Early Indian Days - Frank Mathews 1899

MATHEWS, ANGLE, YEOMAN, SMITH, ARCHIBALD, BLACKHAWK, DOVER, BOX, JONES, LAMB

Posted By: deb (email)
Date: 10/28/2007 at 23:04:15

Mt. Pleasant Weekly News
August 23, 1899

EARLY INDIAN DAYS

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Frank Mathews Speaks of an Impressive Speech of an Indian

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Interesting Incidents of the Early Days –

How the Indians Got Over the Country –

Other Matters of Great Interest

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[For the NEWS by Frank Mathews]

The first death at Lowell was a child of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Angle. Mrs. Angle was a daughter of Mr. Yeomans living up the river. Mr. Angle at one time owned part of the mill on the north side. Hiram Smith, who was afterward called “Major”, died sometime before, but he lived on the other side of the river. Angle and his wife and some of the Yeoman’s family emigrated to California. In the spring of 1840 quite a large fleet of Indians with canoes loaded with furs and peltrys came down the river, and the dam and mill on the north side being completed they had to stop and unload and drag their canoes around. The bucks all walked ashore, shook hands with the whites, and as the Indians were expected, a good many whites had come to see them. Some of the Indians could talk some English. They let the squaws do the work, which they did by carrying everything up to the top of the bank first. Then they carried everything down and deposited on top of the bank opposite to where they would launch the canoes when dragged around the dam. As soon as the canoes were unloaded the bucks invited the white man to help drag the canoes, which they readily did. They had rawhide ropes fastened to the canoes which they pulled on. They would not pull very hard, but would Halo! He oh! He! very loud. Wm. Archibald, who was then five or six years old, caught hold of one of the ropes and pulled and hallowed just like the Indian. The Indian let go of the rope, stepped back and looked at William. William looked at the Indian for a moment; then his legs began to move, and they never stopped until they carried him home. He says he can see those eyes and high cheek bones yet.
Among the Indians were several papooses, and when I would say to them, “ Pretty petete papoose,” they would always smile and a piece of bread was always acceptable.
The leaders of the Indians were Wm. And Jim Blackhawk, and while the squaws were loading the canoes the white men asked Wm. to give us a talk. Mr. Sol Dover, from New London, being present, acted as interpreter. Wm. stepped out from the crowd and straightened up, looked around and commenced by saying:
“The great Spirit or nature has created all things well. Everything that man needs in this life is spread out in abundance before him. In our mighty rivers and smaller streams fish and fowls are in unlimited numbers. In the timber and brushland are the pheasant, the turkey and the sleek droves of deer, with their beautiful, spotted fawn. On the broad prairies millions of prairie hens are hatched every year and the great elk fattens. While on the great plain this side of the mountains, buffaloes in numbers that no man can count, roam at their leisure. Corn and beans and pumpkins grow with very little labor. So plenty is everything that man has but to put forth his hand and take what he needs to sustain him during this life. The earth is our mother. She sustained my father. She has sustained me and would sustain my children were it not for the greed and avariciousness of the white man. He is not satisfied with what a generous nature has provided for him. Where the green grass waved in the wind he digs and plows it up along the beautiful river. Where grew the sweet sugar tree, and trim hickory with its nuts did abound, on which the squirrel grew fat and sleek, are all cut down. And even this river where floated our light canoes. It too must be obstructed. In damming it up you have violated nature. It is very mad. Now you can hear it roaring as it tries to get under or over the obstruction. Its bright, clear waters will soon be muddy, and its beauty will soon be gone. But the white man will soon want more land. Then we must die or move on.”
While speaking he held a heavy staff in his hand and toward the close of his speech he looked more gloomy and sad the he did when he first began. When he quit talking he whirled around and threw his staff nearly across the river; picked up his gun and walked straight to his canoe and sat down. Did not say good bye, not even looked back. He was tall and slim, yet he was withey and strong. His brother was heavy set, lighter colored and showed that there was white blood in his veins. Among them was several old men and women. One old man looked to be about a hundred years old. I saw him pick the vermin off his person and eat them. Each time he took one in he would bat his eyes. By the time the speech was over the squaws had the canoes loaded. The squaws went into the canoes first and took hold of the paddles. The Indians shouldered their guns, walked in and sat down and put their guns crossways on the canoe.
Many of the canoes were loaded within two and a half inches of the top, and although the water below the mill was very swift, yet they managed them with such skill, that none of them took water. The canoes were made out of black and white walnut logs. They were burned and worked out until they were not much more than one inch thick. They had that contour of shape that enabled them to go through the water with the least amount of resistance. On the bow of most of them was carved the head of some bird or animal. On one was the head of an eagle; on one was the head of a deer; on another was that of a duck and goose. One represented the panther. The carving was rude, yet every one could tell what they were meant for. The paddles were made of white ash and were light and neat.
When asked where they came from they showed three fingers, which meant three forks of the river. There they had wintered and trapped and hunted. They were taking their furs, hides and sugar down to Ft. Madison or Montrose to sell or trade.
That speech made more impression on my mind than any other I ever heard. I do not claim to give it perfect, but as near as memory will serve. Having been raised most entirely on the frontier, and being so young, I thought his reasoning good. I knew nothing of the power of combination, or of what a dense population required. But I soon learned to read, and one of the first things that interested me was the crowning of Queen Victoria. We took the only paper that then came to the place. In it was a black profile of the young queen. The paper claimed that she was but eighteen years old. I gave a minute account of the coronation and what she prayed for, etc. When I got so I could read intelligently the neighbors would come in of a Sunday afternoon, and as my father had some books he would make me read for their amusement. I remember one entitled the “Memoirs of Lafayette,” which gave a good account of the French Revolution. Those frontiersmen were wonderfully interested in the big battles. It seemed that an army of one hundred thousand men was something incredible. Father would explain by marking with a stick on the ground the positions of several armies. Most of all of the men knew something of Indian fighting, yet these French and English and Austrian battles were so stupendous that is was hard for them to comprehend them. But probably the next Sunday afternoon they would be back for another installment. If they had any books of their own it would be the life of Daniel Boone, Wetzell or other Indian fighter, Robinson Crusoe and Wemmes History of the American Revolution. The life of David Crockett was sometimes in their possession. In the way of novels, I remember the “Scottish Chiefs,” “Children of the Abbey”, and “Pilgrims Progress” was much read. There were some people that would tell some of the most outrageous accounts of what they had heard, seen, or gone through, often of hunting, fighting or horse racing. They would not tell it to be believed, but more for the amusement than any thing else. It answered the place of novel reading very well. J.P.A. Box was a full team at this, and he prided him self so much on it, that when asked who he was or when registering at a hotel he would put it, J.P.A. Box, the biggest Liar of Iowa Territory, and yet when it came to harming any one he was very careful to make no trouble. His promise was good but if he could tell something to get a joke on any one he would do it.

