A TRUE STORY OF THE PIONEER DAYS IN WISCONSIN OF MILTON SOUTHWICK'S FAMILY

The scene was in the country, in Jefferson County, on the west side of Koshkonong where lived Milton Southwick upon one of the most lovely spots the sun ever shone upon. Just across the lake, which is four miles wide and twelve miles long, is Blackhawk Island, being so named from the Indian Chief, Blackhawk, having been captured there during the Blackhawk war. At the time of this story it was covered with a heavy growth of maple, ash, oak, and basswood timber, over the tops of which from the house could be seen by little city of Fort Atkinson, its church spires glistening in the sun-light, making a picture that could not fail to please every lover of nature.

The location of the house was about sixty rods from the waters edge, the higher land which sloped gently toward the lake. On either farm north and south, a fine grove belonging to neighbors in which the Indians who came down from the agencies to fish and hunt, both summer and winter, pitched their tents and made their homes, in numbers, sometimes a hundred and sometimes three or four hundred. For several years they and gave no trouble or annoyance to the settlers except as the squaws traveled from one place to another on their begging tours.

The old Chief Pigeon's squaw was a short, stocky built woman, and the load she could carry off on her back would make a donkey groan. I remember one day she came with several others to the corn field where we were husking corn, and having the corners of her blanket tied together, she put it head so that it made a great basket on her back, and father filled it with corn while she was down on one knee, and just as she was straining and had begun to raise up father dropped a large pumpkin on-the top and over she tumbled to the great delight of all the rest of the redskins and ourselves as well, making us all laugh until we staggered. But after gathering up the corn and getting straightened up she insisted on having the pumpkin replaced which was done and she staggered off with it all, with her kirchers looking as though they would break. There were many incidents which I still remember that were very interesting to us children. One was upon the death of an Indian boy. The Indians held a pow-wow which we could plainly hear from our house; the next day he was buried with all his hunting and fishing implements, the father than fasted ten days not touching any food, and at the end of the fast he looked so emaciated that we thought he might be the next subject for a powwow. He said the reason he fasted ten days was that it took ten days for the boy to get to the happy hunting ground, and then he could eat.

The low lands around the lake were always flooded in the spring of the year, and when warm weather set in, fish from the lake sought the shallow water and usually were very numerous and the ducks came in swarms, so that Indians and whites, as well, had great sport in catching the fish and shooting the ducks. One winter, or in the early spring, there came down from the Potewatrina agency an old chief by the name of Yellow Thunder with a warm of his tribe, and one day while we were out wading the marshes with spears with which we caught the fish, such a cry was set up by the Indians, "Yellow Thunder, Yellow Thunder, Yellow Thunder" and a dozen braves were all running together in the same direction at the same time throwing their spears at the same object, which proved to be a pickerel about four feet long and by reason of its immense size they were crying "Yellow Thunder," meaning that it was the chief of fish tribe, and the brave who had succeeded in capturing him seemed very proud indeed.

The Indian Village was a great attraction for the young people where they would gather in crowds on Sunday and engage in sports and games with the Indians. I remember one Sunday there were a number of the young men of the community gathered, some were in the chiefs tent playing cards, others outside shooting the bows and arrows with the Indians. My brother Eli was standing off about fifty feet holding up his hands with his fingers spread out as far as possible while a young Indian about fourteen years old was shooting his arrow between them. Suddenly the old chief came rushing out of his tent snatching the bow and arrows out of the young Indians hand, motioned to Eli to hold up his hand that he might shoot. The boy jumped behind the chief and before the chief had let the arrow go cried to Eli, "No, No. Shoot you here," pointing to the center of his hand. At this the chief turned on the boy with a big club which he picked up on the ground, one of the white boys started for the chief and received the arrow shot in the ankle, whereupon two others, white boys, caught the old fellow by the throat and choked him until he was nearly black in the face. The white boys had beaten him at the game of cards in the tent which was the cause of his rage. The chief Pigeon had a son about two or three years my senior, with whom I played many times. He was a fine strong looking boy as straight as an arrow, teeth like pearl that I loved to look at when he laughed for they were as even as though made to order. We ran many races together but he nearly always came out the winner. My brother Charles two years older and I spent a great portion of our leisure time at the Indian Village and learned their customs and understood their habits much better than the older white people did. We had never been suspicious of their intentions until one morning we went to the barn to hitch up the horses for father and mother who were going to church, when two squaws ran out of the barn and off toward their village. We boys did not like that as we had never caught any of them sneaking around the premises before, so we told father that there was something up with the Indians, but he did not think so and went on to church about one mile distant. But our boyish curiosity was aroused and we were determined to find out. By going straight down toward the lake from our house and getting down into the fence corners we could look around the end of the timber between our house and the Indian village and see just what was going on.

