I pity the heart and intelligence of any man who measures principles of justice and right by the gauge
of personal suffering or personal interest. It is unworthy of enlightened Christian manhood.
“By their works ye shall know them.” So may these people of whom I write be adjudged in the lights of 1874; so shall this nation be adjudged; so judge ye the author of this book.
The spring of 1845, Pow-e-shiek’s band of Sacs and Foxes were removed from their home on Iowa river, twenty-five miles above Iowa City, Iowa, to Skunk river, one hundred miles west. Eighteen or twenty teams were hired by the Government to convey the household goods and supplies.
Among the number who furnished teams, my father was one, and I went as captain of the ox-team. The Indians were assembled at the “Trading Post” preparatory to starting. While the wagons were being loaded, some of them were gathering up their horses and packing their goods, ready for shipment; others were making the air vocal with wails of grief over the graves of their friends, or from sadness, consequent on leaving the scenes of a life-time.
I wonder not that they should reluctantly yield to inexorable fate, which compelled them to leave their beautiful valley of the Iowa. “The white man wanted it,” and they must retreat before the onward march of empire, notwithstanding their nationality and their ownership of the country had been acknowledged by the Government, when it went into treaty-council with them for the lands they held. This was not on the plea of “eminent domain,” but on account of the clamor for more room for the expanding energies of a growing population.
“The white man wanted it,” tells the story, as it
has been repeated, time after time, since the founding of the Colonies in America.
I do not know that, in this instance, any advantage was taken of these Indians, except that advantage which the powerful always have over the weak. But I do know that if they had been allowed a choice, they never would have consented to leave the graves of their fathers. ’Twas easy to say, “It was a fair transaction of selling and buying.”
So is it a business transaction when a man buys the lots adjoining your own, and builds high walls on three sides, erects powder magazines and glycerine manufactories, corrupts city councils, and, by means of extra privileges and excessive taxation, compels you to sell your valuable property for a mere song, by saying, “Take my price for your property, or run the risk of being blown up.”