The son of a Kickapoo Chief, being engaged to a Ouiattanon girl, came in
quest of her to fort Knox, at Vincennes—though an Indian war was then
waging against the United States; and, in this, the Kickapoos were among
the most formidable. We happened to be there at this time. It was summer,
and the weather very warm. The young Kickapoo was admitted into the
fort, and, among other presents, threw down several joints of venison;
observing to the commanding officer, that, if he could not eat them
himself, (for they were tainted,) they might answer for his _hogs_ and
_dogs_—muttering at the same time, and making the sign of a halter round
his neck, that perhaps they might hang him for appearing among them;
alluding, no doubt, to the then Indian war.
On the evening of the same day the young Kickapoo got into a drunken
frolic, with other savages, among whom was the before mentioned Indian.
The latter said to the Kickapoo, “May be I shall kill you:” and, without
further preface, he plunged a knife into him—which instantly proved
fatal. At this moment the Ouiattanons in company took the alarm—fearful
of the consequences that might befall their tribe, from the death of the
son of a powerful chieftain. It was therefore determined to propitiate
the Kickapoo’s father, by sending a deputation to him with the present of
a ten gallon keg of whisky as a peace offering. This was furnished for
the purpose, on request, by the commanding officer of the fort. They had
not gone far when the precious liquor proved too great a temptation: the
keg was broached, and soon emptied. What then was to be done?
Next morning, however, they appeared again at the fort—deplored the
‘_accident_,’ (as they called it,) and begged for another keg of liquor.
This too was granted—and off they went again. But this keg met with the
fate of the former: its contents proved an irresistible temptation. As no
more whisky could now be obtained, the mission fell through.
Upon this, the Indians appeared before the fort, with the murderer in
custody, under the window of the writer, and demanded justice to be done
on the prisoner. He told them it was an affair for themselves to settle,
as it was confined to themselves alone. They now marched in Indian file,
carrying off the murderer, who, every now and then, looked fearfully
behind him—for the brother of the deceased’s sweetheart had taken post
next in his rear. They had not proceeded far, when this brother plunged a
knife into the prisoner’s back, which broke, and a part was left buried
in the wound. The whole party now returned before the fort—the wounded
man singing his death-song. He was borne off by his friends into a
thicket, in the prairie, where all their efforts to extract the broken
blade proved ineffectual; and the next day or two he died.
The Spider, a brother of the murderer, and then at Kaskaskia, hearing of
the predicament which had befallen the latter, hastened to Vincennes—but
death had closed the scene. He came in time, however, to attend the
funeral. When the body was about to be consigned to the earth, he opened
the blanket which enveloped the corpse, and taking off a silver ornament
which encompassed his head, he bound it around that of the defunct,
saying, “There, brother! this will bring you respect in the land of
Spirits.”
[Illustration]