EARLY-DAY IRVINGTON - Part II

We continue with our story about the building of the fort in Irvington for protection from the Indians following the Spirit Lake Massacre.

Bride Remains as Cook.

But to return to our little settlement, all the women and children had been sent with the caravan excepting the bride and her sister, who concluded to take their chances of being killed by the Indians, and were installed as chief cooks for the garrison, remaining so to the end of the war.  Early in the morning of the same day that the caravan started, we also dispatched two men on horseback to Webster City, to secure arms and ammunition and they were instructed to hire a team to bring at once such as could be purchased.

The day was a very busy one, and by night we had our fort about half completed, and the scouts who had patrolled the prairie north and west reported no Indians in sight.

On one corner of the cross streets was a two-story house made of hewn logs, which was used as headquarters and a boarding house.  There was also a house on the other three corners of the same cross streets, and in these four houses we all gathered for the night, with instructions in case of an attack by the Indians to flee to headquarters.  A guard was also selected to patrol the garrison during the night.

From 1896 Plat of Kossuth County - 
"Old" Irvington was located directly
north of Irvington Station

Troublesome Visitor Ducked.

We had some fun along with our work, and during one morning one incident occurred which afforded much amusement for all but the one most concerned.  I had been installed as foreman of the crew who were to run the mill, and we were well at work sawing plank when a stalwart young man came among us, declaring that we were a set of damned fools to think we could fight Indians, and that he had no doubt but the Indians were on the war path; that they were likely to make a raid on the town any night, and murder all who remained, and he for one was not going to stay.

We told him, all right, to leave, but he persisted in trying to convince us of our folly and danger in language which we resented.  Finally, in jest more than anything else, I said to him, “You get out of here, or we’ll chuck you in the river,” which was but a few rods from the mill.  He immediately jerked off his coat, threw it on the ground, and defied the whole crowd.  As he turned to reply to something said by one of the boys I leaped on his back, throwing my arms around both of his, and, clasping my hands tightly in front of him, sang out, “Come on boys, let’s chuck him in.”  It was no quicker said than done, and the whole crew made a rush, grabbed him by the arms and legs, and started for the river.

Victim Departs With Threat.

He was still defiant, and we lowered him feet first into the water up to his knees.  Still defiant, we dropped him in to his thighs, and gave him another chance to retract, but he became sullen, and would make no promises.  We then chucked him in up to his shoulders, with the admonition if he did not promise to get out at once the next chuck would be final.  This subdued him, and he said he had changed his mind, and if we would let him out he would go home, and inform his people of the situation and return to help us.

Guns and Ammunition Arrive.

At the end of the second day we had the wall of our fort all erected, and the messengers sent out to secure arms and ammunition had returned, closely followed by a team bringing about forty shotguns and rifles, with powder and shot, and lead for making bullets.  Percussion caps had come into use, but the guns were muzzle-loaded, and each charge of powder and shot had to be rammed in.

The men bringing the ammunition had met the caravan early in the morning, and heard their heartrending stories, but as they also had met the Californian on his return from Johnson’s Point they learned from him the true situation.

Unusual Sound Alarms Settlers.

About eight o’clock that evening an incident occurred which gave us a chance to show our bravery as Indian fighters.  While we were all assembled at headquarters, playing cards, swapping lies, and having a general good time, a mournful sound came from the barn which was located a few rods back of the house.  It sounded as though the cattle were lowing, either in pain or fear, and the sound was repeated at short intervals.  The immediate conclusion was that the Indians were torturing the cattle, causing them to make the mournful sound, for the purpose of drawing the settlers out into the open.  It was a well-known Indian trick for surprising unsuspecting settlers, and we concluded at once that Indians were responsible for the unusual sound. 

The command was given, “to arms,” and each man seized his gun.  A hasty consultation was held, and it was decided to send a small squad to the barn to investigate, while the balance of the company should be held in readiness for battle.  The captain called for six volunteers, and three times the number stepped forward.  Six men were selected, the writer being among the number, and we proceeded slowly towards the barn, guided by the mournful sound.  As we neared the barn the sound seem to come from behind it, so we made a detour to the rear of the barn, and finally locating the sound as coming from the roof of a shed at the rear of the barn.

Steer Cause of Commotion.

The rafters of the shed roof were round poles, placed about two feet apart, and these were entirely covered with prairie hay.  During the winter the snow had drifted in behind the shed above the eaves, and a two-year old steer had gone up over the snow onto the roof, and his weight had forced his feet through the hay, so he was suspended astride of a pole, his feet and legs hanging inside the shed, while his body rested on the roof.

The whole affair was so ridiculous that we shouted with laughter, and called the balance of the company to help us rescue the “enemy” and enjoy the victory.  After the steer was removed from his uncomfortable position, and placed in the barn for the night, the “soldiers” returned to headquarters, and enjoyed a good night’s sleep.  It was our first, last, and only battle; no shots were fired and no one was hurt.

Another time we were all prepared for an attack, but it proved to be only the old cat rattling the door knob, as was his habit when he wanted to come in.

Third Day Passes Quietly.

We spent the third day making two rows of portholes in the walls of the fort and spiking heavy slabs over the cracks outside.  The first row of holes was made four feet above the ground, and the other row eight feet from the ground.  Those for the rifles were four inches long, by two high, made by boring two holes side by side with a two-inch auger.  For the shotguns a third hole was bored above the center of the other two, making an opening four inches long, by four inches high in the center, running to two inches high at the outside.

