Books: History of the Ottawa and Chippewa Indians of Michigan
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Andrew J. Blackbird >> History of the Ottawa and Chippewa Indians of Michigan
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CHAPTER V.
The Author's Father Appointed Speaker for the Ottawas and Chippewas--
The Only Ottawa Who was Friendly to Education--Making Alphabet--Acting
as School Teacher--Moving Disposition of the Ottawas--Mode of
Traveling--Tradition of William Blackbird Being Fed by Angelic Beings
in the Wilderness--His being Put into Mission School by His Father--
Studying to be a Priest--His Assassination in the City of Rome, Italy,
Almost the Day When He was to be Ordained--Memorial Poem--The Author's
Remarks on the Death of His Brother.
After my father's return to Arbor Croche, he became quite an orator,
and consequently he was appointed as the head speaker in the council of
the Ottawa and Chippewa Indians. He continued to hold this office until
his frame was beginning to totter with age, his memory became
disconnected and inactive, and he therefore gave up his office to his
own messenger, whose name was Joseph As-saw-gon, who died during the
late rebellion in the United States while Hon. D. C. Leach, of Traverse
City, was the Michigan Indian Agent. As-saw-gon was indeed quite an
orator, considering his scanty opportunities. He had no education at
all, but was naturally gifted as an orator. He was quite logical and
allegorical in his manner of speaking. I have heard several white
people remark, who had listened to his speeches through the imperfect
interpreters, that he was as good a speaker as any orator who had been
thoroughly educated.
My father was the only man who was friendly to education. When I was a
little boy, I remember distinctly his making his own alphabet, which he
called "Paw-pa-pe-po." With this he learned how to read and write; and
afterwards he taught other Indians to read and write according to his
alphabet. He taught no children, but only the grown persons. Our
wigwam, which was about sixty or seventy feet long, where we lived in
the summer time, was like a regular school-house, with my father as
teacher of the school, and they had merry times in it. Many Indians
came there to learn his Paw-pa-pe-po, and some of them were very easy
to learn, while others found learning extremely difficult.
We were ten of us children in the family, six boys and four girls. I
was the youngest of all who were living at that time. The eldest boy
was one of the greatest hunters among the Ottawas. His name was Pung-o-
wish, named after our great-grandfather, but he was afterwards called
Peter by the Catholic missionaries when he was baptised into the
Catholic religion. One of my brothers who was five or six years younger
than my eldest brother was a remarkably interesting boy. His name was
Pe-taw-wan-e-quot, though he was afterwards called William. He was
quick to learn Paw-pa-pe-po, and very curious and interesting questions
he would often ask of his father, which would greatly puzzle the old
man to answer.
All the Indians of Arbor Croche used only to stay there during the
summer time, to plant their corn, potatoes, and other vegetables. As
soon as their crops were put away in the ground, [Footnote: The mode of
securing their corn was first to dry the ears by fire. When perfectly
dry, they would then beat them with a flail and pick all the cobs out.
The grain was then winnowed and put into sacks. These were put in the
ground in a large cylinder made out of elm bark, set in deep in the
ground and made very dry, filling this cylinder full and then covering
it to stay there for winter and summer use.] they would start all
together towards the south, going to different points, some going as
far as Chicago expressly to trap the muskrats, beavers, and many other
kinds of furs, and others to the St. Joe River, Black River, Grand
River, or Muskegon River, there to trap and hunt all winter, and make
sugar in the spring. After sugar making they would come back again to
Waw-gaw-naw-ke-zee, or Arbor Croche, to spend the summer and to raise
their crops again as before.
In navigating Lake Michigan they used long bark canoes in which they
carried their whole families and enough provisions to last them all
winter. These canoes were made very light, out of white birch bark, and
with a fair wind they could skip very lightly on the waters, going very
fast, and could stand a very heavy sea. In one day they could sail
quite a long distance along the coast of Lake Michigan. When night
overtook them they would land and make wigwams with light poles of
cedar which they always carried in their canoes. These wigwams were
covered with mats made for that purpose out of prepared marsh reeds or
flags sewed together, which made very good shelter from rain and wind,
and were very warm after making fires inside of them. They had another
kind of mat to spread on the ground to sit and sleep on. These mats are
quite beautifully made out of different colors, and closely woven, of
well prepared bull-rushes. [Footnote: To prepare these bull-rushes for
mats, they are cut when very green, and then they go through the
process of steaming, after bleaching by the sun; they are colored
before they are woven. They are generally made about six or eight feet
long and about four feet wide.] After breakfast in the morning they are
off again in the big canoes.
