Indian Burial Ground - Britton
Source: Crawfordsville Daily Journal Monday 24 Oct 1892
The interest which centers around the Indian burying ground on George Britton’s farm is still undiminished and on Saturday and yesterday large numbers visited the place. There are some strange contradictions connected with the exhumations which leave our archeological wise-acres at a loss.
Many of the skeletons were buried as though in an attitude of devotion facing the west, but in other places they are found buried in regular piles as though thrown hurriedly into a trench. Fred Hoffman and a student named Wynkoop took from one narrow grave five skeletons. The bodies at the time of interment were evidently doubled up to occupy the smallest possible compass. Two of the skeletons were evidently those of women and two of children, one quite small. The skulls of these, and in fact of all those buried in heaps indicate quite a high grade of intellect, much higher than those more carefully buried. This has led some to the conclusion that a superior people, presumable a white colony, was here massacred by the Indians and buried in their cemetery. The bodies were buried because in the valley just below were two famous “deer licks” in the old time, and decaying bodies would have driven the animals away and thus made hunting more difficult for the savages.
An almost forgotten tradition is called up by the discovery of the bones which, while somewhat hazy, perhaps is not without interest. In 1821 Abraham K. Miller, the grandfather of George Britton, settled near where the cemetery is situated. Mr. Miller came from Kentucky and came to this county under the direction of a very old trapper and scout named Hotchkiss, whose experience in Indiana was at the time of the Revolutionary War. This old man was then quite young, and when Col. George Clark came marching into Kentucky from Virginia with 300 men to subdue the northwest in the name of the continental congress, Hotchkiss with other young Kentuckians allied himself to the party. He was present at the capture of Vincennes, and then hearing from the friendly citizens rumors of wealthy trading towns further up the river, started for them in canoes in company with about twenty zealous comrades. Near where Terre Haute now stands was an old French trading post, and here they rested several days. The number of wealthy towns here was lessened to one and the old French trappers laughed knowingly and mysteriously as they spoke of “the count’s chateau far up the river of rocks and sugar trees.” It was all mystery and nothing certain, but finally the hardy youngsters after receiving directions set out and finally arrived at the mouth of the river described. For several days they ascended it and finally came to a pleasant valley in which were two deer licks and graves in abundance. They were almost startled to discover her the remains of a rude stone dam and a ruder mill house decayed and moss grown, with its stones cracked and its primitive machinery all falling to pieces. About a mile from their camp was a large Algonquin village. The Indians from this seemed friendly and after the party had been camped for a day or two, came in leading a tottering and decrepit old white man attired in the faded uniform of a French officer of rank. His eyes were bright with an unearthly fire and it was evident to the astonished adventurers that he was wildly insane. The Indians held him in superstitious awe, as one whom the Great Spirit had touched, and when with courtly bows and gestures he advanced to greet the first while man he had seen for probably many years, the savages fell respectfully back and gathering in groups conversed in excited whispers.
The party had one young French voyager who in vain attempted to ascertain the history of the curious old man, whose fine, aristocratic face seemed masked by the expression of helpless, hopeless imbecility. His uniform was once a rich one, and still the polished buckles and gold lace glistened in the last rays of the declining sun as he bowed and curtsied as though welcoming his guests. He had little to say and that of little import, the only intelligible substance to be gathered was to the effect that his treasure was buried there and there he would remain forever. The Kentuckians remained several days, and visiting the Indian towns saw the lodge in which the strange Frenchman lived. His insanity caused him to be venerated by the Indians and his every want was ministered to with superstitious fear. His hut was of poles and costly pelts, but the floor was of stone and among the furnishings were some relics of the civilization over the sea. A sword and a crucifix are remembered. The party finally departed on a homeward trip and joining Col. Clark at Vincennes returned to Kentucky never again to visit the strange scenes in the north. Hotchkiss always remembered the beautiful valley at the “deer licks” and the strange old Frenchman, and when Miller left Kentucky he described the spot to him. Mr. Miller was satisfied he had reached the very place when he settled just west of where Crawfordsville now stands, and his belief was confirmed by the presence of the “deer licks”, the remnants of the old stone dam which still stands, and by the discovery of a square of stones set in the earth as though to form a floor. The Indians told him of a Spanish settlement which had once been there and which had been wiped out long, long years before by a hostile tribe which came from the north in the night. The French and Spanish could easily have been confounded by the savages and probably were. No doubt in the long ago a wandering party of French exiles or adventurers settled here among friendly savages to be destroyed, with the exception of one man by a warring tribe. Whether the old man, whom Hotchkiss said, was spared on account of his affliction, or whether the loss of his “treasure” (which was, perhaps, his family) drove him insane, is a question. His previous history and his subsequent fate are all unknown. Who he was, what he was, is also a mystery. Are the bodies so piled in trenches the treasure that held him to the spot? Were they his loved ones hurriedly buried after an Indian massacre? The old moss grown stones of the long made dame might tell us if they could. But the dam, impervious alike to sun and storm, still lies across the river’s bed like some grim sphinx, whose secret no man knoweth.