The day passed without excitement or any unusual occurrence to disturb the peace and quietude of the garrison, and no further work was done on the fort.

From History of Kossuth County published in 1913

Scare Subsides Without Raid.

While all this excitement and preparation was going on, the small band of Indians that was the cause of it was hastening westward with its plunder and captives towards what was then known as the “Yankton Territory,” now South Dakota.  Shortly after leaving Spirit Lake they murdered two of the young women carried away, but the third was rescued about three months later, and returned to her home in Minnesota, and afterwards wrote a book giving the details of the massacre and the hellish deeds of the Indians.

Nothing more was done in preparation for war, and as the excitement soon subsided the military company disbanded.  The caravan that had gone to Webster City returned, families were reunited, and our little community settled down again to its usual routine.  No more work had been done on the fort, but it stood for many years in its uncompleted state, as a reminder of the imaginary Indian War, and it was three months before we fully recovered from the effects of the disturbance along the frontier in northern Iowa, and southern Minnesota.


This is perhaps the best story I have read about how the Irvington fort came to be.  The memories preserved therein obviously remained very vibrant in the mind of Mr. Robinson who chose to write them down so many years after they occurred.  I for one am thankful that he did.    

Until next time,

Jean

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EARLY-DAY IRVINGTON - Part I

Every now and then I happen upon a little gem of history when I am researching an entirely different topic.  The story that I am about to share certainly fits that bill.  My next two posts will share the memories of O. W. Robinson, an early settler of the Irvington area, as he recalls the building of the fort in Irvington during the frightening days following the Spirit Lake massacre.  This article was read at a meeting of the Kossuth County Historical Society and then published in the December 27, 1916 edition of the Kossuth County Advance.  Part I begins with the introduction from the newspaper article:  

  

The reminiscences of early-day Irvington at the time of the Indian war scare presented herewith were written by O.W. Robinson, who was boss sawyer at the Irvington sawmill at the time the occurrences which he describes took place.  Mr. Robinson was also one of the county’s first sheriffs.  He left this county after a short residence here, and is now living retired at Chassell, Mich.  This article was first published in some Michigan newspaper, a copy of which Mr. Robinson addressed to Levi W. Parsons, who died many years ago.  The paper was delivered to M. de L. Parsons, who gave it to President Reed, of the county historical society.  Mr. Reed selected from it the portions here given, as thus revised, the paper was read by Miss Zelda Reed at the recent annual meeting of the historical society.

News of Spirit Lake Massacre.

In April of 1857 there occurred at Spirit Lake, Iowa, a massacre committed by a small band of Sioux Indians.  At that time all of the northern part of Iowa, except along the Mississippi river, was called frontier, and the settlements were few and far between.  I was then living at Irvington in Kossuth county.

The first news of the massacre was spread by a young trapper who chanced to visit the settlement a few days after the tragedy.  As he approached the settlement he saw no signs of life, which he thought odd, and he received no response to his rap on the door of the first house he reached.  He opened the door, and entered the single room cabin, where he found piled in a corner and covered with straw the lifeless bodies of six people.  He did not wait to make further investigation, but sped on to the nearest settlement to spread the alarm, and as the news traveled it became exaggerated until the excitement and fear among the pioneer settlers became intense.

Military Companies Organized.

A volunteer military company was formed at Fort Dodge, and another at Webster City, and both companies marched immediately to the scene of the massacre, a distance of eighty miles or more.  They found no traces of the Indians, only the results of their hellish work, so they buried the dead, and retraced their steps homeward.

In the meantime the exaggerated reports had reached our little settlement in Kossuth county, but as we could trace none of the reports to an authentic source it was decided, at a hastily called meeting of the citizens, to send out a young man on horseback the next morning to learn the facts if possible.  He left early, and had gone about sixteen miles in the direction of Spirit Lake when he met the volunteer troops on their way home, learned from them the actual facts, and returned home the same evening.

Six Men Appointed Scouts

A meeting was held that night, and six men appointed as scouts to keep a lookout for Indians north and west of us, and to report each night.  They were furnished with fleet saddle horses, and directed to return at once if they saw any Indians.  No Indians were discovered in the neighborhood, so, after two days, the scouting was discontinued, and the settlers were becoming quite convinced that there was no immediate danger when a messenger appeared from the nearest settlement five miles north of us.  He informed us that Indians had been discovered some twenty miles north, apparently moving in the direction of our settlements.  He was greatly excited, and wanted our people to move up there, and join them in building a fort, as he felt sure that the Indians would reach the settlement in a day or two.

Another meeting was called that afternoon, and it was decided to send all the women and children to Webster City, and to build a fort and organize a military company at Irvington instead of going north with the messenger to his settlement.  About sixty men were enrolled in the military company, and a man by the name of Smith, from New Hampshire, was made Captain.  Mr. Carlon, from Pennsylvania, First Lieutenant, and myself Second Lieutenant.  We chose as our military advisor a man about seventy years old who had been a soldier and Indian fighter during the Black Hawk war.

Fort Built at Irvington

He drew the plan of our fort, which was a hundred feet square, with projecting corners, so that we could rake the four sides in case of an attack.  It was located on a level plat of ground, and constructed of four-inch plank, set endwise into trenches three feet deep, with twelve feet standing above the surface.  The plank were held together by two rows of plank spiked lengthwise along the top and middle of the uprights.  The material was donated by those having logs at a small custom sawmill there, and the mill-crew volunteered their services to help.