My father's favorite winter quarters were somewhere above Big Rapids on
Muskegon River. He hunted and trapped there all winter and made sugar.
A very mysterious event happened to my brother William while my folks
were making sugar there. One beautiful morning after the snow had
entirely disappeared in the woods, my brother William, then at the age
of about eight or nine years, was shooting around with his little bow
and arrows among the sugar trees, but that day he never came home. At
sundown, our parents were beginning to feel very uneasy about their
little boy, and yet they thought he must have gone to some neighboring
sugar bush, as there were quite a number of families also making sugar
in the vicinity. Early in the morning, my father went to all the
neighboring sugar camps, but William was nowhere to be found. So at
once a search was instituted. Men and boys were out in search for the
boy, calling and shooting their guns far and near, but not a trace of
him anywhere could be found. Our parents were almost distracted with
anxiety and fear about their boy, and they continued the search three
days in vain. On the fourth day, one of our cousins, whose name was
Oge-maw-we-ne-ne, came to a very deep gully between two hills. He went
up to the top of the highest hill in order to be heard a long distance.
When he reached the top, he began to halloo as loud as he could,
calling the child by name, Pe-taw-on-e-quot. At the end of his shouting
he thought he heard some one responding to his call, "Wau?" This word
is one of the interrogatives in the Indian language, and is equivalent
to "what" in the English language. He listened a few minutes, and again
he called as before, and again heard distinctly the same response,
"Wau?" It came from above, right over his head, and as he looked
upwards he saw the boy, almost at the top of a tree, standing on a
small limb in a very dangerous situation. He said, "Hello, what are you
doing up there? Can't you come down?" "Yes, I can," was the answer; "I
came up here to find out where I am, and which way is our sugar camp."
"Come down, then; I will show you which way is your home." After he
came down from the tree, our cousin offered him food, but the child
would not touch a morsel, saying that, he was not hungry as he had
eaten only a little while ago. "Ah, you have been fed then. Who fed
you? We have been looking for you now over three days." The boy
replied, "I had every thing that I wanted to eat in the great festival
of the Wa-me-te-go-zhe-wog." which is "the white people." "Where are
they now?" asked our cousin. "That is just what I would like to know,
too," said the boy; "I had just come out of their nice house between
the two hills, and as I looked back after I came out of their door I
saw no more of their house, and heard no more of them nor their music."
Our cousin again questioned the boy, "How did you come to find these
Wa-me-te-go-zhe-wog here?" And little William replied, "Those Wa-me-te-
go-zhe-wog came to our sugar camp and invited me to go with them, but I
thought it was very close by. I thought we walked only just a few steps
to come to their door." Our cousin believed it was some supernatural
event and hastened to take the boy to his anxious parents. Again and
again little William told the same story when interrogated by any
person, and it is firmly believed by all our family and friends that he
was cherished and fed three days in succession by angelic beings.
When he was about twelve or thirteen years of age the Protestant
Mission School started at Mackinac Island, and my father thought best
to put him to that school. After being there less than a year, he was
going around with his teachers, acting as interpreter among the Indian
camps at the Island of Mackinac. I was perfectly astonished to see how
quick he had acquired the English language. After the mission broke up
at the island, about the time the Catholic mission was established at
Little Traverse, William came home and stayed with us for about two
years, when he was again taken by Bishop Reese with his little sister,
a very lovely girl, whom the white people call Auntie Margaret, or
Queen of the Ottawas. They were taken down to Cincinnati, Ohio, where
they were put into higher schools, and there my brother attained the
highest degree of education, or graduation as it is called.
From thence he was taken across the ocean to the city of Rome, Italy,
to study for the priesthood, leaving his little sister in Cincinnati.
It is related that he was a very eloquent and powerful orator, and was
considered a very promising man by the people of the city of Rome, and
received great attention from the noble families, on account of his
wisdom and talent and his being a native American; and yet he had a
much lighter complexion than his cousin Aug Hamlin, who was also taken
over there and represented as half French.
