held, to know what should be done with them. Some were for torturing and killing, others for sparing their lives; finally it was agreed that they should be sent west of the Mississippi, and an arrangement was made with the Sioux that no tribe should molest them, and the Sioux should be responsible for their protection, which agreement was faithfully kept. The conquered country, of which the present Saginaw Valley is a part, was then divided among them all as a common hunting ground. But a great many who came here to hunt never returned, nor were ever heard of. It became the opinion of the Indians that the spirits of the dead Sauks still haunted their hunting grounds and were killing off their hunters, when in fact it was a few Sauks who had escaped the massacre and still lingered around their hunting grounds, watching for straggling hunters and killing them whenever an opportunity occurred. Ton-do-gong, an Indian chief who died in 1840, told me he killed a Sauk while hunting when a boy. This must have been over 80 years ago, and up to a few years ago the Indians still believed there was a Sauk in the vicinity. They had seen the place where he had made his fires and slept. I have known them to get together and not hunt for several days, for the reason, they said, there was a Sauk in the woods; they had seen where he had slept. I used to laugh at them, but it was of no avail; you could not make them believe otherwise.

"But to go back to the Indian tradition. The country was considered as haunted, and no more Indians came here to hunt, although game was abundant. Finally it was converted into what would be termed among civilized nations a penal colony. Every Indian who committed a crime would flee or be banished to the haunted hunting grounds (Saginaw Valley) to escape punishment, for the Indian laws were more severe and strict then than now. This was long before we became degraded by coming in contact with the whites, said the Indian.

"The Chippewas becoming the most numerous, finally their language predominated, and at the present time the Indians in the Saginaw Valley do not speak in all respects the same as the Chippewas on Lake Superior, from which they originally sprung, showing that the mixing of different nations in the Saginaw Valley has been the cause of the same. Put-ta-qua-sa-mine said his grandfather told it to him when he was a boy, which was 90 years before, and that it had been handed down to his grandfather from his ancestors, and was a custom with him to repeat it often to his people, so the tradition or history should not be lost; and a successor was always appointed in case the traditionist should die, that the history of the nation should not be lost, and be handed down from generation to generation.

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"I have talked with two other old Indians on the same subject, and their tradition is precisely the same, word for word, with one exception. They say the battles on the Flint were fought by the army coming from Detroit. I have no doubt that the above is a

correct narrative, as much so as if it had been written at the time and handed down to us as a matter of history."

LOCATION OF THE BATTLE-FIELD.

About 12 miles below Saginaw City is "Skull Island," so named by the Indians in consideration that upon it exists an endless quantity of "dead heads," which were left here after a great fight, years long past, between the Chippewas and Sauks, their owners having no further use for them, especially after they had passed through the hands of a set of hair dressers who took off skin and hair together. These Indians were queer fellows in their day; and at this battle of Skull Island, which the Chippewas had traveled "many a weary mile to enjoy," they made a general Kilkenny cat fight of it, and as, like Maturin's tragedies, "all stabbed and everybody died," except about six on each side, each party of them retired and celebrated the victory, leaving the field in undisturbed possession of the "skulls," which, having seen the folly of fighting, were willing to lie quiet, friend and foe, "cheek by jowl," and compose themselves for a few more years of hunting and fishing, by the glorious expectation of taking a squint at the "happy hunting grounds," and the proud consequence of having dedicated their respective knowledge-boxes to the christening of about two acres of Bad Island.

Just below this locality of warlike memory lies Sag-e-nong, upon a high bank on the west side of the river. This is the Saginaw of the red man, and the only place known to him by that name. The meaning of the word is the "land of Sauks." The place known to white men as Saginaw lies 12 miles or more up the river, and is called Ka-pay-shaw-wink, which means the "camping ground.” Here it was that the tribes living hereabout were wont to assemble, statedly to hold council together, often continuing some days.

THE WINNEBAGO WAR.

