CHAPTER XXVIII.
AFFAIRS OF THE OJIBWAYS ON THE ST. CROIX.
During the middle and latter part of the eighteenth century, the hunting camps of the Dakotas and Ojibways often met on either banks of the St. Croix River, as far down as the Falls. Spots are pointed out, on Sunrise, Rush, and Snake Rivers, where bloody fights, massacres, and surprises have taken place, and where lives of helpless women and children, as well as stalwart warriors, have been sacrificed to their implacable warfare. It happened, sometimes, that the camps of either tribe would meet in peace, in order that the hunters might pursue the chase during the winter in security. But no sooner did spring again make its appearance, than the peace was treacherously broken, by either party, and war raged again during the summer, full as deadly as ever.
They did not always succeed in their attempts, each fall, to smoke the pipe of peace together. On one occasion the Ojibway chief, Mons-o-man-ay, sent two of his young men with a peace pipe to a large camp of Dakotas who were, as usual in the fall, approaching to make their winter hunts on the St. Croix River. These young men were received in the enemies' lodges and treacherously killed. They were relatives of the Ojibway chieftain, and he made preparations during the winter to revenge their death. He collected a large party of warriors, and when the snow melted from the ground, he followed the trail of the Dakotas as they returned towards their villages on the Mississippi. He caught up with their camp, at a prairie on Sunrise River. They numbered many lodges, and around their camp they had thrown up an embankment of earth about four feet high. In order to more readily accomplish his vengeance, the chief approached the encampment in open day, after the Dakota hunters had dispersed for the day's chase. He approached with the semblance of a peace party, carrying the white man's flag at the head of his long line of warriors. The enemy for a time appeared uncertain how to receive him, but as they saw the Ojibways continue slowly to advance to the very foot of their defences, two warriors, unarmed, rushed forth to meet them, thinking that they came in peace. Without waiting for the orders of their chief, some of the young Ojibway warriors immediately fired on them. One succeeded in making his escape, while the bleeding scalp of the other dangled on the belt of a warrior.
The Ojibways ran up to the Dakota defences, from behind which they fired repeated volleys into the defenceless lodges within, thus turning to their own advantage the embankment of earth which the enemy had formed with such great labor. The Dakota hunters, hearing the noise of the battle, flew back to their camp, and the fight every moment, as their ranks increased, became more hotly contested. Towards evening the Ojibways were dislodged from their position, and forced to retreat, with the loss of several killed and many wounded. The loss to the Dakotas which was much greater, judging from long rows of graves they left on the spot, and which my informants assert, are still plainly discernible within the inclosure of the earthen embankment.
Several years after this occurrence, the Dakotas, after having made a formal peace with the Ojibways, and agreed to hunt in peace and friendship, suddenly attacked a small camp of hunters and killed several women and children. During the summer following, the Ojibways collected to the number of sixty warriors, and proceeded down the St. Croix River, to revenge this act of perfidy. They discovered their enemies encamped in a large village near the mouth of Willow River. They approached the camp during the middle of a pitchy dark night, and the chiefs placed two or three men to stand by each lodge, into which, at a given signal, they were to fire a volley, aiming at the spots where they supposed the enemy were lying asleep. Immediately loading their guns, when the inmates of the lodges would jump up in affright, they were to fire another volley and immediately retreat, as even the lodges of the Dakotas many times outnumbered the warriors of the Ojibways, and the enemy were too strong to risk with them a protracted fight. They judged also that the Dakotas were preparing to go on a war party, from the war-songs, drumming, and dancing which they had kept up throughout the village during the evening.
The orders of the Ojibway leader were strictly adhered to, and but two volleys were poured into the enemies' lodges, when the party suddenly retreated. The Dakotas, however, recovering from the first surprise of the sudden and unexpected attack, grasped their arms and rushing forth, a hundred warriors were soon on the rear of the midnight invaders. The Ojibways, anxious for a fight, made a stand, and a fierce fight ensued in the darkness, the combatants aiming at the flashes of their enemies' musketry. The bravest warriors gradually approached to within a few feet of one another, in the midst of the darkness, when a Dakota chief was heard to give orders to his people in a loud voice, to divide into two parties, and making circuits to the right and left, surround the enemy and cut off their retreat. An Ojibway warrior, who had been a captive among the Dakotas, understanding these orders, quietly informed his fellows, and when the enemy's fire slackened in front, they made a silent but quick retreat.
