In the summer of 1836 a number of youngsters, accompanied by some young Indians and half-breeds, proceeded to examine the lonely hillock in the plains. The turf still preserved the shape of a grave. There were in the party as I remember, besides myself, Pierre Laframbois, Alex Beaubien, Charles Cleaver, J. Louis Hooker and John C. Haines. After digging about three feet into the ground we unearthed a skeleton surrounded by bits of woolen cloth, pieces of leather, brass military buttons and buckles and a brass plate with U. S. upon it. We became convinced that this was undeniably the grave of the traditional vidette, and reverently returned the remains into the grave where they had lain for a quarter of a century, and where I suppose they still remain. The spot was about a block south of the Calumet Club-House, near the S. E. corner of Indiana Ave. and Twenty-first Street. I kept watch of the place until streets were laid out and the property improved, having resided near it for over twenty-five years.
Fernando Jones.
No remains of any coffin were found, a fact which would indicate a battle-field burial; but on the other hand, it seems most improbable that the Indians would have left belt-plate, buttons and cloth on any of their victims.
The Indian Problem is solved at last, and by the Indians' own and only means for the solution of problems—the cutting of the knot. It has been a long struggle, marked by wrong on both sides and by shame on ours—theirs was not capable of shame. They had many friends and only one formidable enemy—themselves.
The Americans met them with the sword in one hand and the olive branch in the other. They declined the branch and defied the sword. The English offered them gifts in both hands, and they took all that was offered, rendering in exchange services disgraceful to the more civilized party to the contract. The French offered them love, and won theirs in return. While other whites held aloof, the gay Frenchman fraternized with them, became one with them, shared their lives and their pursuits, won their religious allegiance—nay, more; in a gentler and more irresistible way prevailed over them, for he formed with their women alliances which furnished the inferior race a hybrid, partly like themselves, but superior, and able and willing to be their leaders against the more grasping, less loving Americans. These hybrids have, in many cases, continued the race on its enlightened side, and there are not wanting among ourselves splendid specimens of manhood and womanhood, whose fine figures, flashing eyes, and strong, grave faces, proclaim the proud possession of the blood of the only really "first citizens" of our democratic republic.
It is now hard to trace the Indians who departed hence in 1835, fifty-eight years ago. They are almost "lost tribes." The report for 1890 of the Commissioners of Indian Affairs, gives Pottowatomies of various descriptions scattered in many places. This same is true of the Ottawas and Chippewas.
The larger part of the Pottowatomies (known of old as the "Woods Band," in contradistinction to the "Prairie Band") have renounced tribal relations and are known as the "Citizen Band." They number scarcely two thousand souls, and occupy a tract nearly thirty miles square (575,000 acres) in Oklahoma.
The Commissioners' report says but little about them, giving more attention to the "Prairie Band," since they are still a tribe, and thus, "wards of the nation." They number only 432, and hold in common 77,357 acres in Kansas, where they are doing fairly, but are pestered with the dregs of the "Citizen Band," who fall back on the tribe like the returned prodigal—but unrepentant, and still fit company only for the husk-eating swine.