Jackson County IA Archives News.....An Indian Legend February 28, 1907
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Ken Wright wright@prestontel.com December 16, 2010, 12:56 am

Jackson Sentinel February 28, 1907
Jackson Sentinel, Maquoketa, Iowa, Feb. 28, 1907

AN INDIAN LEGEND

Northern Jackson County and Tete des Morts Picturesque
The Bellevue Leader has rooted out of its old files the following very 
interesting legend of early Indian settlements in Jackson County and the 
origin of the name of Tete des Morts. Tete des Morts is a very peculiar name 
and perhaps few who live in the township know that its true meaning is “Heads 
of Death.” It is French and the name when understood is not pleasant to think 
about and brings sad recollections of the past and leads to the earnest 
inquiry: “Why was it so called?” We will turn to the early history of the 
state or even the territorial days in the beginning of the nineteenth century, 
when all the wild west was a vast area of unimproved prairie, inhabited only 
by Indians.
The bluffs that skirt the river also extend along the banks of Tete des Morts 
creek, which courses through the north part of the township. Between the two 
ranges of bluffs is a little valley where a tribe of Winnebago Indians built 
their lodes. They were surrounded with everything that would be desirable for 
an Indian home. The river and creek afforded plenty of fish, while deer and 
game abounded in the timbered bluffs and it was a sheltered place. Countless 
days, which to them were many moons, were spent in a continuous round of 
hunting and fishing.
During the wanderings of the young chief of the Winnebagoes, he had met with 
Nita, the daughter of the chief of the Fox tribe, then living at Prairie du 
Chien. Watumni, young Winnebago chief, had never forgotten her, she was his 
ideal of all that is true and beautiful,  for she was like a figure sent in a 
dream, her large dark eyes and darkened eye lashes, the luxurious raven 
locks , the pearly whiteness of her teeth, and a graceful form, were enough to 
charm. He decided to go and see her and preparations were soon made, he and a 
few braves bridled the ponies, and the bows slung over their shoulders, they 
were off on their journey, a happy careless party.
It was evening when they reached their destination. The full moon had risen in 
all its glory and lighted the whole camp, and as the travelers halted, the 
numerous dogs were loud in announcing the new arrivals, and a general rush to 
see the newcomers followed. There are coquettes of every tribe and nation, and 
terrible was Watumni’s rage when he saw Nita in company with a young brave 
whom he hated above all others. It was a great trial to Watumni, and in a fit 
of anger and jealousy he gave both insult and challenge by spitting in the 
maiden’s face, then with a bound was on his horse speeding homeward.
The angry chieftain father of the Indian father, according to their custom, 
erected a striking post to call for recruits. The warriors then met in council 
and decided that the deed must be presented and to do themselves justice, a 
heartless and most outrageous murder was planned. They began their march to 
the home of the Winnebagoes. They planned to reach the spot at night and 
stealthily approached the slumbering victims, suddenly the attack was made. 
Fire brands set the wigwams afire and the merciless slaughter began. The seven 
hundred Winnebagoes were at a great disadvantage but fought desperately and 
driven to the top of the bluff the few left at last gave up and jumped over 
the cliff to the creek below, preferring death to torture in the hands of such 
captors. When the battle was over the death whoop was heard; in it murder, 
hatred and bloody triumph united in one voice, it was the sound of victory, 
but Hotiti, Nita’s lover had been fatally wounded. The band of Winnebagoes had 
been exterminated.
Long years have passed away since that dreadful conflict and what Winnebagoes 
that were not killed are scattered to the four winds, but will the descendants 
of the few who escaped, came at long intervals to visit the old burying place 
on top of the bluff by the Tete des Mortes creek and leave tokens of fond 
remembrance. Shall these poor benighted sons of men be mocked and ridiculed 
when they come in our midst, or shall we give them our sympathy and extend 
them the hand of true friendship.


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