Waupaca County WI Archives History - Books .....Chapter III 1890 ************************************************ Copyright. All rights reserved. http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/wi/wifiles.htm ************************************************ File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by: Joy Fisher sdgenweb@yahoo.com November 19, 2007, 4:31 am Book Title: History Of Waupaca Co., WI CHAPTER III. A BLOODLESS AFFRAY BETWEEN INDIAN CHIEFS AT ALGOMA, WINNEBAGO COUNTY—POW-WA-GA-NIEN AND KISH-KE-NE-KAT. Although the Indians have the reputation of being vindictive and bloodthirsty in their difficulties among themselves, and especially among different tribes, we occasionally find them getting satisfaction for real or fancied injuries or insults in a manner quite humorous if not ludicrous. We shall relate an incident that occurred many years ago, in what is now Winnebago County, and which had quite a different termination from the one mentioned in the preceeding chapter. The account is taken from Mitchell & Osborn's History of Winnebago County, published in 1856: Pow-wa-ga-nien was a very celebrated chief of the Menominees. His great strength was equalled only by his bravery and nobleness of spirit. He never would take the scalp of a woman or child, and it is related of him that on several occasions he defended the lives of those whom his warriors had subdued in battle. Kish-ke-ne-kat, or Cut Finger, head war chief of the Pottawattamies, was a great brave, and, like some successful white braves, somewhat of a bully. Among his habits was an ugly one of insulting the greatest brave of any tribe he might he visiting, and such was the awing effect of his reputation that none, as yet, resented it. As was his wont, he sent one of his young men to Black Wolf, head chief of the Winnebagoes, to inform him of a visit he intended to pay to that chief, moved thereto by Black Wolf's great reputation as a brave. Black Wolf, knowing Cut Finger's habits, thought it best to get his Menominee friend, Pow-wa-ga-nien, to assist in dispensing his hospitalities to the Pottawattamie. Therein he showed his great wisdom. The Illinois chief made his appearance at Black Wolf's village (Garlic Island) with three hundred warriors, and, not being expected there, did not find the chief; so, according to custom, he started after him to Algoma, whither he had gone to a corn husking, on the planting ground of his friend Te-e-shaw. Black Wolf, by this time apprised of his coming, assembled his and the Menominee braves to receive him. On their arrival they sat down on a pleasant spot within hailing distance of their hosts. A young Winnebago, who could speak the Pottawattamie tongue, presented the pipe to the great chief with the usual compliments. While the pipe was going round, Cut Finger inquired which was Black Wolf. The interpreter pointed him out. "Who is that who seems to be great as he, sitting by his side?" "That's Pow-wa-ga-nien, the great Menominee." Cut Finger's eyes snapped with delight at the prospect of humbling the great warrior before his young men. Bidding the Winnebago to tell Black Wolf that he would shake his hand, before the young men arose he paid the usual courtesies to that chief. After these preliminaries were settled on both sides, Cut Finger asked: "Who is he, this who occupies a place of so much honor? He must be a great Indian." "This is the bravest Menominee, Pow-wa-ga-nien." "Ah! is that the great Pow-wa-ga-nien, who fills the songs of the nation? Let me look at him." He walked all around the chief, examining him with the critical air of a horse jockey, Pow-wa-ga-nien all this time keeping profound silence, having a good idea of what it was going to amount to. "Well," at last broke forth Cut Finger, "you are a fine Indian, a great Indian, a strong Indian, but you don't look like a brave Indian. I have seen braver looking Indians than you in my travels. I am a great traveler. I think you must have got a great deal of your reputation by your size. You don't look brave, you look sleepy. You have no tongue, you don't speak." Then, telling the young Menominees that he was going to satisfy himself as to the courage of their chief, he took hold of the bunch of hair the old warrior always kept on his crown for the convenience of any Sac or Fox who might find it necessary to scalp him, and gave him a good shaking, saying all the time, "You are sleepy, you have no tongue," and a plentiful supply of aboriginal banter. Pow-wa-ga-nien, aided by his strength and a neck that could withstand anything but rum, sustained but little damage from this, and submitted with Indian calmness until his tormentor had got through. After satisfying himself, Cut Finger announced to Black Wolf that he would go and sit among his warriors until Black Wolf gave the word to rise. Pow-wa-ga-nien immediately set himself about fixing the flint of his Pottawattamie friend. He opened his sack and drew forth his cap of war-eagle feathers—itself equal to a small band of Sacs and Foxes—put it on his head, and picked up his lance and club. His young men feared an unpleasant result, but none dared to speak except his brother, who admonished him to "do nothing rash." One glance of Pow-wa-ga-nien's eye, and an emphatic "I'm mad now!" sent that respectable Menominee to his seat, excusing himself by saying that Pow-wa-ga-nien "knew what a fool he always made of himself when he got a-going." Stretching himself up to his full height, Pow-wa-ga-nien stalked toward the Pottawattamies in a style that excited the admiration of his friends—especially of old Black Wolf, who not only admired his friend, but also his own tact in shifting this particular scrape on to that friend's shoulders. "My friends," said the old brave to the Pottawattamies, "I am glad to see you here. You look brave—you are brave. Many of you I have met on the war-path; some of your youngest I do not know, it being many years since I went to war. I am glad to see you look so well. I have heard much of your chief, but I don't think him very brave; I think him a coward. He looks sleepy; and I am going to see if he is worthy to lead such braves as you." Whereupon, throwing his weapons upon the ground, he seized the Pottawattamie chief by