During the year 1827 a war party of the Winnebagos attacked a camp of the Chippewas, and succeeded in killing eight warriors. The Winnebagos engaged in this ruse de guerre were arrested under authority of the United States, and four of them given up to be tried by the court of warriors of the Chippewas. The Winnebagos were of course found guilty and suffered capital punishment. Red Bird, a chief of the Winnebagos and a kinsman of the four braves who were executed, sought revenge, attacked the Chippewas, and, being defeated, turned his savage arms on unoffending white men, but he and six of his band were soon made to surrender; three of them were hanged, and the chief with three others placed in prison, where they died.

THE LEGEND OF THE LONE TREE.

The following legends and descriptions have been collected from many sources, and relate to history so far as they are characteristic of Indian life:

No person who has ever traversed the valley of the Saginaw but remembers the "lone tree," which stood upon the east side of the river above Portsmouth, isolated upon the prairie, far from its fellows. It looked like some lone misanthrope, who, having, become disgusted with the vanities and foibles of human nature, had taken up his abode in the desert, where, far from the busy haunts of his fellow man, he might pour out his heart's bitterness to the wild winds, and waste his spleen and discontent upon the "desert air." There it stood, majestic in its loneliness, like the last rose whose companions are gone. A spirit of romance certainly seemed to linger about it; a whisper of the past gently breathed through its desolate branches, and the question naturally arose, Why is it that this tree thus stood alone? A greater interest was imparted to it by the fact of its having been for years the abode of a white owl, whose dismal whoop fell mournfully upon the ear of night. The Indians had a great reverence for this tree, and also for its occupant, which they believed to be a spirit. There is a beautiful belief existing among the aborigines of our country in regard to a guardian spirit, which they say is often seen, and which appears in the form of a bird, sometimes the dove, sometimes the eagle, but more frequently assuming the form of a night bird, though the disposition of the deceased, while living, has much to do with the species. For instance, a great warrior dies whose disposition had been fearless, ambitious and untamed; his spirit-bird personifies an eagle; a blood-thirsty chief tain's spirit-bird is a hawk. A gentle maiden passes away to the spirit-land, and her friends know that she is hovering near them when they hear the mournful notes of the turtle dove at morn or

eve.

A legend, or tradition, concerning the "lone tree" exists among the Indians of the Saginaw Valley. Many, many long years before the white man's foot had left its impress upon this valley, Ke-wah-ke-won ruled his people with love and kindness. He was a patriarch among them, and beloved for the gentleness of his manners and the mildness of his government. He had been a great warrior in his day, but his youth had departed, and languid pulse and feeble footsteps told, alas! too plainly, that he would soon be treading the hunting grounds of the Great Spirit. The good old man felt that indeed he was passing away-dying and he was desirous to see once more his tribes in council, and bestow upon them his last blessing, and impart to them his dying counsel and admonition. The old chief lay upon his death-bed, and around him were gathered, in mournful silence, his beloved people, eager to catch the first and last words that should drop from the lips of their dying chieftain. It was a mournful and melancholy picture,

that death-bed scene in the wilderness. At length the chief spoke, while the fire of his youth seemed to kindle again in his dim eye, and his voice, though weak, was calm and clear:

"My children," said he, "the Great Spirit has called to me, and I must obey the summons. Already is the hand raised to sever the last chord that binds me to my children; already my guide stands at the door to convey me to the hunting grounds of my fathers in the spirit-land. You weep, my children, but dry your tears, for though I leave you now, yet will my spirit-bird ever watch over you. I will whisper to you in the evening breeze, and when the morning comes you will know that I have been with you through the night. But the Good Spirit beckons for me, and I must hasten. Let my body be laid in a quiet spot in the prairie, with my tomahawk and pipe by my side. You need not fear that the wolf will disturb my rest, for the Great Spirit, I feel, will place a watch over me. Meet me in the spirit-land, my children. Farewell." And the old chief slept the sleep that knows no waking till the end of time.