While he was at Rome, the proposition arose in this country to buy out
the Michigan Indians by the Government of the United States, and he
wrote to his people at Arbor Croche and to Little Traverse on this very
subject, advising them not to sell out nor make any contract with the
United States Government, but to hold on until he could return to
America, when he would endeavor to aid them in making out the contract
or treaty with the United States. Never to give up, not even if they
should be threatened with annihilation or to be driven away at the
point of the bayonet from their native soil. I wish I could produce
some of this correspondence, but only one letter from him can now be
found, which is here given:
ROME, April 17, 1833
MY DEAR SISTER:
It is a long time since I wrote you a few lines. I would write oftener
if the time would permit, but I have very few leisure moments. However,
as we have a holiday to-day, I determine to write a line or two. I have
to attend to my studies from morning till sunset. I thank you very much
for your kind letter which I received some time ago by politeness of
Rev. Mr. Seajean. My dearest sister, you may have felt lost after I
left you; you must consider who loves you with all the affection of
parents. What can we return to those who have done us much good, but
humble prayers for them that the Almighty may reward them for the
benefit they have done in this poor mortal world. I was very happy when
informed by Father Mullen that you had received six premiums at the
examination; nothing else would more impress my heart than to hear of
the success of your scholastic studies. I entreat you, dearest sister,
to learn what is good and to despise the evil, and offer your prayers
to the Almighty God and rely on Him alone, and by His blessing you may
continue to improve your time well. You can have no idea how the people
here are devoted to the Virgin Mary. At every corner of the streets
there is the image of her, and some of these have lights burning day
and night. I think of you very often: perhaps I shall never have the
pleasure of seeing you again. I have been unwell ever since I came to
this country. However, I am yet able to attend my school and studies. I
hope I will not be worse, so that I may be unable to follow my
intention.
There are really fine things to be seen in Rome. On the feast of SS.
Sebastian and Fabian we visited the Catacombs, two or three miles out
of the city, where is a church dedicated to those saints, which I have
already mentioned in previous letters. Perhaps our countrymen would not
believe that there was such a place as that place which I saw myself
with my own naked eyes. We entered in with lights and saw the scene
before us. As soon as we entered we saw coffins on the top of each
other, in one of which we saw some of the remains. The cave runs in
every direction, sometimes is ascended by steps, and sometimes runs
deeper, and one would be very easily lost in it. There are some large
places and a chapel; I am told by the students that the chapel is where
Pope Gregory was accustomed to say mass. I assure you it would excite
any human heart to behold the place where the ancient Christians were
concealed under the earth from the persecution of the anti-christians.
Indeed they were concealed by the power of God. They sought Jesus and
Him alone they loved.
It is the custom of the College of the Propaganda, on the feast of
Epiphany each year, that the students should deliver a discourse in
their own respective languages. This year there were thirty-one
different languages delivered by the students, so you may judge what
kind of a college this is. At present it is quite full; there are
ninety-three, of which thirteen are from the United States.
On Easter Sunday the Holy Father celebrated mass in the church of St.
Peter. It is very seldom that his holiness is seen personally
celebrating mass in public except on great festivals. The church was
crowded with spectators, both citizens of Rome and foreigners. On the
front part of the church there was an elevated place beautifully
ornamented. After the solemn ceremonies the Holy Father went up and
gave his paternal benediction to the people. There is a large square
before St. Peter's, and it was crowded so that it was impossible to
kneel down to receive the benediction.
This week we are quite merry; we seem to employ our minds on the
merriment which is always displayed amongst us on such occasions. Our
secretary is now Cardinal, and to-morrow he will be crowned with the
dignity of the Cardinal. Our college has been illuminated these two
evenings. The congregational halls of the Propaganda were opened on
this occasion. The new Cardinal then received all the compliments of
the Cardinals, Bishops, Prelates, Ambassadors, Princes, and other
distinguished dignities. There are two large beautiful rooms, in one of
which the new Cardinal was seated and received all those who came to
pay him compliments. The visitors all came through the same passage,
and there was a man posted in each room who received them and cried out
to others that such man was coming, and so on through all those that
were placed for the purpose, and one called the Cardinal gentleman
introduced them to the new Cardinal. If there were such a thing in
America it would be quite a novelty.
