The cave, before it had been excavated by man, extended back perhaps twenty-five feet, through the lime tufa rock and above the doorway, on a ledge of rock, the discoverers of the cave found the skeleton of an Indian

Whether his body had been placed there by his friends or he had sought a place where he might die in peace, with the music of falling waters eternally about him, no one knows or will ever know.

There were many bones which, by careful handling and proper treatment, were preserved; bones of the hands and feet of those people of long ago. Some of the bones of the feet of ladies of that remote time were as dainty and highly arched as those of any queen and, who knows, maybe they were those of a queen.

There, until a few years ago, were three trees close beside the trail that, in their sapling age, had been bent by the Indians to indicate the direction of the trail. They had grown to large size, but bent in grotesque shape. It is said the squaws, on their way back and forth along the trail, often sat on these bent trees to rest. Be that as it may the trees are gone now as a result of over diligence on the part of the road builders who, rather than deviate a little from the line, sacrificed the trees.

There are in the county two or three, at least, of these old bent trees, still left to point the way the trails used to run.

“White Pigeon was an Indian chief, a firm friend of the whites, who gave his life to help them. He had been at Detroit, where he overheard plans among hostiles for massacring the whites of southern Michigan and on foot he made the run, in desperate haste, to apprise them of their danger. He succeeded, but was so exhausted that he died a few days after. A monument to his memory has been erected, where his body lies, at a little turn in the road near White Pigeon.

“It is too hard that they should also be encroached upon, by men who sit down, without leave or title, upon lands which are not intended for sale.

Then the problem was how to get him out, which was finally solved by taking up some of the floor boards and fishing him out, scratched, dirty, covered with cobwebs, and in a general mess. He crawled back into bed content for once, at least, to let the rooster crow.

In 1780, where a little flower-starred prairie slopes down to the St. Joe River and the river sweeps in the great horse shoe bend known by the French as “Park-au-Vasche,” or cow pastures, where the buffalo came down to drink or wallowed in muddy luxury in the springy spots in the prairie near at hand, a Frenchman built a small log cabin and established a blacksmith shop. His name was LeClerc, and he had been sent by De Peyster, in command at Detroit, as an armourer to work among the Indians. 

Those in command endeavored to have a blacksmith at each of the important Indian encampments to keep their equipment in serviceable shape and attend to all the little matters that came up. 

He sharpened their tomahawks when they were dull, attended to the hoes that the Indian women used to plant their corn and beans, the axes they used to chop wood for their teepee fires, made the fish hooks they used to catch the fish that lurked in the deep pools along the river, and in a thousand ways made themselves useful to their Indian allies. 

It was a hard lonely life, one that few men would undertake, but LeClerc had not long to wait, for Joseph Bertrand, and Indian trader, decided to start a trading post close beside him, by the ford on the Old Sauk Trail from Chicago to Detroit. Bertrand built his cabin from the logs he brought up the river, that he salvaged from the chapel at Fort St. Joseph, which was the only building that was not burned by the Spanish when they took the fort only a short time before. 

The trading post existed for many years and eventually the little hamlet that sprung up around it took the name of Bertrand in honor of its founder. 

Bertrand married a Pottawatomie woman, and in the old cemetery near the “Ox Bow”, is a tombstone that records that the wife of Joseph Bertrand lies below. 

She was the daughter of Topinabee, the noted Pottawatomie chieftain. 

At a spot about a mile west of the river at Bertrand where big springs gush forth to form the little Pokagon creek that empties into the river a little above the bridge that now spans the river, stood the village of Pokagon, just south of the “Old Sauk Trail”. Here he erected a chapel, for he was deeply religious, and many “Black Robes” celebrated mass there.

The old Indian burying ground is located just west of the river and north of Pokagon creek. The standard of the cross still stands to mark the spot where many Indians lie. 

When the spring approached and the sap began running in the maples, Pokagon would move with his whole band to a camping ground, just north of where Sumnerville now stands, for the sugar making. John Lybrook, now deceased, used to tell of going to the camp when he was a little boy to play with the Indian children. 