It was an exciting and busy day for all hands, but conducted in a systematic manner, and by nightfall everything was in readiness to begin our defense against a possible raid by the Indians, and the day closed with the impromptu wedding of a young couple who had intended marrying later in the year.

Wedding Interrupts Preparations

A license was hastily procured, and all hands invited to the wedding, which was held at the home of the bride’s parents at eight o’clock in the evening.  All the young people attended; the bride’s younger sister was the bridesmaid and your humble servant the best man.  A justice of the peace performed the ceremony, and after congratulations had been extended to the happy couple the festivities of the evening began, which, to say the least, were hilarious, and lasted a couple of hours.

The next morning everybody was up by daybreak and busy at the task assigned him by our military commander.  Some were digging the ditches for the fort, some sawing plank, others teaming them from the mill to the location of the fort, and still others setting them upright in the three foot ditches, and tamping the earth solidly around them, taking care at the same time to keep the sides in perfect line.

Women Leave for Webster City

The older men made the preparations for taking the women and children to a place of safety, as they were to accompany them.  Ox teams and prairie “schooners” were our only mode of conveyance, and by noon the caravan was ready, and started for Johnson’s Point, about twelve miles down the east fork of the Des Moines River.  Here they expected to camp the first night, and cross the prairie the next day to the Boone River, which they would follow down to Webster City.

They reached Johnson’s Point early in the evening, made camp, and were just in the midst of preparing supper when two young men from a small settlement three miles farther down the river rushed in, and said that Indians had been seen standing on a mound a few miles west of the settlement that afternoon.  They said the settlers had all been ferried across the river, and started for Fort Dodge, some thirty miles down the river, and that they had come to warn the settlers at Johnson’s Point and at other places along the Boone River and across the prairie.

Panic Over News of Indians.

This information created a panic and without finishing their supper everything and everybody were immediately loaded into the schooners, the oxen hitched up, and the caravan started on its way again, marching all night, with the two men leading it.  One of the women of the party told me afterwards that they spent a dreadful night.  She feared the reports might be true, and the Indians attack them, and she was utterly disgusted with the men who had charge of the party. The oxen were urged forward with a vigorous application of long whips, while only subdued tones were used in speaking, and a small dog which persisted in barking was held by the hind legs so the hind wheels ran over it breaking its neck.

About daybreak they reached some settlements on the Boone River, the first house being that of a young California couple, about three miles from the other houses.  The young men had walked in advance of the caravan, and they told the Californian of the situation, but as he was a man of some experience in frontier life, and at that time his wife was very sick, with a sister taking care of her, he was more concerned over her recovery than a probable Indian raid.  He sent the young man on, and, taking his rifle, went out to meet the caravan, which he did some two miles distant.

One Pioneer Not Stampeded.

He listened to the exaggerated reports concerning the Indians, their stories of having seen reflections of burning villages in their travel across the prairie, and their entreaties that he and his family join them in their flight to Webster City, and told them in no uncertain language that he did not believe a word of their reports, and ordered them to pass his house quietly, in order not to disturb his sick wife.  He piloted them past his place, rifle in hand, and then, leaving his sick wife in charge of her sister, he mounted his swiftest horse, and galloped across the prairie to Johnson’s Point, where he found young Johnson, who had also refused to join the caravan.

From Johnson he learned that there were no Indians in sight, and that no lights of burning villages had been seen, so he turned back and went home.

Meanwhile the caravan had reached Webster City in a state of frenzied excitement, and spread the groundless reports of their escape, the burning of the villages, and the probable massacre of those that stayed behind.  At the same time they entered Webster City from the north a volunteer military company entered from the Des Moines.  They had heard reports that the Indians were about to make a raid on Webster City, and had come to help defend the place. 

Stay tuned for Part II.

Notes from KCHB:  The military advisor described in the story would likely have been an older Irvington resident by the name of John Edwards who had been a soldier and Indian fighter. The bride and groom mentioned would have been the first couple married in Kossuth County.  They were William Moore and Sarah Wright who were married at the home of her parents, Jacob and Nancy Wright on April 22, 1857, by Justice of the Peace George Wheeler.  William later served as a soldier in Company A, 32nd Iowa Infantry and died at Cape Girardeau, Missouri, on December 30, 1862.

Until next time,

Kossuth County History Buff

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RECORD OF A VAGABOND TRIBE - PART II

This final installment of Judge Ambrose Call's record of the Indian raids in northwest Iowa delves into the encounters leading up to the Spirit Lake massacre.  It was published on December 24, 1902, in the Upper Des Moines Republican:

        In the autumn of 1856, however, Inkpadutah and his followers came down from the northwest, passing down the East fork of the Rock in Lyon county, thence on the Floyd and Little Sioux rivers, creating consternation wherever they went; the helpless settlers repeatedly called for assistance from the state and government but their call was unheeded.  Major Williams had been appointed by Gov. Grimes to do what he could to protect the settlers on the frontier, but he had no resources and consequently was powerless.