It is time for me to close, and I hope you will write me sometimes. My
respects to the Sisters and Father Mullen. Farewell, dear sister; pray
for your Superior and for me.
I remain your most affectionate brother,
WILLIAM MACCATEBINESSI.
After his death, some one at Cincinnati wrote the following, to be
repeated before a large audience in that city by his little sister
Margaret, who was there at school. The poetry was impressively recited
and listened to by many people with wet eyes. This gifted child of
nature died June 25, 1833.
The morning breaks; see how the glorious sun,
Slow wheeling from the east, new lustre sheds
O'er the soft clime of Italy. The flower
That kept its perfume in the dewy night,
Now breathes it forth again. Hill, vale and grove,
Clad in rich verdure, bloom, and from the rocks
The joyous waters leap. O! meet it is
That thou, imperial Rome, should lift thy head,
Decked with the triple crown, where cloudless skies
And lands rejoicing in the summer sun,
Rich blessings yield.
But there is grief to-day.
A voice is heard within thy marble walls,
A voice lamenting for the youthful dead;
For o'er the relics of her forest boy
The mother of dead Empires weeps. And lo!
Clad in white robes the long procession moves;
Youths throng around the bier, and high in front,
Star of our hope, the glorious cross is reared,
Triumphant sign. The low, sweet voice of prayer,
Flowing spontaneous from the spirit's depths,
Pours its rich tones; and now the requiem swells,
Now dies upon the ear.
But there is one [Footnote: His cousin Hamlin.]
Who stands beside my brother's grave, and tho' no tear
Dims his dark eye, yet does his spirit weep.
With beating heart he gazes on the spot
Where his young comrade shall forever rest.
For they together left their forest home,
Led by Father Reese, who to their fathers preached
Glad tiding of great joy; the holy man my brother,
Who sleeps beneath the soil the Father Reese's labors blessed.
How must the spirit mourn, the bosom heave,
Of that lone Indian boy! No tongue can speak
The accents of his tribe, and as he bends
In melancholy mood above the dead,
Imagination clothes his tearful thoughts
In rude but plaintive cadences.
Soft be my brother's sleep!
At nature's call the cypress here shall wave,
The wailing winds lament above the grave,
The dewy night shall weep.
And he thou leavest forlorn,
Oh, he shall come to shade my brother's grave with moss,
To plant what thou didst love--the mystic cross,
To hope, to pray, to mourn.
No marble here shall rise;
But o'er thy grave he'll teach the forest tree
To lift its glorious head and point to thee,
Rejoicing in the skies.
And when it feels the breeze,
I'll think thy spirit wakes that gentle sound
Such as our fathers thought when all around
Shook the old forest leaves.
Dost thou forget the hour, my brother,
When first we heard the Christian's hope revealed,
When fearless warriors felt their bosoms yield
Beneath Almighty power?
Then truths came o'er us fast,
Whilst on the mound the missionary stood
And thro' the list'ning silence of the wood
His words like spirits passed.
And oh, hadst thou been spared,
We two had gone to bless our fathers' land,
To spread rich stores around, and hand in hand
Each holy labor shared.
But here the relics of my brother lie,
Where nature's flowers shall bloom o'er nature's child,
Where ruins stretch, and classic art has piled
Her monuments on high.
Sleep on, my brother, sleep peaceful here
The traveler from thy land will claim this spot,
And give to thee what kingly tombs have not--
The tribute of a tear with me, my brother.
He died almost the very day when he was to be ordained a priest. He
received a long visit from his cousin Hamlin that evening, and they sat
late in the night, talking on various subjects, and particularly on
American matters and his ordination. My brother was perfectly well and
robust at that time, and full of lively spirits. He told his cousin
that night, that if he ever set his foot again on American soil, his
people, the Ottawas and Chippewas of Michigan, should always remain
where they were. The United States would never be able to compel them
to go west of the Mississippi, for he knew the way to prevent them from
being driven off from their native land. He also told his cousin that
as soon as he was ordained and relieved from Rome, he would at once
start for America, and go right straight to Washington to see the
President of the United States, in order to hold conference with him on
the subject of his people and their lands. There was a great
preparation for the occasion of his ordination. A great ceremony was to
be in St. Peter's Church, because a native American Indian, son of the
chief of the Ottawa tribe of Indians, a prince of the forests of
Michigan, was to be ordained a priest, which had never before happened
since the discovery of the Aborigines in America. In the morning, at
the breakfast table, my brother William did not appear, and every one
was surprised not to see him at the table. After breakfast, a messenger
was sent to his room. He soon returned with the shocking news that he
was dead. Then the authorities of the college arose and rushed to the
scene, and there they found him on the floor, lying in his own blood.