About this time it got to be very fashionable to tell a lie on some one, often very slanderous just to see how they would take it. There was a man by the name of Augustus Jones, who made a claim northwest of Burlington. He was a very hard working, honest man and after he had been here a while, a brother of his came up to Burlington on a steam boat, after landing he commenced to inquire for his brother. Augustus Wm. Lamb was in town and he inquired of him. Oh yes, of course he knew all about him. Told him where to go to find him, etc, but hesitated and said “ maybe you will not find him at home”, as he heard that he had gotten into trouble lately.
“Why what kind of trouble?” asked his brother.
Well he had heard that he got some hogs that did not belong to him and he might be in the brush evading officers.
The newcomer was thunder struck felt very bad and said “well I have come a good ways to see him, but if there was a steam boat her going down the river I would go right back home, and never see him again.
Lamb was alarmed, for they were looking for a steamer that day, so he said it will never do to go back without seeing him, as the whole thing maybe nothing but talk; and if it is so probably he could do his brother good by talking to him. May be he has done it under dire necessity. Some people really had to steal in order to live here, “I tell you we have it pretty rough here some times and there is another thing, stranger, they do some of the tallest lying here you ever saw.”
The stranger went out to his brother’s and when he got near the shanty he could hear his brother’s wife singing very happily. His brother had his sleeves rolled up and was splitting and shaving shingles for the house. He was very glad to see him and had much to talk about in a very happy mood after talking some time, he told what he had heard in Burlington.
“What kind of looking man was it that told you that lie?” he says.
He was a large heavy set man, dark complextion, heavy dark beard.
“That’s Bill Lamb, d__m him! I will get even with him yet. D__m him! “I will tell just as big a lie on him as he can on me. See if I don’t.”
Mr. Lamb told me the story some years ago. He was young then, but grew up to be one of the prominent men of Des Moines County; represented the county in the lower house; was, I believe, a member of the board of supervisors. He died a few years ago about two miles east of Mt. Pleasant.

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