We had not long to wait for soon a squaw came out of one of the tents with a long pole to which was attached a red flag. She stood out in the field a few minutes by the pole and then waving it back and forth a few times, when the whole band of redskins started towards our house. We ran to our house with all our might, locked the doors with our sister Emeline started across the fields to one of the neighbors. When we were about a half mile from the house, we could see the Indians running around it. This was about 10:00 in the morning. We stayed at the neighbors until 1:00 in the afternoon and then returned by the road, stopping in a little grove about sixty rods from the house to reconnoiter. We lay there sometime watching before venturing up but not seeing anyone moving we finally mustered courage to approach the house, to find the doors broken down and the windows smashed. My mother had told sister Emeline to have dinner ready when they came home. Looking up to see what time it was by my older brother's watch which hung on the wall, it was gone and as we began to look around we found all the table linen, knives, and forks, shawls, and bedding, the girl's hats; in fact, the house was stripped of everything they could get away with. Not long after my brother Eli arrived and soon father and mother. This was in the fall of the year and the oak leaves had blown up in great heaps around the fence in the grove.

Father and Eli went down and sat on the fence watching when two squaws came running through the timber, one stopped and poked in a pile of leaves. Father jumped off the fence and ran to them charging them with having stolen the goods, but they stoutly denied saying, "We sleep in bush all day." "Pigeon," father said, "where is Pigeon?" "Town, we go get him," and off they ran. Going over where they poked in the leaves father found two loaves of bread. Following down along the fence toward the lake there was a large pile of leaves blown together. Wading through them father and Eli ran on three large packes of goods tied up in shawls and table cloths. Taking a bundle each, they carried them to the village charging them with the theft. My brother Charles got onto one of the horses and aroused the neighbors who came that evening with pitchforks, tomahawks, axes, knives, rifles, and shot-guns thinking to have a pitched battle and exterminate the Indians. But father said, "No, you must not molest them if they will return all the things and leave the country never to return, but they thwarted in their intentions by a high wind which made it too dangerous to venture out on the lake with canoes.

While the men were crowding around the chief's tent which was rolled up at the bottom and the old chief lay with his head on a small box, an old blacksmith pulled up his gun and father said, "What are you going to do?" "I'm going to shoot the old devil, I'd as soon shoot him as I would a skunk," but father said, "No," and he cooled off. The Indians returned nearly everything except a little pocketbook with three dollars and a gold pen. The white boys took all the Indian canoes and carried them and hid them in our cornfield. The next day an old lame Indian came up and said they had lost their canoes and could not get away. My older brother told him to bring back the money and the gold pen and he would find his canoes. "You got my canoes," said the Indian and then added, you bring my canoes and I go sell rat skins and buy some money and come and pay you." My brother then hauled the canoes down to the village and the next day they were all gone, when father went down to the camp but a small dog had been left behind which seemed very glad to have found someone to take him in and coming home with father seemed perfectly happy with us. For two years no Indians put in an appearance in that part of the country, but one afternoon father and I were out a few rods from the house grinding an axe as he was going to the timber to cut wood, when I saw old chief Pigeon, his brother, son, and two squaws standing in front of the house with all the war paint on them, feathers in their hair, tomahawks, knives, bows, and bundles of arrows, on each of their backs, looking as though they had come prepared for a fight sure enough. I tried to persuade father not to go to the timber until they left, but he seemed co think it weak and foolish to think of their doing any harm and went his way to the woods paying no attention to them. I was so well acquainted with them, especially the young Indian with whom I had spent many happy hours in play and knew they could speak fairly good English, but when I accosted them in English, they answered in a surly grunt, I then tried my skill by the use of the Indian language I had acquired in my association with young Pigeon years before, with no better result and with the same grunt for an answer. Seeing they were determined to give us to understand that they did not come to talk, made me more suspicious than ever. They stood in line and kept eyeing my mother and sister Emeline and hardly move for fifteen or twenty minutes; finally, the chief and brother started off on father's trail and my heart came up in my mouth for I believed that they intended to make way with him, but I did not dare to leave mother and Emeline alone with the two squaws and the young Indian, so stayed to see if my services should be needed in a squabble with them.

