Chronicles of Oklahoma
Volume 1, No. 2
October, 1921
THE FLIGHT OF THE KICKAPOOS
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This friendly, though exceedingly cunning, tribe was one of the principle actors in a bit of war history which, for its unique
combination of ludicrous and serious aspects of those troublous times, has scarcely an equal. It has never been recorded,
so far as I know, and it may furnish an hour’s reading to those who are at present interested in their future destiny. They
have, up to this time, held out against all the wiles brought to bear to induce them to take their lands in severalty and
allow their white brother to settle as next door neighbor. This tribe, once numerous, now numbers scarce three hundred and
fifty people and their little reservation, skirted on the south by the fertile North Canadian Valley and on all sides completely
surrounded by white settlements and is reckoned one of the finest bodies of land in the Territory. It affords magnificent
timber reserves from which the wild game has never been driven out and, to those who know the Indian’s love of the chase,
it is not a matter of wonder that they are so reluctant to yield their title to such an ideal Indian paradise.
Not long ago, the majority of the Kickapoos, in council, surrendered to the inevitable and called for their allotments. Major
Moses Neal, who was once their agent and whom they have learned to trust as a friend, is now among them allotting to them
their homes in severalty. Some of them, however, are holding out stubbornly against the new order of things and recently sent
a delegation to the Great Father at Washington to ask his interference. To their confiding natures it did not seem possible
that the Great White Chief could not help them, as they found to be the case, so they, too, will yield at length and sell
their surplus lands, since it must be so.
The Kickapoo tribe was settled near the Pottawatomies of Kansas at the outbreak of the Civil War and, like many others partaking
of their simple nature, were almost frightened to death at the first clash of arms between their northern and southern white
brothers. Under the influence of such feelings entertained naturally, they were easily persuaded by their medicine men that
the day of doom had come for those
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who remained so near the seat of conflict and that every man, woman and child would be murdered unless saved by flight to
the mountains. Here only, they thought they could find safety. So, in their dire extremity, the band chiefs were brought together
with the principal chiefs in council. After several days, they decided upon the mountain fastnesses of the then untroubled
Mexico. In short, they decided that there was nothing to do but run for it, and the distance to those strongholds did not
seem to shake their resolution in regard to the matter. Their councils were held so secretly that even the ever watchful Indian
agent knew nothing of their plans until they had been put into execution. Thus it was, on a moonlit night toward the close
of the balmy May of 1861, every man, woman and child of the Kickapoo tribe gathered their effects and set off southward over
the blooming plains of Kansas, taking such arms as they had, among which were a few guns.
They traveled the entire night and so swiftly that they were many miles from their reservation at dawn. A small detachment
of troops was hastily equipped and started in pursuit, but the hesitation on account of the danger of leaving the post too
weak to resist an outbreak of other tribes, which everywhere was threatened or suspected in that unsettled period, and the
delay in attending the preparation for such an expedition, gave the crafty tribesmen who headed the Kickapoos many miles the
start. The sparse settlements in Kansas and illimitable miles of the Indian Territory, through which their course lay, made
it very difficult and extremely hazardous for the pursuers. The fugitives therefore had no trouble with the pursuers, for
they never were overtaken.
They swept like a cyclone, southward over the plains, and so terrific was the impetus given by the fear incited in them and
the madness by which they were controlled, that they became veritable demons, before whom nothing human could stand. The Comanches
were met in force and were brushed out of their way as so much chaff in the winding pathway of the whirlwind. At that time,
the Comanches were reckoned to be the fiercest and most warlike of all western Indians, but the terrified Kickapoos were then
still more fierce, for they saw nothing but death behind them and, with the desperation
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of madness and with a singleness of purpose that is so characteristic of the Indian, they pressed on toward the mountains
of refuge.
It must not be understood that thy spent every moment in flight, for that would not have been humanly possible and the long
march to Mexico would therefore appear less marvelous. In their haste to leave the reservation, they had made no preparation
in the way of food for the journey and, indeed, could have carried but little anyway. On this account, they employed scouting
parties, in front as well as on the right and left, and these scouting parties were used also for the purpose of securing
game as well as to prevent ambush or surprise from their enemies, for they reckoned upon having no friends in the country
through which they should pass and they dreaded nothing so much as capture and return to their reservation. Determined not
to be overtaken by pursuers, they were equally determined not to be caught in a trap which, if laid by soldiers, meant capture
or death and, if laid by Indians, signified, to them, nothing short of extermination. They were mounted upon Indian ponies,
the fleetest and most enduring of all horses. The skyline was patrolled at every mile as they advanced, thus keeping a good
part of them in the saddle continually. The hardships thus endured would have overwhelmed a less hard and less determined
race.