They had arrived but a short distance from the scene of action, when they suddenly heard the firing and yelling of a fierce fight, at the spot which they had just left. The noise lasted for some minutes, and the Ojibways learnt afterwards, that their enemy, dividing into two parties, with intent to surround them, had met in the darkness and mistaking one another for Ojibways, they had fired several volleys into each other's ranks, and continued to fight till, by their manner of yelling the war-whoop, they had discovered their mistake. The Dakotas, on this occasion, suffered a severe loss, infinitely aggravated from the fact of their having inflicted a portion of it on themselves. They consequently abandoned the war party, for which they had been making preparation. The slightest rebuff of this nature, always leads to the disorganization of a war party when on the point of starting. The slightest accidents, or evil omens, will send them back even when once fairly started on their expedition.
Several warriors have arisen from the ranks of the St. Croix Ojibways who have distinguished themselves by deeds of great bravery, and whose names consequently live in the traditions and lodge stories of their people. Waub-ash-aw was the name of one, of part Dakota extraction, who flourished as a brave and successful war-leader, during the middle of the past century. He fought in many engagements, and was eventually killed at the battle of St. Croix Falls. He was one of the spiritual, or clairvoyant, leaders of the war party who fought on this occasion, and is said to have predicted his own death.
BI-A-JIG, THE LONE WARRIOR.
When the Ojibways first took possession of the St. Croix River region, four generations ago, while still carrying on an active war with the Odugamies (Foxes), a warrior named Bi-a-jig became noted for the bravery and success with which he repelled the oft-repeated attacks of the Foxes and Dakotas.
He was accustomed to leave his family at Sha-ga-waum-ik-ong, or some other place of safety, and, entirely alone, he would proceed to the hunting grounds of his enemies, and in their very midst pursue his hunts. Numberless were the attacks made on his isolated little lodge by the Foxes, but he as often miraculously escaped their bullets and arrows, and generally caused many of their warriors to "bite the dust." Each spring he would return to his people's villages with nearly as many human scalps dangling to his belt as there were beaver skins in his pack.
So often did the Foxes attack him without success, by night and day, that they at last considered him in the light of a spirit, invulnerable to arrows and bullets, and they allowed him to pursue the chase wherever he listed, unmolested. Such a fear did they have of his prowess, that whenever they attacked a camp of Ojibways, if the defence appeared unusually desperate, they would call out to inquire if Bi-a-jig was present, and on that warrior showing himself, the assailants would immediately desist from the attack and retreat.
The following characteristic anecdote is related, illustrating the hardihood and bravery of Bi-a-jig: After the Foxes had been driven by the Ojibways from the midland country between the Mississippi and Lake Superior, they retired towards Lake Michigan, and on Green Bay they located themselves in a large village. They sued for peace with the Ojibways, which, being granted, it became customary for parties from either tribe, to pay one another visits of peace. On one occasion, Bi-a-jig joined a small party of his people, who proceeded to pay a visit to the village of the Foxes on Green Bay. They were well received, and entertained with divers feastings and amusements.
One day the Foxes proposed a grand war-dance, where the warriors of each tribe should have license to relate their exploits in war. The dance was held in a long lodge erected purposely for the occasion. The men of the Ojibways were seated on one side of this lodge, while the more numerous Foxes occupied the other. A red stake was planted in the centre, near which was also planted a war-club, with which each warrior, wishing to relate his exploits, was to strike the red stake, as a signal for the music and dancing to cease. The dancing commenced, and as the warriors circled the stake, occasionally yelling their fierce war-whoop, they soon became excited, and warrior after warrior plucked the club and told of bloody deeds.
Among the Ojibwajs was an old man, bent with age and sorrow. In the course of the late war with the Foxes he had lost ten sons, one after another, till not a child was left to cheer his fireside in his old age. Often had he gone on the war trail to revenge his losses, but he always returned without having seen the enemy. On the occasion of this dance, he sat and listened to the vaunts of his children's murderers, and he could not ease the pain at his heart, by being able to jump up and tell of having in turn killed or scalped a single Fox.
Among the Foxes was a warrior noted far and wide for his bravery and numberless deeds of blood. He was the first war-chief of his tribe, and his head was covered with eagle plumes, each denoting an enemy he had slain, a scalp he had taken, or a captive whom he had tortured to death. This man again and again plucked the war-club to relate his exploits. He related, in the most aggravating manner, of having captured an Ojibway youth and burnt him at the stake, vividly describing his torments. From the time and place where this capture was made, the old Ojibway knew that it was one of his sons, and under a feeling of deep aggravation, he jumped up, and grasping the war-club, he struck the red stake, but all he could say, was: "I once packed my little mat (war-sack), and proceeded towards the country of my enemies," then take his seat in silence.