On one occasion they were playing about a big tank of maple sap, a section of a huge whitewood tree that had been hollowed out and used as a storage tank for the unboiled sap. One little boy had a dog and some of the larger boys were teasing him, and one of the boys picked up the dog and threw him into the tank of sap and then, amidst great hilarity, they picked up the boy and threw him in, too. Dog and boy both had to swim the length of the tank before they could get out, but the sap seemed not to be injured, and the boy’s mother looked on grinning complacence. 

Leopold Pokagon was one of the great Pottawatomie chiefs, being the great Civil chief of all the Pottawatomies, and he it was that led his men to victory in the great battle at Three Rivers in 1798 when, aided by Ottawa from the Grand River and from Kalamazoo, they inflicted a crippling defeat on the Shawnees from Indiana who had planned to wrest from the Pottawatomies their traditional hunting grounds along the St. Joseph and force them to move elsewhere. 

But by the year 1811, the Shawnees had so far recovered in strength that under the leadership of Tecumseh, whose territory lay along the lower Wabash, they began again to make themselves felt. 

Tecumseh believed that the whole country was created by the Great Spirit for the exclusive use of the Indians, and that all treaties heretofore made were null and void unless signed by all the Indians in the country.

He collected a large Force about him in support of this belief and in November, 1811, a battle was fought between the tribes under The Prophet, the twin brother of Tecumseh. Tecumseh was absent at the time, at Tippecanoe on the ‘Wabash, where the American forces, under Gen.William Henry Harrison, had a battle-- which resulted in a disastrous defeat for the Indians, Tecumseh took refuge among the British in Canada, He was killed while fighting on the British side at the battle of The Thames, Oct. 6 1813. 

Many Pottawatomies were among his adherents and many from the valley of the St. Joseph were present and fought at the battle of Tippecanoe. 

But to return to Pokagon, he was truly great chief, and did much for his people. When “The Reserve”’ as the last land held by the Pottawatomies was called, the land lying west of the river St. Joseph, and extending from the Indiana line to Moccasins village north of Buchanan, was ceded to the government, Pokagon was the last to sign. As he took the pen and walked to the table to sign the tears ran sown his cheeks and fell on his jacket, and on the paper as he said, “1 would rather die than do this.” He is buried beneath the chapel at Silver Creek. 

There were half a dozen leading chiefs among the .Pottawatomie in the early years of the 1800’s. Among them was Shavehead. His favorite home was Shavehead Prairie, Cass County, and Shavehead Lake bears his name. 

He was of a surly, quarrelsome disposition, and wore a bristling scalp lock, the rest of his head being shaved. His favorite boast was of the white scalps he had. taken at Frenchtown on the river Raisin which he wore as trophies. The Old Chicago Road, where it crossed the St. Joseph River at Mottville, was called “The Grand Traverse” and here at the crossing he would stand and demand toll of all who crossed the river. 

With no grist mill nearer than Pokagon, the settlers all went there to get their grists ground. On one occasion a settler, provoked beyond bounds when Shavehead stopped him at the ford, reached out and grasped him by the scalplock and, with his blacksnake whip in his other hand, administered a threshing from which Shavehead never recovered. No one was ever called upon for toll again. 

In spite of his ugly disposition he had one friend, a white man, who hunted and fished with him, and drank the poor whiskey of the day. But game was beginning to become scarce and Shavehoad was heard to say, “deer getting scarce, white man shoot too many, me stop white man shoot deer.” The two old friends went out on a hunt together not long after, but at nightfall the white man returned alone, and Shavehead. was never seen again. The mystery of his last resting place was never solved. 

Topinabee who was Aniquiba’s son, was next to Aniquiba himself perhaps the greatest chieftain of the Pottawatomies. His village, Swoptock, was situated at the south end of Topinabee Lake, afterward known as Gitchell’s Lake. The lake in those days covered a much greater area than it does today, extending far to the north, covering what is now swamp and cultivated lands. 

Now it is only a weedy pond, choked with water-lilies and splatter-docks, where the grebes build their queer floating nests, and giant. Bullfrogs boom huskily through the long June nights. 

Topinabee was a trusted friend of the whites, his only fault being his thirst for liquor, a habit which was his undoing. When, at the treaty of Chicago, Gen. Cass told him to keep sober so that he might secure a. good bargain for himself and his people, he replied, “Father, we do not care for the land, nor the money, nor the goods what we want is whiskey, give us whiskey.”