When they reached Red River, they had only accomplished about one-fourth of their long journey. Here they met new enemies
and new difficulties. The Texas Rangers, then regarded as the best horsemen and the most daring fighters in the West, lay
along their path throughout the entire distance across the imperial state. The Rangers had, by this time, been made aware
of their presence and, not doubting but that they were on a marauding expedition, set to work at once to meet and overcome
them. A large troop of the Texas Frontier Guard, as the state militia was then called, was put in motion to intercept them.
The commander placed but a poor estimate upon the fighting qualities of the Kickapoos, who had hitherto been known as the
friendliest tribe that had ever visited Texas. Indeed, the Kickapoos had not engaged in warfare of any character for many
years. They had frequently visited the white settlements, offering in barter all classes of furs and hides in exchange for
such commodi-
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ties as could be secured only from the whites. When a band of white settlers, which had been formed to follow the invading
Comanches or Kiowas, would come suddenly or unexpectedly upon a camp of Kickapoos, the latter would run from their camp to
meet them, shouting at the top of their voices, “Kickapoos! Kickapoos!” which name came to be synonymous with “white man’s
friends.” When the truth of their claim was substantiated, their camp was never molested and the Rangers always found something
to eat and frequently some information of the common foe, for the Indians of tribes which were unfriendly to the white people
were also unfriendly to the Kickapoos. So it came about that the Texas Frontier Guard started out as if to bring in the deserting
band of “friendly” Kickapoos without so much as a skirmish, basing their estimate upon the Kickapoo as they had once known
him instead of the Kickapoo who believed that he had the terrors of judgment day behind him.
The Kickapoos met the Rangers, one bright day in early June, on the Salt Fork of Red River. The Rangers were halted upon a
comparatively level plateau and thought only of bringing the Indians to a parley, while the latter thought of nothing but
moving ahead. Indeed, since shaking the reservation dust from their feet, their motto seemed to have been “onward!” It does
not appear that the waiting party was nervous about taken at a disadvantage. They estimated their number to be about one-half
that comprising the fighting force of the Indians and they did not fear four times their own number of such warriors on level
ground. Savage mode of warfare is subject to no discipline and a battle with them is usually either a cunningly devised plan
of ambush or a running fight, now charging and now running rapidly away, circling and returning again, heralded by showers
of arrows or, if they have arms of other kinds, they discharge these aimlessly into the mass of their enemy. This was what
the Rangers expected. While knownng that they had no defensive works of any kind, they also knew the usual tactics of the
savages and therefore deemed it incredible that the latter, now formed in line, would charge right into their ranks without
so much as a single halt. But this was precisely what the Kickapoos did upon that occasion, putting into the line for the
charge their best mounted and best equipped warriors of the
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younger blood. The Rangers waited, in confident anticipation, the charge that would come to a halt at a safe distance, out
of range of the pistols and shotguns with which most of them were armed. They waited, however, for the halt that did not take
place. When the impetuous braves were almost upon them, the Rangers began to prepare for a close fight, but it was too late.
The irresistible human cyclone forced the Rangers into a burly-burly race in which every man seemed bent upon saving his own
scalp. The Rangers retreated by the way they had come, that is, to the eastward along the plateau, fearing ambush if they
should run directly southward, as the ground in that direction was broken into deep gulches. Their decision was also no doubt
influenced by their ardent desire to get out of the way of the furious savages, who were headed southward and who seemed determined
to let nothing stop their progress in that direction.
The victorious Kickapoos continued to press the Rangers until the way was made clear for the women and children and old men
of the tribe who, at a signal from the chiefs, took up the line of march with eagerness, while the warriors cleverly covered
the rear. This, however, did not prevent them from being followed by the determined whites, who, turning as soon as the Kickapoo
warriors left off pursuing, kept at their heels for a short distance until the hill country was reached, when the pursuit
was abandoned.
Three or four more days brought the Kickapoos to the edge of that vast, and then unknown, Llano Estacado, where not a tree,
nor a shrub nor even a mound broke the vision for miles on miles. The wind-swept sea of grass, unrelieved by water, was now
before them. On the confines of this terra incognita, they deemed themselves secure against all except the red men who claimed
the plains. It was here that the Kickapoos halted for the first time for rest. The grass was then at its greenest and their
gaunt, thin ponies soon regained their wonted vigor. This region, at that season, fed vast herds of buffalo, grazing lazily
northward. These furnished meat in abundance for the tired and hungry little band.
After allowing a few days of respite for rest and recuperation, they repacked their scanty belongings and resumed their journey.
