian could be - at least in manner. They all looked at me for my opinion, the lady excepted. I will confess that felt embarrassed, though I had but half a dozen Indians for my audience. An answer, however, was necessary. 'I thank you, my friend,' said I, 'and needed not this new proof of your friendship. I am sensible Che-manitou has smiled upon you; that you are his favorite children. But we white men have been taught to think many things necessary that you red men can do well without; and inferior as our mode of life is to yours, it is not the least of its evils that it has unfitted us for the simple pleasure that Che-manitou every day gives you. I have friends and a mother far away towards the rising sun. She does not know the red men and might not be a mother to your sister. Your sister if I should take her to the rising sun with me would pine for her green woods and wigwam by the bright Shiawassee. She will doubtless be happier as she is. She will take for her husband some red man like yourself who will love her and prize the blessings which Che-manitou yields you. I again thank you, my friend, and your sister. I must, after a few days, leave this country; but I shall bear my friends in my heart, and in the crowded city where the white men live, I shall often sigh for those green woods, and lament the absence of red friends."