Topinabee, at the time of the Dearborn massacre, was in Northern Michigan, but rode in great haste when he knew the massacre was on, but too late. 

Under cover of darkness the wounded commander, Captain Nathan Heald, was smuggled away in a canoe in which he eventually reached the little village of Topinabee, where his wife and the Kinzie family were awaiting him, they having been rescued through the efforts of friendly Indians and conveyed by boat to the village of Topinabee. Captain Heald and his wife were sent to Michilimackinac, where they surrendered to the British. 

Topinabee’s good feeling toward the whites was shown by a little incident in his later life. 

Isaac Wells (who was the grandfather of Mrs. Clarence Gillette) came to Michigan when about a year old. His parents tried various places, eventually settling in Bertrand Township. There were then but five white families residing in that vicinity, and nearly 500 Indians in that part of the “Indian Reserve”. He played with the Indian boys and soon became familiar with the Indian language and was able to speak it fluently. 

When he was eight years old he was called upon to act as interpreter for the Indian Chief Topinabee, who lived near by. He accompanied him on a trip to Tippecanoe on the Wabash River, and was gone for ten days. 

Upon his return he was presented with gifts which were intended as an expression of gratitude. 

A fawn skin that had been skillfully tanned and finished was filled with wild honey and given him, and the Chief’s son gave him a peace pipe, now in the Cassopolis museum. 

But the love of strong drink was too much for Topinabee and finally, while under its influence, he fell from his horse and was so badly injured that he died two days later, in July 1826. 

Liquor was the cause of much of the trouble the frontiersman had with the Indians. Old Chief Leopold Pokagon once said, “Had it not been for liquor there would have been no Fort Dearborn massacre. 

The great war chief of the Pottawatomies was Weesaw, whose village was in what we now call “the bend of the river”, north of the Carey Mission site, where the road meets the river. The majestic bluff lies just to the east, with its crown of beautiful trees it towers up to dominate the river for miles in either direction. 

Weesaw made his summer home in Cass County. He was excessively fond of display and his costumes were notable for their wealth of adornment. Jimmerson, who wrote a book about the time of Weesaw’s occupation of the reserve says of him-- “One warm winter day about the last of January, 1835, I stood at Beeson’s corner in the village of Niles, looking down the street running parallel with the river (that would have been Front Street) and saw a large crowd of men and boys coming toward me. 

“The central object was an Indian of more that ordinary consequence, apparently fifty or fifty-five years of age, tall and straight as an arrow, with a countenance as grave and dignified as almost to amount to solemnity; he seemed to the sagacious lawmaker more than the swift footed warrior. 

“He wore a shirt of blue cotton stuff, with leggings and moccasins ornamented with many colored porcupine quills. On the outer edge of each legging was arranged a row of little bells, from the size of an ounce ball to that of a grape shot, the largest being placed at the thigh, the remainder decreasing in size as they reached the ankle. A snow white blanket with ornamented border hung loosely over his shoulders. A large silver broach, nearly as large as a tea saucer, fastened his shirt at the throat, around his wrists, and also on his arms above the elbow were elegantly worked silver bands; from his ears hung large silver drops of ear rings.

His head dress consisted of a white hand of otter skin dressed with the fur on, and between it and his forehead was thrust a bunch of eagle feathers which, with the large silver crescent that assisted in confining them to their place, added greatly to his tately and dignified bearing. 

This was Weesaw, the chief of the Pottawatomies. 

As he walked along with his crowd of admirers to the village inn, ever and anow answering their inquiries with brief gutturals, with a dignity that bespoke one born to command, he seemed every inch a man; one in whose breast dwelt noble impulses, generous purposes. 

But sad was the fate of this untutored red son of the forest; but a short time after I saw him in the streets of Niles, he was shot by one of his own band, (by his own son) while trying to pacify two of the quarrelsome drunken members. 

“The Reserve”, as it was called, on the west bank of the St. Joseph, opposite Niles, belonged to this tribe. There they often met and joined in song and dance and feast, and there they assembled on these occasions those human vultures that hover over the receding track of the red man as he is pushed westward by the lawlessness and avarice of our race. 