        The Indians crossed the Minnesota line, going south, about Nov. 15^th and were at Sutherland and working up the Little Sioux by Jan. 1^st, 1857.  They followed the line of settlements, robbing cabins, killing stock, running the settlers out, taking their guns and abusing their wives, becoming more bold and insolent as they advanced until they reached Clay county.  I copy from local historians the record of their depredations from Peterson up to Lost Island Lake and Spirit Lake.  Their depredations at Peterson are described by the Clay county historian, Gilbrath, in the following language:  “The Clay county settlers had heard of the depredations they were committing and were thoroughly alarmed for the safety of themselves and property.  When they came to the home of Mr. Bicknell, and finding no one there, he with his family having gone to Mr. Kirchner’s, across the river, they immediately appropriated everything that met their fancy.  The next day they made their appearance at the

Kirchner Cabin 2015

Kirchner house, where they found the terror-stricken settlers huddled together.  Without any ceremony they captured all the arms to be found, killed the cattle and took what they wanted.  After remaining in the Peterson settlement a day and a night they pushed on, leaving the whites badly frightened but thankful they had escaped with their lives.  The band of bloodthirsty Sioux then proceeded to the house of Ambrose Mead, who was absent at Cedar Falls.  Previous to leaving for this place he had arranged with a Mr. Taylor and family to remain with Mrs. Mead and the children during his stay.  When the Indians came Mr. Taylor protested against their taking the property or disturbing the premises.  Becoming angry at Mr. Taylor for his intervention they threatened to kill him if he didn’t keep out of the way.  Fearing they would carry out their threats, Taylor left the women and children and set out to secure assistance.  The Indians killed the stock, drove off the ponies and carried the women with them, but fearing they would be pursued and overtaken they decided to allow the women to return, after taking such liberties as the helpless women could not prevent.  They then directed their steps towards Linn Grove and Sioux Rapids where they subjected the settlers to the treatment they had given the Mead and Taylor families.”

        Mrs. Sharp in her book enters more into the details.  She says:  “After remaining a few days in Cherokee, where they busied themselves with wantonly shooting cattle, hogs and fowls and destroying property generally, sometimes severely beating those who resisted, they proceeded up the Little Sioux to the little settlement in Clay county, now called Peterson.  Here the tarried two or three days, committing acts of atrocity as usual.  At the home of A. S. Mead, Mr. Mead being away, they not only killed his cattle and destroyed his property but knocked down his wife and carried off to camp her daughter seventeen years old, and started away with a younger sister, but she resisted so hard and cried so loud that an Indian picked up a stick and whipped her all the way back to the house and left her.  At the same house they knocked down Mr. E. Taylor, kicked his boy in the fire and took his wife off to their camp, but as yet had committed no murder.  After one night in the Indian camp Mrs. Taylor and Miss Mead were permitted to return home.  From Peterson they passed up to Sioux Rapids, where similar scenes were enacted and similar outrages perpetrated.  They killed the stock and destroyed everything capable of being destroyed.  It was at the home of Abner Bell that their atrocities assumed the most fiendish aspect.  From Sioux Rapids they went up to Gillett’s Grove.  The Gilletts were two brothers who had moved in late in the summer, bring with them about a hundred head of cattle, intending to go largely into stock business.  The Indians made more general destruction here than they had hitherto done.  They killed every living animal on the place, took all their bedding, clothing and provisions and destroyed everything they could not take away.  They even cut a new wagon to pieces to get the bolts.”  The Gilletts soon after this left the country and did not return.  One of the brothers, many years after came back and according to Mr. Gilbrath, the Clay county historian, told the following story as the cause of his sudden departure:  He said one day after the Indians had destroyed their property while they were encamped at Lost Island Lake a young buck came down to his cabin and in his absence insulted or abused his wife.  Upon his return soon after his wife told him of the circumstances and he took down his rifle and followed his tracks until he got within range of him, when he shot him, killing him in his tracks.  He told his brother and they decided to leave at once, as the Indians would surely be looking for the missing Indian, so the next morning they cut the head from the dead Indian, which they took with them, boxed up, hid the body in a hollow tree and immediately left for Fort Dodge and the East.  This story was probably true to the letter.  From Lost Island the Indians went to Spirit Lake.  The details of this massacre are too awfully sickening to tell here, but suffice it to say that every soul in the settlement of over forty persons was killed excepting the four women who were carried away into captivity.

This ends the recollections of Judge Call as published in the Upper Des Moines Republican in December of 1902.  Harvey Ingham, who later went on to write a more thorough account of the Indian raids in a book called, "Indian Days," submitted the following article which originally appeared in the Des Moines Daily Register and Leader and was reprinted by the Upper Des Moines Republican immediately after Judge Call's final installment.

Harvey Ingham

THE STORY OF INKPADUTAH.

        In the columns of the Algona Upper Des Moines Republican Mr. Ambrose A. Call is writing some of his personal recollections of Inkpadutah.  The name recalls the Spirit Lake massacre, one of the most tragic events in the pioneer history of Iowa, as well as the story of some of the most lawless Indian bands which were to be found in the entire northwest.

        The Sioux in Iowa were in the main the renegades from all the Dacotah tribes.  They were known as the Wahpecoute or “Shooters at Leaves,” which seems to have been a title of derision.  Pike says of the Wahpecoute, “they hunt generally at the head of the Des Moines.  They appear to me to be the most stupid and inactive of the Sioux.”  And Elliot Coues in a footnote in his edition of Pike’s Journal adds that they were merely “a band of vagabonds formed by refugees from all the other bands, which they left for some bad deed.”  In the later 40’s, when the white settlements first began to encroach upon the lands north and west of Des Moines, two of the conspicuous chieftains of the Wahpecoute were Sidominadotah, or chief Two Fingers, and his brother, Inkpadutah, or Scarlet Point.