The Fox warrior judged from this that he was the father of the youth whom he had tortured; and again grasping the club, he told of another whom he had captured and burnt with fire; then dancing in front of the old man, he yelled his war-whoop in aggravation. In quick succession he told of another and another he had taken, and treated in like manner, addressing himself to the bereaved father, of whose children he knew he was telling, vividly describing their tortures, and enjoying the deep anguish which his words caused in the breast of the poor old man, whose sorrowing and aged head hung lower and lower between his knees. Aggravated beyond measure, once more he jumped up, but all he could say was as before: "I once packed my little mat, and proceeded to the country of my enemies," and as he took his seat, he was jeered with laughter by the Foxes, who revelled in his distress. Once more, amidst the encouraging yells of his fellows, the Fox war-chief grasped the war-club, and dancing before the old man, he told of another of his sons whom he had treated with aggravated tortures.
Bi-a-jig had sat calmly by, smoking his pipe. Not joining in the dance, he had taken silent notice of the whole scene. His heart yearned for his old comrade, whose sorrows were being so wantonly opened afresh, by the cruel and ungenerous Foxes. His party was but a handful in the midst of their numerous enemies, but this did not deter him from following the impulse of his good nature. He had borne the aggravating yells of the Foxes as long as his patience could last, and the moment the Fox war-chief returned the club to its place, amidst the cheers of his fellows, Bi-a-jig sprang up, and grasping the club, he struck the vaunting warrior in the mouth, and brought him to the ground, exclaiming, "My name is Bi-a-jig; I too am a man!" As the Fox warrior arose to his feet, Bi-a-jig again struck him on the mouth, and exclaimed. "You call yourself a man. I too am a man! we will fight, to see who will live to tell of killing a warrior!"
During this scene the Foxes had grasped their arms, and the Ojibways, though far outnumbered even within the lodge, jumped up and yelled their war whoop, all of course supposing that the Fox war-chief, who had made himself so conspicuous, would resent the blow of Bi-a-jig, which act would have led to a general battle. The disgraced warrior, however, disappointed their expectation. He quietly arose and left the lodge, with the blood gushing from his battered mouth. The old man, whose feelings he had been so unwarrantably harrowing, pointed at him with his fore-finger, and yelled a jeering whoop. His revenge was sweet.
The name of Bi-a-jig had become a common household word with the Foxes, with which mothers quieted their children into silence, and scared them into obedience. Their knowledge of his prowess, and belief in his being invulnerable, saved his Ojibway peace party from total destruction on this occasion.
Shosh-e-man (Snow Glider) became noted as a war-chief during the latter part of the eighteenth century. He belonged to the Awause Totem Clan. He was much loved by the traders, for his unvarying friendship to the whites. In company with John Baptiste Cadotte, he often encountered great danger in attempts to make peace with the Dakotas. He was also noted for great oratorical powers, and he is mentioned by some of the old traders who knew him as being the most eloquent man the Ojibways have ever product. No-din, his son, succeeded him in his rank as chief of a portion of the St. Croix district. He is also dead, and none are now living to perpetuate the chieftainship of this family.
Buffalo, of the Bear Clan, also became noted as a chief of the St. Croix Ojibways, in fact superseding in importance and influence the hereditary chiefs of this division. Having committed a murder, he originally fled from the Sault Ste. Marie and took refuge on the St. Croix. The traders, for his success in hunting, soon made him a chief of some importance. His son, Ka-gua-dash, has succeeded him as chief of a small band.
The descendants of the hereditary chief of the Wolf Totem, are, Na-guon-abe (Feather End), and Mun-o-min-ik-a-sheen (Rice Maker), chiefs of Mille Lac; I-aub-aus (Little Buck), chief of Rice Lake, and Shon-e-yah, (Money), chief of Pokaguma.
As has been remarked in a former chapter, the Ojibway pioneers on the St. Croix first located their village at Rice Lake, and next at Yellow Lake. The villages at Pokaguma and at Knife Lake are of comparative recent origin, within the memory of present living Indians.
About thirty years ago [1820] the Ojibways were, many of them, destroyed by the measles, or the "great red skin," as they term it, on the St Croix; whole communities and families were entirely cut off, and the old traders affirm that at least one-third of the "Rice Makers," or St. Croix Indians, disappeared under the virulence of this pestilence. Other portions of the tribe did not suffer so much, though some villages, especially that of Sandy Lake, became nearly depopulated.