When Hamlin, his cousin heard of it, he too rushed to the room; and
after his cousin's body was taken out, wrapped up in a cloth, he went
in, and saw at once enough to tell him that it was the work of the
assassin.
When the news reached to Little Traverse, now Harbor Springs, all the
country of Arbor Croche was enveloped in deep mourning, and a great
lamentation took place among the Ottawas and Chippewas in this country
with the expression, "All our hope is gone." Many people came to our
dwelling to learn full particulars of my brother's death, and to
console and mourn with his father in his great bereavement.
No motive for the assassination has ever been developed, and it remains
to this day a mystery. It was related that there was no known enemy in
the institution previous to his death; but he was much thought of and
beloved by every one in the college. It was an honor to be with him and
to converse with him, as it is related that his conversation was always
most noble and instructive. It was even considered a great honor to sit
by him at the tables; as it is related that the students of the college
used to have a strife amongst themselves who should be the first to sit
by him. There were several American students at Rome at that time, and
it was claimed by the Italians that my brother's death came through
some of the American students from a secret plot originating in this
country to remove this Indian youth who had attained the highest
pinnacle of science and who had become their equal in wisdom, and in
all the important questions of the day, both in temporal and spiritual
matters. He was slain, it has been said, because it was found out that
he was counseling his people on the subject of their lands and their
treaties with the Government of the United States. His death deprived
the Ottawa and Chippewa Indians of a wise counselor and adviser, one of
their own native countrymen; but it seems that it would be impossible
for the American people in this Christian land to make such a wicked
conspiracy against this poor son of the forest who had become as wise
as any of them and a great statesman for his country. Yet it might be
possible, for we have learned that we cannot always trust the American
people as to their integrity and stability in well doing with us.
It is said the stains of my brother's blood can be seen to this day in
Rome, as the room has been kept as a memorial, and is shown to
travelers from this country. His statue in full size can also be seen
there, which is said to be a perfect image of him. His trunk containing
his books and clothing was sent from Rome to this country, and it came
all right until it reached Detroit. There it was lost, or exchanged for
another, which was sent to Little Traverse. It was sent back with a
request to forward the right one, but that was the end of it, and no
explanation was ever received.
Soon after the death of my brother William, my sister Margaret left
Cincinnati, Ohio, and came to Detroit, Mich., where she was employed as
teacher of the orphan children at a Catholic institution. She left
Detroit about 1835, and came to Little Traverse, where she at once
began lo teach the Indian children for the Catholic mission. She has
ever since been very useful to her people, but is now a decrepit old
lady and sometimes goes by the name of Aunty Margaret, or Queen of the
Ottawas. She is constantly employed in making Indian curiosities--
wearing out her fingers and eyes to make her living and keep her home.
Like many others of her race, she has been made the victim of fraud and
extortion. Some years ago a white man came to the Indian country and
committed many crimes, for some of which he is now in prison. Soon
after he came here, this wicked man pretended he was gored by an ox--
although there were no marks of violence--which he claimed belonged to
Mr. Boyd, Aunty Margaret's husband, and he therefore sued Mr. Boyd for
damages for several hundred dollars; and although the ox which he
claimed had injured him did not belong to Mr. Boyd, and there was no
eye witness in the case, yet he obtained judgment for damages against
him, and a mortgage had to be given on the land which the Government
had given her. The Indian's oath and evidence are not regarded in this
country, and he stands a very poor chance before the law. Although they
are citizens of the State, they are continually being taken advantage
of by the attorneys of the land; they are continually being robbed and
cheated out of their property, and they can obtain no protection nor
redress whatever.
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