        How in 1848 Sidominadotah drove Marsh, the United States surveyor, away from the Raccoon Forks of the Des Moines, and how in consequence Brigadier General Mason was ordered to locate a fort where Fort Dodge now stands, have often been told.  The first white man to penetrate still further to the north, was Henry Lott, who had been a whiskey seller among the Sacs and Foxes in Marion county, and a stealer of Indian horses.  In 1848 he had gone north among the Sioux, and in Boone county had stolen horses from Sidominadotah, who gave him a “moon” and told him to “puckachee,” and had at the expiration of the time gone to his home, killed his stock and abused his family.  Lott escaped and went to Boone.  His little boy attempted to follow him and after walking twenty miles was overcome by cold and his little body was found frozen stiff on the ice.  Mrs. Lott had died soon after from injury and exposure, and Lott was now moving north of Fort Dodge to be revenged.  It was in the spring of 1854 that he beguiled Sidominadotah, who was in his winter lodge with his family, nine in all, out for a hunt, and, killing him, returned and massacred the family, all but a boy and a girl who had hidden in the weeds.  He chased the aged mother of Sidominadotah and Inkpadutah a hundred yards in the snow and tomahawked her.

        It is from this massacre of Sidominadotah by Lott that the career of Inkpadutah in Iowa dates.  He had ranged further north and west prior to this time, but now came in to avenge the murder of his relatives, while in 1854, the white settlement began to push out into his territory.  Judge and Ambrose A. Call located at Algona in that year, and the settlements on the west branch of the Des Moines and about Spirit and Okoboji Lakes followed in 1856.  Inkpadutah demanded that the murderers of his brother be given up by the whites, and attempted an inquest at the town of Homer, which he supposed was merely a preliminary to the surrender of Lott.  When he discovered that the legal proceedings were formal merely and that Lott had escaped, his indignation foreboded trouble.  And his determination to be avenged was not lessened when he later saw the skull of Sidominadotah nailed to the court house at Homer.

        During the three years that intervened until the Spirit Lake massacre Inkpadutah molested the settlers along the entire Upper Des Moines.  Trappers and the surveyors were stripped, houses were rifled, stock was killed, and no one was free from danger, although no one received physical injury.  It was in the summer of 1855 that the Indians made their raid upon Mr. Call and his neighbors at Algona, of which he is giving his recollections in his present interesting sketches.  Why the Indians waited three years before taking full revenge may never be fully known.  One reason was probably the rapid influx of white settlers.  Another was the vigorous admonition of Col. Wood of Fort Ridgley, who, when he learned of the massacre of Sidominadotah, had called the chiefs together and told them in his own peculiar way, with which they were well acquainted, that if they caused any trouble in consequence, he would “blow them all to hell.”  The winter of 1857 was very severe.  The Indians suffered great deprivations.  In the spring they were hungry and ugly.  They were in the proper frame of mind when they reached Spirit Lake to take the revenge they had been waiting for, and they took it.

        The Indian chiefs with whom Inkpadutah was associated were Umpashotah, or Smoky day, Titonka, or Big Buffalo, Istahabah, or Young Sleepy Eyes, and some younger men, Cosomenah, Wahkonsa, Mokococquemon and Mocopoco, the latter two sons of Inkpadutah.  But among them Inkpadutah was easily leader.  He was a dark, sullen, pock-marked man short and stout, the natural leader of a band of outlaws.  He had no standing with the Sioux leaders of the great tribes in Minnesota and along the Missouri, was not recognized at the Sioux agencies, and fought his way in Iowa for himself.

Our early settlers were indeed brave souls who were willing to risk all they had to establish a new life on the prairie.  It appears that to some extent the Sioux nation received a bad reputation because of actions by rogue groups identifying themselves as Sioux warriors.  Do you ever wonder if many of these killings could have been avoided if Henry Lott had left with his family when first told to do so?  It is one of those questions which can never be answered.

Until next time,

Kossuth County History Buff

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RECORD OF A VAGABOND TRIBE - PART I

The last two posts featured the story of the incident when Indians came to raid the Maxwell cabin.  In that story, Ambrose Call spoke briefly of going to the Indian camp to speak with Inkpadutah to demand that the Indians leave the area immediately.  Judge Call wrote of that visit in more detail in two articles entitled “Inkpadutah and his Band in the Fifties.”  His description of the artistry decorating Inkpadutah’s teepee made it come alive in my imagination and I found his encounter with Inkapdutah’s daughter/niece to be quite touching.

Inkpadutah and His Band in the Fifties

By HON. AMBROSE A. CALL

       I find in Hon. R. A. Smith’s history of Dickinson county this description, which I gave the Upper Des Moines, of Inkpadutah some years ago:  “Of Inkpadutah, who led in the Spirit Lake massacre, and who was present in person at the raid on Mr. Call and the settlers south of Algona, he says:  ‘Inkpadutah was about fifty-five years old, about five feet, eleven inches in height, stoutly built, broad shouldered, high cheek bones, sunken and very black sparkling eyes, big mouth, light copper color and pock-marked in the face.' "  This was a fairly good description.