Here was Indian life to perfection. As they progressed, the plain spread out vaster and grander before them and the herds
of buffalo, to the right and to the left and in front of them, looked like great shadows cast upon the sea of grass. Antelope
were abundant and now the weary march was enlivened by the chase. The only inconvenience suffered was the want of water. But
here, again, the endurance given as a birthright to the aborigines, stood them in good stead, for they traveled many weary
miles at a time without so much
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as a drop of water to relieve their intense thirst. The agonies of those hours were certainly great, but they were no doubt
discounted somewhat by the Indian method of reasoning—that, so long as the hostile Indian tribes had not come into these wilds,
they would be at least secure from enemies other than those given by nature.
But their hopes were elusive for, in the midst of the wilderness of sage grass, their quick eyes caught sight of a moving
cloud that they knew was not the sign of a slowly moving band of buffalo. It was toward the going down of the sun which, being
in their faces, dimmed their otherwise acute vision. But, as it drew on toward them, they made out a body of horsemen, traveling
not directly in their faces but obliquely across their course. Hoping that they had not been discovered, they endeavored to
bear off their route and get to the rear of the horsemen. This movement was at once detected by the strange party, which had
descried the Kickapoos and had shaped its course so as to fall in with them, rightly reasoning that its numbers were greater
and that it had nothing to fear from a conflict. Therefore changing its course to conform to the original design, the two
bands were soon near enough together to enable the Kickapoos to recognize their old enemies, the loud-yelling and hard-fighting
Comanches. Knowing that parley would be an idle waste of time, their bravest warriors drew up in line as if, out of idle curiosity,
to gaze at the oncoming foe. At a signal, the same dashing courage that had awed and scattered the redoubtable Rangers was
hurled upon the unformed horde of Comanches and soon riderless horses and horseless Comanche warriors were scattered over
the plain, while those of the foe who were fortunate enough to hold their seats upon their terror-stricken ponies were scampering
away, closely pursued by the victorious Kickapoos. The Comanches, thus cut into two bands, were now at the mercy of the Kickapoos,
for many of their bravest warriors had fallen and many more had been disarmed in their headlong tumble into the grass by the
shock of the first onslaught. The Kickapoos, returning from those who had fled, now caught these as they were trying to wriggle
away like snakes through the tall, thick grass and they were given over to indiscriminate slaughter. They were disposed of
without resistence, much as a nest of rats might be destroyed by a squad of boys, with nothing more to indicate a struggle
than a pitiful cry of a hapless victim as he was overtaken and impaled by an arrow or burned fatally with hot lead.
The way was now clear again, where but an hour before stood the vaunting foe and nothing remained of the host of lately confident
Comanches except the ponies upon which some of them had been mounted. These were driven into their car-
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avan and the arms of the conquered and fallen were carefully hunted up by the women and older children. Strange as it may
appear, not a scalp was taken, though they were scalp takers and had the field with nothing else to do. But the Kickapoos
were not fighting for glory just then—all that they asked was the right of way to the mountains of Mexico.
Thenceforth, their progress to the Mexican border was without event worthy of record. A few small hunting parties belonging
to other tribes, which roamed the Staken Plains, were met but they were too weak to stand against the heroes of “Salt Fork”
and “Battle Plains,” as their battle grounds have been called, the first being a conflict with white men and the next with
red men of a tribe that was openly hostile, and both, in their ways, accounted among the best fighters in the West.
On the Mexican frontier, the Kickapoos met the descendants of the Aztecs, who thought there were quite as many Indians within
their borders as they could take care of. This proposition was promptly met by the Kickapoos and as promptly disposed of by
a little tilt at arms with the men who wore sombreros. The Kickapoos had come all this distance to reach the Sierras of Mexico
and no other mountains would answer the purpose. So, at last, after incredible hardships and the overcoming of many enemies,
the Kickapoos found themselves secure in the haven of refuge, where they continued to live, partially identified with the
Southern or Mexican Apaches, for twelve years.
After the end of the Civil War, the United States Government tried vainly to coax the Kickapoos to return to the reservation
in Kansas. After every other means had been exhausted, the Government sent a commission consiting of three mixed-blood Pottawatomies,
with whose tribe the Kickapoos had always been at peace and sometimes in alliance. Two of these were Antoine Navarre and W.
R. Bertrand (the name of the third is not recalled). In 1873, these three commissioners set off on their perilous mission.
They were sustained however by the belief that they would find among the Kickapoos a few of their own fellow tribesmen who
would protect them if necessary. After many meetings with the Kickapoo chiefs, who exacted many promises and conditions, the
Kickapoos finally consented to once more turn their faces northward. They did not wish to return to their old reservation,
in Kansas, however, so they were given the privilege of settling in the Indian Territory, of which they availed themselves.
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