speech, "Glory Hallelujah" was sung 
before the bell for the first time on the 
fair grounds. The little book, "The 
Red Man's Greeting," above referred 
to, was prepared for this occasion and 
read for the first time. It was well re- 
ceived, and many papers referred to it 
in terms of extravagance. It was un 
doubtedly full of eloquence character- 
istic of the aborigines. 
Chief Pokagon's contributions to 
bird literature have been numerous and 
original. That he was a lover of na- 
ture is manifest through all his writings.* 
And he was a humane man, like Johnny 
Appleseed, after quoting: 
"An inadvertant step may crush the snail 
That crawls at evening- in the public path; 
But he that hath humanity, forewarn'd, 
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live." 
"In early life," he says, "I was deeply 
mortified as I witnesssd the grand old 
forestsof Michigan, under whose shades 
my forefathers lived and died, falling 
before the cyclone of civilization as be- 
fore the prairie fire. In those days I 
traveled thousands of miles along our 
winding trails, through the wild soli- 
tude of the unbroken forest, listening 
to the song of the woodland birds, as 
they poured forth their melodies from 
the thick foliage above and about me. 
Very seldom now do I catch one fa- 
miliar note from those early warblers 
of the woods. They have all passed 
away, but with feelings of the deepest 
gratitude I now listen to the songs of 
other birds which have come with the 
advance of civilization. They are with 
us all about our homes and, like the 
wild-wood birds which our fathers 
used to hold their breath to hear, they 
sing in concert, without pride, without 
envy, without jealousy — alike in forest 
and field; alike before the wigwam and 
the castle ; alike for savage and for sage ; 
alike for beggar and for prince; alike 
for chief and for king." 
Writing of the wild goose, he says: 
"I begged my father to try and catch 
me a pair of these birds alive, that I 
might raise a flock of them. He fin- 
ally promised me he would try, and 
made me pledge myself to kindly care 
for them. He made me a stockade 
park to put them in, enclosing one- 
half acre of land. One corner ran into 
the lake, so as to furnish plenty of 
water for the prospective captives. He 
then made a brush box, three feet 
square, trimming itwith rice straw from 
the lake and left it at the water's edge 
for future use. He then waded into 
the lake where geese were in the habit 
of feeding, finding the water nowhere 
above his chin. On the following 
morning a flock was seen feeding in the 
lake. We went quietly to the shore; 
father placed the box over his head and 
waded carefully into the water. Soon 
I could see only the box; it appeared 
to be floating and drifted by the wind 
toward the geese. At length it moved 
in among the great birds. I held my 
breath, fearing they would fly away. 
Soon I saw one disappear, then another, 
both sinking like lead into the water. 
Not a sound could I hear. The rice 
box began to slowly drift back. On 
nearing the shore father emerged from 
it with a live goose under each arm. 
They seemed the most beautiful crea- 
tures I had ever seen." The young 
chief in three years raised a fine flock 
of geese, which, he says, he treated as 
prisoners of war, and was as kind to as 
a mother to her children. He taught 
them to eat corn from his hand and 
each one to recognize a name given to 
it. After the first year he gave them 
their liberty, except in fall and spring, 
when they were determined to migrate. 
If he let them out with wings clipped, 
so they could not fly, they would start 
on the journey afoot for the south or 
northland according to the time of 
year. 
It is believed that the old chief left 
behind him many interesting manu- 
scripts. One of thirty thousand words 
is known to the present writer. It is 
autobiographical and historical of the 
Pottowattomie tribe of Indians, and 
will doubtless be printed, sooner or 
later, if not on white birch bark, then 
on good white paper. 
174 