        Inkpadutah was something of an aristocrat.  His teepee was very conspicuous.  I never before nor since have seen one on which so much painting for decorative purposes had been done, or where as much pains had been taken to beautify it.  The material was elk skins neatly sewed together and around the whole teepee, beginning about four feet from the ground, were three broad bands painted in red, which were each about a foot in width and painted in the form of looped-up drapery.  The teepee was very large and the artist evinced considerable skill in the painting.  The Indians themselves when they visited us had their faces more or less painted with the same material.  I did not discover that Inkpadutah had any family except one daughter, about twelve or fourteen years old.  She may have been the daughter of his brother, Sidominadotah, killed by Henry Lott.  It was said that one girl about ten or twelve years old escaped the general massacre.  At any rate she was quite a comely lass for a squaw, dressed in scarlet blanket and leggins.  When I first visited Inkpadutah’s village, near Holland’s, I was struck with the beauty of the big teepee and of course knew it was occupied by the chief, so I unceremoniously pulled the door one side and walked in, I having learned that this was not a violation of Indian etiquette if one did not stand in the doorway.

        The chief lay on a buffalo robe, evidently nursing his foot, and did not even grunt a welcome, but the young miss approached me, looking intently at my coat.  I wore a checkered cotton or linen one, on one side of which were three large bone buttons about the size of a half dollar, with no button holes to match, and these were what interested her.  She took hold of one of them and gently pulled, at the same time patting her breast and making a fairly good attempt to smile.  She was begging for the button.  I was curious to know what she wanted of it and managed to make myself understood, when she took from her neck and from under her blanket a curiously wrought necklace principally made up of claws of bears, mountain lions and other beasts and birds of prey, bright colored stones, agates and shells, and among the rest four brass army buttons.  She was a curio fiend, and as persistent and energetic as her white sisters.  When I enquired where she got the buttons she seemed much pleased and holding her hand high up, indicating far away, said:  “Heap big captain!”  So, thinking my button might get in good company I gave her my knife and she, selecting the one that best suited her, cut it off.  Holding it up she jabbered to the old man, who gave her a grunt of approval.

        A brief history of the career of Inkpadutah after the death of his brother, Sinominadotah, the last of January or first of February, 1854, when he became chief of the outlaw band, might interest the reader.  I have taken considerable interest in following his wanderings up to and until after the Spirit Lake massacre, when his outlaws disbanded and sought to lose their identity in other tribes and bands to escape punishment.  The first heard from him was on July 2^nd, five months after the death of his brother, when he robbed two surveying parties, under Captains Leach and Ellis, two miles south of Algona on section 15.  These surveyors had no weapons except one old gun, and the Indians who were well armed found them easy victims, took everything they had and ordered them out of the country.  Had the surveyors been armed they were probably in sufficient force to have successfully resisted them.  It was these parties who in glowing terms told my brother and me of the beauties of this section of the country and of the fine grove of timber, and we determined to come up at once and take possession of as much of it as we could.  We reached the grove July 9^th.  The Indians had gone East and were next heard from two weeks later on the head waters of the Cedar on Lime creek, and at Clear Lake, where they had their own way, intimidating the settlers, killing stock, etc.  They found a Winnebago Indian who was working for Capt. Hewitt, an Indian trader at Clear Lake and killed him.  The only person who resisted them so far as I ever heard was Mr. Dickerson who found an Indian carrying off his grindstone and took it away from him, thumping him severely over the head with it.  Hence the settlers rested their laurels on this occurrence and christened it “The Grindstone War.”

        The Indians returned to their rendezvous on the Missouri by a more northerly route, crossing the east fork just below the mouth of Union slough and the west fork above the state line, going by the way of Lake Cheteck and Kempaska.  Later in the season they scattered, sneaking into the different agencies and drawing annuities from the government.  Their next appearance was in our settlement at Algona, in July, 1855, with the result as I have heretofore stated.  They again returned to their rendezvous on the Upper Missouri, scattering and drawing annuities as they could.

        Judge Flandreau, whom I regard as the best authority of Sioux history and nomenclature who has ever written on the subject, having been personally acquainted with them for a long period of years, says of Inkpadutah:  “In August, 1856, I received the appointment of Indian agent for the Sioux of the Mississippi.  The agencies for these Indians were on the Minnesota river at Redwood and on the Yellow Medicine river a few miles from its mouth.  Having been on the frontier some time previous to such appointment, I had become quite familiar with the Sioux and knew in a general way of Inkpadutah and his band, its habits and whereabouts.  They ranged the country far and wide and were considered a bad lot of vagabonds.  In 1856 they came to the payment and demanded a share of the money of the Wahpekutahs and made a great deal of trouble, but were forced to return to their haunts on the Big Sioux and adjoining country.”

        Mrs. Sharp, one of the women carried into captivity by Inkpadutah and who has written a book, says:  “According to the most authentic testimony collected by Major Prichette, Inkpadutah came to the Sioux agency in the fall of 1855 and received annuities for eleven persons, although he was not identified with any band,” so it seems that in 1856 Inkpadutah’s band were trying to work the agencies for annuities and with some success, and did not make their annual July raid on the frontier settlements.  The Indians usually make their raids in July, as their ponies are not sufficiently recovered from the starvation process of the previous winter to be able to haul their luggage on their “travois poles” and run down buffalo and elk before that time.  In the early spring they are scarcely able to walk, and many die during the winter, as they must subsist on dead grass and branches they crop off the willow bush.


In our final installment, Judge Call will share his recollections of the incidents leading up to the Spirit Lake massacre.