And there were the Moccasins, Big Moccasin and Little Moccasin, whose village was just below Buchanan, at what is now “Moccasin Bluff,” where eternal springs flow forth from beneath the bluff— springs that tinge the stones in the pools they form with the red brown deposits of iron and sulphur. 

Matchkees village was on the west side of the river opposite the mouth of Dowagiac Creek. This a quiet, secluded spot beside the river, a level spot backed by the shelter of wooded bluffs. 

Chebass was another noted chief, the site of’ whose village is unknown; but there as an Indian village on the hill across the valley to the south of Carey Mission just above the group of springs, once called the the “Babcock Springs;” they were a convenient and necessary source of water to the village on the hill above. 

On this site, the plow has turned up the blackened stones of Indian hearths. Numerous beads and other relics at one time abounded here. This may have been the village of Chebass. No one seems to know for sure, but in 1829 or ‘30, young Tom Huston used to come here to play with the boys and looked forward to a nice provided by the Indian squaws, with whom he was a great favorite. But when he found the main dish was to be dog soup, his stomach rebelled and in the darkness he slipped away and beat a hasty retreat home. 

These chieftains, Shavehead, Pokagon, Topinabee, Weesaw, Moccasin, Matchkee, Chebass, and Aniquiba, were the men to whom was entrusted the leadership of the Pottawatomies in the early years of the nineteenth century. 

Aniquiba was the head chief of all the Pottawatomies, the Grand Sachem. He was a very old man, his span of years was almost run, but he still held his young warriors with a firm hand. His village was probably on the flats just north of Old Fort St. Joseph and the cross on the highland, beneath which Father Allouez sleeps.

The clear waters or Silver Brook flow down to meet the river here, and it was an ideal camping spot much used by the Indians especially after the establishment of the mission, as they were close to its benefiting influences as well as being close to the trading post and blacksmith shop. 

Bertrand’s trading post flourished. He was friendly with the Indians and generous with them in their business relations and his marriage with the daughter of Topinabee insured a continuance of this friendly feeling. 

After the abandonment of Fort Miami at the mouth of the river there is no record of traders in the valley until the close of the Revolution, when from New Jersey came one William Burnett, an independent trader who located near the mouth of the river, but who covered the entire valley of the St. Joseph, as well as the Kankakee, the Kalamazoo, Chicago, and extended even to the Illinois and Wabash in his transactions with the Indians. 

His success as a trader brought him into disfavor with the Commandant at Michilimackinac, and he was ordered to report to the post; he refused but being threatened, agreed to try living at the post for a year. However, when he refused to stay longer, he was sent a prisoner to Montreal; when at last he managed to escape he returned as soon as possible to the St. Joseph to find his property had been almost entirely confiscated by his clerks and English traders had invaded his territory. But he was keen-witted and formed an alliance with the Indians by marrying the pretty daughter of the head Chief Aniquiba, the ancient head of the Pottawatomie tribes of the region. 

Two of Aniquiba’s children have left indelible marks on the history of Michigan; Princess Kakima as Burnett’s wife, and her brother, head chief Topinabee, who, next to Aniquiba was considered the greatest Pottawatomie chieftain. He was the signer of all the important treaties which granted to the whites great areas of Indian lands. Old Chronicles picture the marriage of Burnett, the white trader, and his Indian princess as a ceremony of much pomp and circumstance by the Catholic missionary, Father La Vi Deaux, then missionary at this point, no pains being spared to make so important an occasion a memorable one. The marriage gave Burnett an influence among the Indians no British trader could undermine and for years he remained unmolested, seldom leaving his home, except to market his furs and secure supplies at Mackinac or Detroit. 

He loved his home which was on the west bank of the river about two miles from the lake. It commanded a beautiful view across the river with its tree covered highlands, and the sweep of the river, in places covered with thickets of wild rice and rushes and cat tails, where hundreds of wild birds nested and brought up their young through the long summer days. 

About his home he planted orchards of apple, plum and quince, orchards which endured as late as 1870, and some of whose fruit was exhibited at the state fair on that date. 

His wife, Kakima, proved herself very efficient and she raised a family of boys and girls and attended to her household duties while he attended to the business of the post. 