the hair, which he wore very long, as in prophetic anticipation of some such retribution, and continued to shake him until the young men remonstrated, saying they were satisfied. He stopped without relinquishing his hold, turned around his head, looked his followers down into silence, and shook again with the vim of a man whose whole heart was in the performance of an evident pious duty; The life was nearly out of Kish-ke-ne-kat, but the brave Menominee bore that individual's suffering with the same fortitude that he had born his own. Satisfied at last, he raised his emeny up by the hair, and threw him from him; at the same time he picked up his club and lance, and waited to see what he was going to do about it. Cut Finger raised himself on his elbow and rubbed his head, not daring to look up, while the Menominee invited him to look up and see a man, if he was one himself; to "come and decide this matter like a man," which being unattended to, he went back to his seat at the right hand of Black Wolf, who had been all this time smoking with the utmost indifference, as, indeed, it was no affair of his. Kish-ke-ne-kat continued to recline on his arm, Pow-wa-ga-nien eyeing him all the time; and when the Pottawattamie would steal a glance at the great war cap, the eye under it would make him turn again. At the same time his ears were assailed with: "Why don't you look up? What are you afraid of? Come and talk to me," and such taunts. Cut Finger saw that his position among his young men was getting to be rather delicate, and the last invitation, as a means of reconciling all parties, met his view. So, rising and laying his hand on his sore head, he said: "My friends, there is no dodging the fact that Pow-wa-ga-nien is a brave, a very brave Indian—braver than I, and I'll go and tell him so." Gathering himself up, he walked over to the chiefs, and told Pow-wa-ga-nien that he had come over to shake him by the hand. " You are a great chief. I have shook many chiefs; none have resented till now. If you had submitted you would have been disgraced in the eyes of my young men. Now they will honor you. I am a great traveler. I am going to all the tribes of the South. I will tell all who have spoken well of you how you have used me. They will believe me, for I have pulled all their heads, as you have pulled mine. You are as great as if you had pulled theirs also. Let us shake hands and be friends." Pow-wa-ga-nien, who was a good fellow at bottom, reciprocated the good feelings of the now friendly chief, and a lasting friendship sprung up between them, and showed itself in the interchange of presents every year as long as they both lived.- The war-eagle cap which contributed so much towards this victory is now in the hands of Pow-wa-ga-nien's son, and can be seen any time by those who doubt the truth of the foregoing. A tragical affair took place in the town of Winneconne, among the Indians, after the town was partially settled. We shall copy it to illustrate the fact that love, jealousy and revenge are not exclusively Christian qualities: In the summer of 1849 there was a squaw among them, of no particular age, who claimed the affections of an Indian who was by many years her junior. She became jealous that her attachment was not reciprocated, and in her deep wrath at her fickle swain stabbed him in the breast, so that he died instantly. She was large, athletic and defiant. Few men were able to stand before her in a conflict. Their custom required the life of the murderer, but she announced that if any Indian attempted to inflict the death penalty upon her there would be four or five more dead Indians. Apparently there was little notice taken of the matter, and people supposed the murderess would go unpunished. The young chiefs were frequently passing from one band to another, none but themselves knowing or mistrusting their business. At length an Indian feast and dance was noticed to come off in a short time. The day arrived, and the Indians were all in attendance. Among them was one called "Old Pete," noted for his quiet, inoffensive character. The feast was passed, the dance commenced, and hilarity was universal among them. "Old Pete" and the murderess were dancing with each other, the music was loud and exciting, the dance and mirth were at a high pitch, when the squaw shrieked and fell dead. Music and dance instantly ceased. The squaw had been stabbed, but the dancers knew not by whose hand the deed had been done, when "Old Pete" left the astonished company, walked to an eminence at a little distance, and stood with that stoical indifference which none but an Indian can assume. E. D. Gumaer (our informant) passed near him, looked him in the face and smiled. Pete relaxed his features and returned the smile, then again resumed a countenance of rigid indifference. He was reported to Oshkosh, the head chief, who said the act was done under the direction of the council of all the bands. All was right. Quite and harmony returned. A "SQUAW." No greater insult can well be given an Indian than calling him a "squaw." To be brave in battle, expert with the rifle, and untiring in the chase are the three cardinal virtues with an Indian, virtues which no female is supposed to possess. Hence, calling him one is a stigma which he is pretty sure to resent. We remember, over thirty years ago, near Fremont, meeting an Indian with a fine looking rifle. Taking the rifle in our hands, we asked him if he could shoot. He replied in broken English, "Me shoot good." We then challenged him to a trial of skill with his gun. The challenge was promptly accepted. A target was placed, and each fired a shot, resulting in the defeat of the Indian, much to his disgust. Going up to the mark, we pointed to the two bullet holes, and in a joking way exclaimed: "Ugh! you shoot like squaw." The "squaw" fixed him, and he left us, the maddest Indian we ever saw. Additional Comments: Extracted from: HISTORY OF WAUPACA COUNTY, WISCONSIN. By J. WAKEFIELD, Historian of Old Settlers' Society of Waupaca County. WAUPACA, WIS.: D. L. STINCHFIELD, 1890. COPYRIGHT, 1890, BY J. WAKEFIELD AND D. L. STINCHFIELD. Printed by D. L. STINCHFIELD, Waupaca, Wis. Bound by W. B. CONKEY, Chicago. 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