Until next time,

Jean, a/k/a Kossuth County History Buff

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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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THE INDIAN RAID OF '55 - PART I

In 1902, Ambrose A. Call wrote a series of articles for the Upper Des Moines Republican recounting his experiences with Indians in the early days of the settlement.  The story of the raid on the Maxwell cabin was part of his story and B. F. Reed later included it in the "History of Kossuth County" which was published in 1913 and also in Harvey Ingham's book "Old Indian Days" published in the 1920's.  However, there was so much more to his account than what was chronicled in either book. I was fascinated to read the entire series -- particularly his description of his meeting with Inkpadutah in his teepee.  Over the next several weeks, I want to share these articles with with you.  We begin today with his introduction and a portion of the Maxwell story.

A Memoir of the Incursion of the Yanktonaas

By HON. AMBROSE A. CALL

        To The Editor—In compliance with my various promises I will undertake to write of some of the events in the early history of Kossuth county, the story of which has never been published.

        We are approaching the half century mile post that marks the time since the first settlers reared their cabins and contended with the savage Sioux for their possession.  The old timers, our old friends, are rapidly passing away and will soon all be gone, and the history of those first trials and struggles will be irretrievably lost unless a record be made of them before it is too late.  The history of our county should not only be written but it should be true.  Our records should be kept straight.  Those who know it should write it.

        One very much dislikes to write of himself or of events in which he took a prominent part, but when it is desirable to keep a true history and there is no one else to write it for him, possibly he may be justified in doing it himself.  Before I begin to tell my Indian stories I wish to correct a mistake which might later be taken as true and get into the history of the county.  Some friend recently sent me a publication from Belmond, Wright county, in which a lady, the daughter of one Mr. Hunt, I believe, states in a very interesting article that her father and one Mr. Overacker explored the country west and made claims in 1853 where the city of Algona and also Spirit Lake now stand.  She says further that they intended to return and hold them, but upon their return heard of the Indian troubles around Clear Lake and the killing of Captain Hewett’s Winnebago boy and were deterred through fear of the Indians.  By reference to history it will be seen that the Indian trouble spoken of occurred in July, 1854, and their return was subsequent to that event.  I have on the margin of an old book this notation:  “July 28^th, I find upon my return two parties, named Overacker and Hunt, have, during my absence, marked out timber claims on sections 11 and 12, south of Asa’s claim.”  No one made claims in Kossuth county prior to the settlement made by my brother and myself.

        For the two years prior to my coming to Kossuth county I spent most of my time on the upper Mississippi river around St. Paul and Fort Snelling and on the tributaries of the Saint Croix river; a part of the time among the Indians, Sioux and Chippewas; and I learned a great deal of the Indian sign language and quite a few words both of Chippewa and Sioux.  The sign language is identically the same with all the tribes east of the Rocky mountains, but their word language is very different.  In the same tribe each individual has his own pronunciation.  A buffalo is a “titonka,” or “tionka,” or “tetonka,” as you find your Indian. 

        “Titonka” also means a cow or ox or most anything big; a big white man is at once saluted as “titonka wasecha;” so with an elk, he is an “humpa” or “umpa” or “impah,” a moccasin or mitten or any other thing leather is also called “umpah.”  They have no written language to hold them to a uniform pronunciation, and besides have all manner of defects in their speech, with usually a lazy grunt at the end of every word.

        In the early part of July, 1855, a large party of Sioux Indians, some forty tepees including the chief, Inkpadutah, came into the settlement, the same party that created the panic and stampede on the head waters of the Cedar, and came near capturing his excellency, Gov. Hempstead, the year before, and who in 1856 terrorized the settlers on the little Sioux, culminating their deviltry by the Spirit Lake massacre in March, 1857.  This band of Indians came into the settlement from the west and pitched their tepees on section 24, near Mark Parsons’ present residence.  My first intimation of their presence was rather startling.  My cabin door was open.  I had just eaten a bachelor’s dinner and was lying down reading the Missouri Republican, which Maxwell had brought me from Ft. Dodge, when a ringing war whoop saluted my ears.  I sprang to the middle of the room, seizing my gun, but was met by a big guffaw from a burly Indian who instantly stood his gun against the wall and held out his hand with a “How, how.”  Of course he considered it only a joke.  I was not quite so sure of it, but shook his hand and said “How.”  A squaw tagged along after him with a few moccasins to trade.  My rifle was a large one, carrying an ounce ball, and the Indian, noticing the caliber, pulled a crude ball pounded out of a bar of lead and measured it in my gun.  He asked to see one of my bullets, and when he found it just fitted his shot gun he was much pleased and proposed at once:  “How swap for umpah?”  I found two pairs of moccasins which fitted me, for which I gave him ten bullets.  He told me he would return with more, which he did, and I traded for enough to last me a year or more.

        I inquired of my visitor how many tepees there were and he opened both hands four times, indicating forty, and then pointed the direction.  After he left I visited the village, near Barney Holland’s cabin.  Some of the neighbors were there and they were having some contention, as the Indians had turned their ponies in Holland’s corn, had taken Holland’s large grindstone to the center of their village and set Holland to turning it, and as many as could get around it were grinding their tomahawks and knives.  The perspiration was pouring from Holland’s face and he seemed very tired.  With the others I insisted upon their turning their ponies out of the corn and also made Holland quit turning the grindstone.  We came near having an open rupture with them, as they were very surly and stubborn, but finally the squaws turned the ponies out of the corn and the bucks installed one of their own number at the stone.  The next day they scattered through the settlement, visiting every cabin.  Some they plundered, but where they found white men in sufficient force to resist they merely begged for something to eat.  Two tepees were pitched near my brother’s cabin, on the hill just west of the power house, and it was the occupants of these tepees who frightened Mrs. Call, the story of which she wrote for the reading circle in 1872, and the sequel to which Mrs. Blackford wrote for the Advance.  Of course my brother’s family was in no danger from two Indians, as he had four or five hired men boarding with him all the time.