They buried him in a lone spot in the prairie, near the beautiful river, with his face toward the rising sun. His remains were never disturbed by bird or beast; for it would indeed seem that so the Great Spirit had ordered it. Time passed on, and a tree arose from his grave and spread its branches over it, as if to protect it, and a beautiful white owl took possession of it. The Indians tell us that the "lone tree" marked the last resting place of Ke-wahke-won, and that the white owl was the spirit-bird sent to watch over it. The "lone tree" is no longer seen by the boatman or the passer-by, for vandal hands have cut it down; yet the spot is often pointed out upon which it stood, and where sleeps Ke-wah-ke-won, the beloved of his tribe.

INDIAN PAYMENT DAY IN OLD TIMES.

There is a vast difference in the Indian payment day of the present and that of "olden time," long before Saginaw had attained its present importance and standing. The writer of this had occasion to visit Saginaw City many years ago, at which time he had an opportunity of attending an Indian payment. About twelve hundred Indians, of "all sorts and sizes," from the toddling pappoose to the swarthy niche-nah-va, were assembled together in the morning, upon the beautiful lawn which gently sloped toward the river in front of the council house. It would be almost impossible to give the reader an idea of the hub-bub and confusion of tongues that prevailed upon the occasion. Aside from the 1,200 Indians were a variety of other characters, including the chattering Frenchman, the blarneying Irishman, and the blubbering Dutchman, all mingling their discordant jargon with that of the vociferous Yankee. Groups of Indian boys, some exercising with the bow and arrow, others jumping, running, wrestling, and making the welkin ring with their noisy merriment, were collected in the

vicinity of their respective tents. The river, too, was covered with canoes, and here the "dusky maid" in a more quiet and becoming manner was enjoying the occasion; and it was really surprising to see the dexterity and fearlessness with which she managed the "light canoe." A list of all the names of the heads of Indian families, chiefs, etc., was taken by the Indian superintendent, each Indian being entitled to a certain amount. The money to be paid was placed upon a table in the council room, in piles of $10 and $20 each, in American half-dollar pieces. Around the table sat the Indian superintendent, interpreter, clerks, etc. Commencing at the top of the list, a crier called off the names, the parties presented themselves, were paid off, and immediately made room for others. It was amusing to observe the great number of friends that would gather around the Indian after he received his money from the paymaster. Here a trader suddenly recollects some debt of long standing against Mr. Indian; there a seedy individual with sad eyes and nasal promontory coleur de pinque, most seductively offering him a drink of river water slightly tinctured with poor whisky, while one or two dear friends are advising him to look out for sharpers, at the same time intimating that the superintendent has been paying off in bogus coin. In the evening, while the drinking Indians were rioting and carousing in the town, the evangelized natives were encamped upon the opposite side of the river, and the surrounding forest fairly resounded with their loud singing, preaching and praying. Instrumental music, from the fiddle to the Indian tattoo, might also have been heard arising above the "horrid din."

The scene that presents itself at the Indian payment now-a-days is altogether a different one, at least at Saginaw City. We are happy to see measures adopted to prevent the sale of intoxicating drinks to the poor Indian on such occasions. Would to God it might be prohibited upon all occasions.

SENTENCE AND EXECUTION.

The Chippewas and Ottawas inhabiting this section of Michigan were friendly to each other, and during the hunting seasons frequently encamped near each other. In the fall of 1853 a party of one tribe built their cabins on the banks of the river, and a party of the other tribe, about 80 in number, encamped close by. It is unnecessary to speak of their life in these camps; suffice it to say that the days were spent in hunting and the nights in drinking "fire water" and carousing. In one of the revels at the camp a Saginaw Indian, maddened by liquor, killed his squaw, and to conceal the deed threw her body upon the fire.

Recovering from the stupor of the revel, he saw that the signs of his guilt were still before him, and fearing the wrath of his tribe, he fled toward the other encampment.

His absence was noticed, the charred remains of the poor squaw were found, and the cry for blood was raised. The avengers were