THE INDIAN RAID OF '55 - PART II

The story of the raid on the Maxwell cabin continues.  When we left Ambrose Call and Levi Maxwell last week, their Native American visitors were busy cooking mush for their dinner, paying no attention to what was going on around them.  Meanwhile, the two men had positioned themselves in such a way to block the Indians from accessing their guns as they waited for back up.  

        They made a rush for their guns but did not get them.  Their probable action, when our reinforcement came, had been anticipated.  We stood in front of the guns, with our revolvers in our hands, and ordered them back.  What the result might have been had not Zahlten and Hackman appeared in the doorway at that moment, with their cocked guns in their hands, will never be known; but as it was the Indians were completely cowed.  These two old Prussian soldiers, Hackman and Zahlten, ran all the way from my brother’s cabin to our assistance, and arrived just in time.  The two Browns and Cummins were not far behind them.

        The Indians made no attempt to secure their guns by force but their spokesman, who two hours before had twice drawn his tomahawk from his belt, approached, and with the palms of his hands turned upward pointed towards his gun.  I threw his blanket back from his shoulders, uncovering a number of stolen articles, which he took out and reached towards me.  I motioned him to lay them on the floor, thinking that I might have other uses for my hands, and he did so.  He then took off his blanket to show me he had nothing more concealed, after which I gave him his gun, first removing the caps, and told him to “puckachee,” which he did, making the best possible time to the woods.  The next to approach was the sullen fellow who just missed getting the bag of meal.

        He also was made to take off his blanket and pile his stolen articles on the floor, after which he took to the woods as soon as an opportunity was given him.  Each in turn did the same.  Maxwell missed nothing from the house their mess of pottage being left untouched.  It was the first time I had ever known an Indian who did not want to eat.

        Soon after the last one had gone W. G. Clark came to the cabin with his long rifle on his shoulder.  He was known to be an old frontiersman and fighter.  He was a brother of Mrs. Hackman, who recently wrote an interesting article concerning the very first settlers, published in the Advance.  Clarke told us the Indians had pitched their tepees near his cabin and he came over to talk with us concerning the advisability of trying to drive them away.  We thought the time opportune.  Eleven young braves, probably the flower of the band, had been completely cowed.  It might be said whipped; figuratively speaking, we had them on the run, and we started at once.

        Taking their trail across the river at the Indian ford and through the timber to hear the old Mann homestead, we found their village.  It fell to my lot to be spokesman.  The chief’s tepee stood near the center and was a very large one.  We walked rapidly to it and went in without ceremony.  The chief was a large man past middle age, who seemed to be lame, having one foot bandaged with rags.  I accosted him roughly and seizing his tent gave it a hard jerk to give emphasis to my words and show him what I wanted, telling him to “puckachee.”  He seemed very much frightened but after a few moments’ hesitation explained that a part of his young men had gone after elk, pointing in a southeasterly direction, and would not be back until after dark; that the next morning at sunrise they would pull down the tepees and “puckachee Dakota.”  He made a circular motion with his arm, showing that he would go around the settlement, thence north and thence west.  He watched us with considerable interest while we discussed his proposition and seemed relieved when I nodded my head in assent and took his hand.  He then went outside and in a loud voice ordered the squaws to gather wood and brush and make racks on which to jerk their meat.  He seemed to take it for granted that the hunters would get game, which they did, bringing in several elk, as we learned from Clark and Cummins, who saw them return.

        They worked all night stripping and curing their elk venison and before daylight took down their tepees, and by the time the sun was a half hour high their village had disappeared.  They took the route indicated by Inkpadutah, keeping clear of the settlement, crossing the river below the mouth of Buffalo Fork and then went west.

        But few eyes were closed in sleep during the night before their departure and their every motion was watched, but great as was our anxiety we did not fully realize our danger or the danger the settlement has passed through.  Of course Mr. Maxwell and I knew we had passed through a terrible ordeal and those who came to our relief knew they had taken their lives in their hands by so doing, and what must have been Mrs. Maxwell’s feeling after hearing the threat of the leader to murder herself and the babes, with eleven against two to carry out this threat, mothers can imagine.

        As I have stated, we sent John Brown to tell my brother Asa and the boys of our trouble, but they were away looking after their cattle and knew nothing of it until it was over.  The only persons who came from his place were Zahlten and Hackman, the others coming from Mr. Brown’s, but we had enough help as the sequel proved.  We also had enough to frighten old Inkpadutah into promising, without hesitation, every demand made of him.  Those composing our party were as follows:  August Zahlten, Christian Hackman, Jacob Cummins, Alexander Brown, Robert Brown, W. G. Clark, Levi Maxwell and myself. 

        The old cabin, which is still on the Fry place, just a mile east of Alexander Brown’s, is where the trouble occurred.  Mrs. Maxwell ran all the way to Brown’s, carrying her little boy, eighteen months old, her little girl seven years old running beside her.

        John Brown with a number of others of those who participated with us had passed over the dark river into the unknown beyond.  He was a younger brother of Alexander, and was the courier who ran his horse to my brother’s cabin after help.  Christian Hackman and W. G. Clark are also dead.  Jacob Cummins and Robert Brown have passed out of sight.  Levi Maxwell was alive a short time since and living in the southern part of this state.  August Zahlten, Alexander Brown and myself only remain.

        I have said the people of our settlement did not fully realize the imminent danger they passed through.  They did not know what blood-thirsty, villainous murderers these Indians were.  Inkpadutah had not established his reputation as the fiend incarnate he proved himself to be a year later.  This was the first time and the only time he and his band were ever successfully resisted.  Inkpadutah was a brother of Sidominadotah, usually known as Chief Two Fingers, who was killed by the Indian trader Lott, in January or February 1854, with his family, and thrust under the ice in “Bloody Run,” which empties into the Des Moines river in Humboldt county near Livermore.  Upon the death of Sidominadotah the mantle of authority fell upon the shoulders of his brother Inkpadutah.

_____

Following the publication of these articles regarding the Indian Raid of 1855, Mrs. Levi Maxwell took the time to write to Mr. Call.  The Upper Des Moines Republican printed this report:

A Letter From Mrs. Maxwell

        Ambrose A. Call has received a letter from Mrs. Levi Maxwell acknowledging receipt of the Upper Des Moines Republican containing the first of the series of articles on Inkpadutah’s raid on the settlement in 1855, with which she is well pleased.  The Maxwells have prospered and are enjoying in their old age the fruits of an exemplary life.  They have plenty of this world’s goods to satisfy all their wants and have reared a family of which they may well feel proud.  “Dicy,” the little girl seven years of age at the time of the raid, has a home in California, and Henry, the boy of seventeen months whom his mother carried through the woods to Brown’s cabin is living in Montana.  The old people pass their summers in Iowa and their winters visiting their children in a warmer climate.  Mrs. Maxwell writes that she will send their photos within a few days, but it will be impossible to get them in time to use them.

Next week we will read in more depth of Call's visit to Inkpadutah while camped near the Call's Grove settlement as we read the first of the articles entitled, "Record of a Vagabond Tribe - Inkpadutah and His Band in the Fifties."

Until next time,

Jean, a/k/a Kossuth County History Buff

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