        The evening of the second day Mr. Maxwell came to my cabin, seemingly somewhat alarmed, and told me that three Indians had just left his cabin, that they were sullen and saucy, took what they pleased and that he dared not resist them on account of his wife and children, and asked me to come down and stay with him.  I had made my home for some time with Mr. Maxwell and knew him to be a courageous man, not to be frightened without cause.  He had recently returned from Boonesboro with a large load of provisions and supplies which would naturally tempt the cupidity of the Indians.  I promised Maxwell I would come down early in the morning.  The Indians made all their raids in the day time.  I consequently started early without my breakfast but found the Indians were there before me, as they were already swarming inside when I arrived. There were eleven lusty young fellows, each armed with a double barreled shotgun, cocked and loaded with ball, also tomahawk and knife.  They had the house turned inside out, so to speak, when I got inside.  Mrs. Maxwell had a boarder named Craw, who was one of those nice, peaceable men, and who believed it an evidence of cowardice to carry a gun or other weapon of defense; he never did.  Well I found Craw sitting in a chair, his face as white as a sheet, suffering every imaginable indignity from the young bucks.  They had pilfered his pockets and unbuttoned his clothes, were pulling his nose, ears and hair, occasionally slapping him on the side of the head, and nearly knocking him to the floor.  He didn’t dare to move; he was paralyzed with fear.  I said to him:  “Craw, for God’s sake run if you can’t fight,” and Maxwell told him to get out of there and make for the brush.  After a short time I noticed his chair was empty, so he must have got out in some way.  Maxwell told me he had but two chambers of his revolver loaded and asked me to stand in front of him while he loaded the remainder.  He stepped behind the door and I stood in front and, although his revolver was an old fashioned Colts which loaded with powder and ball he did it very quickly, without being seen.  As I came out from behind the door a big young Indian who seemed to be leader noticed a two bushel bag of corn meal and started to drag it to the door.  I thought the time had come to take a hand, if we intended to resist at all, so I sprang and took hold of the sack, telling him to stop, but with a defiant grunt he jerked it out of my hand.  At this I grabbed the bag with my left hand and with my right caught him under the chin, and as we were standing quite near the doorway he went out violently, clutching the door as he went, nearly pulling shut and striking on the back of his head.  I stood the sack up against the wall and stood beside it, Maxwell, with his revolver in his hand, standing beside me.  An ominous silence came over the cabin when the Indian went out doors but presently one who if not a chief was spokesman for the crowd, pulled his tomahawk out of his belt and advanced toward me, asking me to feel the edge of it.  I snatched it from him and stuck it in his belt.  Again he drew it out and held it toward me and again I snatched it from him and stuck it behind his belt.  He then in a loud, menacing voice told me they would “nepo squaw and papooses” (kill the women and children).  In an equally loud voice and with some emphatic profanity—Indians mostly understand that—I told him as well as I could that if he undertook it we would “nepo” every damned Sioux in the cabin.  He then scoffed at the idea and counted two “wasechas.”  Then holding two hands high over his head he opened them many times, saying:  “Sioux!  Sioux!”

        In those days, when the Indians wished to terrorize the whites they called themselves Sioux, but at other times they were “Yanktonaas.”  Notwithstanding the Indian’s loaded talk and brave actions he backed off and subsided when he noticed Maxwell’s fingers playing nervously around the trigger of his revolver.  I think Maxwell understood what the Indian meant when he threatened to “nepo” the squaw and papooses, and Mrs. Maxwell understood a part of it, for Maxwell said that we must get Eliza and the children out if we could, but he was afraid they would follow her.  I asked him if he did not think he could get their attention away from the door by giving them something to eat, to which he replied that they day before they had boiled up a mess of corn meal, pork and molasses and that he would try them on that.  So he put the stove boiler on the stove, filled it half full of water and gave them a part of a bag of meal, some bacon and a jug of molasses.  The young bucks at once began to build a fire and stir in the stuff and soon got to quarreling over it, in which quarrel the others, who had been sulking, took a hand.  I told Mrs. Maxwell that when Mr. Maxwell gave the sign to slip out, get into the woods and run for Brown’s and tell John to run his horse over and tell Asa and the boys we were having trouble at Maxwell’s cabin.

        We watched our opportunity, and when the Indians were all busy with their mush Maxwell partly closed the door.  He and I stood between it and the Indians and Mrs. Maxwell slipped out and got away without being noticed.  The Indians continued to quarrel and fuss over their mush and Maxwell delayed them as much as possible.  They couldn’t make the fire burn well and the water refused to boil.  They set their guns up beside the door and turned their whole attention to their breakfast, occasionally one of them running and looking out of the door. 

        After the lapse of about an hour their mush was done satisfactorily but was so hot they could not eat it.  One of them looked out of the door towards the west and cried out “Wasecha!  Wasecha!” others ran and looked out and returned in much excitement, making a rush.


Stay tuned for the second chapter of "The Indian Raid of '55" which will be brought to you next week.

Until next time,

KC History Buff

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