The Pottawatomies

: Legends Of The Kaw

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.



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