Mother was standing in the open door and the old squaw, Mrs. Pigeon, kept siding up towards her when the blanket which the squaw had up around her shoulders and neck fell back a little, revealing the handle of a large dirk knife. I said to mother, "You had better get in the house, don't you see that knife at the back of her neck?" Mother then went in and closed the door and the old squaw turned to the boy and the other squaw and chattered like magpies but I did not understand a word they said, but I thought they were pleased that they had frightened us.

After standing around some minutes longer, they started off on father's trail. My young heart trembled for the safety of my father as it appeared evident to me that they were after his scalp. Father had felled a tree cut in on one side to take off the first cut and as he turned to cut the other side the two squaws and the young Indian stood almost at his elbows with bow and arrows in their hands. Father asked them what they wanted, but got no answer. Just then the little dog that had been with us for two years jumped upon the other log and father said, "If you want your dog, there he is, take him." At that the young Indian started to draw his bow as if to shoot father, but father was too quick for him and jumped for him with the axe. At this they turned and ran, father following them with the axe until he saw them enter their wigwam when he turned and left them.

That evening there was to be some sort of a meeting at our school out one mile distant which father and mother desired to attend, but rather suspicious that the Indians might return, so leaving the place in charge of my brother Eli, Charley, my sister Matilda and myself, they went to the meeting. My brother Eli said to father, "If the Indians come back tonight, I shall shoot them on sight," but father said, "don't for anything in the world do anything like that unless they attack you, then of course you must defend yourselves.'' The highway came to an end about twenty rods south of our house and was fenced off and a large high gate had been put in by the neighbors living on the other side. The Indians were camped beyond the gate in the timber. It was a bright moonlight evening and one could see the gate almost as plainly as daylight. We had prepared for war by pitchfork, axe, shot gun, and rifle set up in the corner of the room. The rifle had its usual load but the shot gun contained four or five bullets so we felt we could give them a pretty warm reception. Eli was playing his violin, but I was looking out of the window with my eyes glued to that gate over which I knew they would climb in coming from their tent to the house.

At about eight o'clock, sure enough there they were climbing over the gate. I said, "There they come climbing over the gate now." Eli dropped his violin, seizing the rifle and Charley the shot gun while Matilda stood ready with the pitchfork and axe should they attack us. As they came against the door which was locked, Eli asked them what they wanted and they replied, "We want to come in." They had found their tongue and could talk. Eli told them they could not come in and to leave the premises at once, but they still cried, "We want to come in."

Just then the old chief Pigeon stuck his face up to the window and Eli pulled his gun up to shoot, but before he could do so as quick as a flash, Matilda grabbed hold of the gun saying, "Don't do it." "Father told us not to unless they made the attack." My brother then stepped towards the door trying all the time to persuade them to leave, but all in vain. Again the chief stuck his face to the window, again Eli threw his gun up, but Matilda would not let him shoot. Eli then said to her, "What shall we do, they are trying to come in." Again he tried to persuade them to leave. The stair door opened toward the front door and Eli told Charley and I to stand on the bottom steps pulling the door to, leaving it unfastened so that in case the Indians attacked we could reach the guns immediately. As we stood there trembling, Eli was still trying to persuade them to leave when they said, “No, we want to come in and we will come in," and they went back a few steps all their might against the door breaking it down and came tumbling in one over the other. They finally got on the door. Eli asked, "Well, what do you want?", expecting trouble to begin at once, having his hand on the gun just inside the door, but they answered "we want some morrasses" (meaning molasses) as we were making sorghum at the time. My sister gave them a large bowl each. After eating that, "Want some for squaw," said Pigeon. Matilda gave gallon pail and off they started. Eli said, "Well Matilda if you are not going to let me shoot we must get out of here as soon as possible for they will be hack in a few minutes. He nailed up the door, climbed out of the windows, and started for the school house to inform the neighbors who at once started out for our house, but the young people made so much the Indians had pulled up and fled across the lake in their canoes, and no more Indians were ever seen in that country.

Many amusing incidents which I have not mentioned occurred. One which I will add. The Indians had a big fat brindle dog and one day they killed him and invited a lot of the white boys to come down and eat barbequed dog. A lot of the older boys and men went. They had taken a little and made soup which they passed around. Some of the boys ate some, but some of them could not stomach it. The Indians had the dog roasted and hung by the neck in the middle of the tent, and then each armed with a long knife, began to jump and kick and sing the war dance tune. Yeng, Yeng, Yeng, Hay yah, all the time jumping and whirling until they came to a certain spot, and then all in time each would slash off a piece from the dog, until he was pretty well picked and they were about exhausted, but it furnished an entertainment for the white boys.


Written for my grandsons, Maurice and
Franklin Findlay.


F. B. Southwick