Two of his old account books are still in existence and show an amazing amount of business, one year amounting to over $100,000. For the year 1796 and’7 they show the sale of 117 beaver skins, 97 fishers, 1591 deer, 3127 doe, 5091 muskrats, 160 bear, 250 wolves, 1250 redskins, 215 wild cats, 280 foxes, 517 mink, 2899 bucks, 430 otter, 22,032 raccoon, and 2680 “en.fants du diable” (skunks). 

To show the extent of his business, on:

• August 17, 1793 To sundries per J. Lame, at Chicago

• To peltries, per J. Lame, at Chicago

• May 25, 1793 to sundry merchandise; per G. Martin taken to Wabash.

• Jan. 9, 1798, To cash paid an Indian for carrying and express to Milwaky.

• Sept. 15, 1800, Jean Bte. Ponstable Dr. to 7 bottles of spirits paid an Indian, Askie, for going express with the Spanish commandant and letters to Fort Wayne.

• And the following items show that he had attained some importance in the business and professional world:

• March 12, 1792, To cash paid the Tailor.

• Aug. 21, 1792, To cash paid to the Doctor.

• Aug. 20, 1800, P. Lessen, Bought of William Burnett, one cow, one calf and three large hogs for 550 pounds.

There seems to be no record of his death, but it is thought he may have been one of the victims of the Fort Dearborn massacre Aug. 15, 1812, for he was known to be there, and an Indian was looking for him to kill him. Furthermore records of his activities cease at about that time. 

He was an outstanding personality, and much of the comparative quiet among, the Indians of the St. Joseph Valley at the time is attributable to his ability to live with them in peace and harmony, as the Indians put it, “as a friend and older brother.” 

The day of the red man in Michigan was fast drawing to a close. On Sept. 28, 1828, a treaty was signed at Carey Mission by Gen. Lewis Cass, Governor of Michigan Territory, and Pierre Menard, for the government, and with Topinabee, Pokagon, Weesaw, and other prominent chieftains signing for the Indians, by which all that portion described as follows, was deeded to the government. 

“Beginning at the Mouth of the St. Joseph River of Lake Michigan, and thence running up said river to a point on same river, half way between La Vache qui pisse, and Moccasin village, thence in a direct line to the nineteenth mile tree, on the northern boundary line of the state of Indiana; thence with the same, west to Lake Michigan; and thence with the shore of the lake to the place of beginning.” 

This included all of Berrien County west of the river, except the portion lying between the river, the Indiana line, and the line drawn from the nineteenth mile tree, to the point on the river, halfway between Moccasin’s village, and on the east side of the river. 

This treaty resulted in a greater concentration of the Indian population, as small contingents were required to move into this small area, which, although a very beautiful and desirable country was of insufficient size to afford adequate support for so many. 

Game, which had been plentiful, became more and more impoverished until on Sept. 26, 1833, the .savages sorrowfully relinquished all property rights in this last refuge along the river which had been their highway of travel and had provided a large part of their food. In lieu thereof they received certain lands west of the Mississippi. They were to evacuate the lands within three years. 

They bitterly repented of this promise to leave, however, and prayed the Great Father to permit them to remain on their ancient hunting grounds, and to be buried near the graves of their Fathers but this prayer was refused, and in the fall of 1836 they were called together at the Carey Mission, or what had been the Carey Mission, for it had been removed some years before, for a “talk,” which resulted in an order from the government agents, Godfrey and Kircheval, to prepare for  removal of a certain day. On that day they were gathered

(but not all of them) and, in charge of the agents, and accompanied by two companies of United States troops, they moved out on the Old Chicago Road, some on foot, the more helpless loaded into wagons. With tear filled eyes, they looked for the last time on the scenes which had been their home from infancy; the streams where they had fished and swam and paddled their canoes; the glades where they had camped, and sat and smoked and watched their children playing in the red glow of their camp fires. 

Many of the feebler ones, unable to keep up with the main body, were left to die by the wayside, and some, who escaped the vigilance of the troops, wandered back to their old haunts, only to be gathered up the succeeding year by Alex.Coquillard and under his supervision, compelled to rejoin the tribe in Kansas.