fort, aware as he was of the hostility of the Potawatamis, for he knew
that certain destruction awaited the garrison if it should make the
attempt. Possessing a perfect knowledge of the character and disposition
of the Indians, derived from his long residence among them, Wells foresaw
that the savages would take quick advantage of the whites should they
leave the shelter of the fort walls and expose themselves in the open on
their long slow march of a hundred and fifty miles to Fort Wayne.
When Wells reached the fort he found to his dismay that most of the
ammunition had been destroyed, and that the provisions, blankets and
other goods in the factory had been distributed to the Indians. He
perceived at once that the means of defence having been so seriously
reduced there was now no other course to pursue, and that the march must
be attempted.
During the day another council with the Indians was held, and on this
occasion the savages were found to be in an angry mood. They immediately
reminded the commanding officer that they were aware of the destruction
of the ammunition and the liquors and that they regarded it as an act
of bad faith. It was with the utmost difficulty that the chiefs could
restrain the young men of the tribe from carrying out their sanguinary
designs at once. For although there were several of the chiefs who shared
the generally hostile feeling of the tribe toward the whites, yet they
entertained a regard for the men of the garrison and the traders of the
neighborhood.
The evening of the last day at the fort, Black Partridge, a prominent
chief of the Potawatamis, of whom further mention will be made, came to
the officers' quarters and addressed Captain Heald as follows: "Father,
I come to deliver up to you the medal I wear. It was given me by the
Americans, and I have long worn it in token of our mutual friendship.
But our young men are resolved to imbrue their hands in the blood of the
whites. I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a token of peace
while I am compelled to act as an enemy."
The language of this speech cannot, of course, be accepted as the
verbatim utterance of Black Partridge. He spoke in his own tongue, and
the speech was translated by the interpreter, who at that time was
John Kinzie. The utterance has, however, become a classic in all the
historical accounts pertaining to the events of that time.
An observer taking a survey from the walls of the fort at this time would
have beheld the river to the north flowing in a sluggish current toward
the lake, then bending to the south until it reached its mouth over a
shallow bottom nearly opposite the present Madison Street. On the bank
of the river, near its mouth, stood the house of Charles Lee, the owner
of "Lee's Place," the farm some four miles up the South Branch where two
men were murdered by the Indians in the previous April. Toward the west
was the Agency House, standing near the bank of the river, beyond which
were the groups of Indian wigwams clustered along the creek that formerly
flowed into the main stream at the present State Street. Opposite this
point, on the north bank, was the house of John Burns; and further
eastward was the most pretentious residence of the place, the house
of John Kinzie. A little in the rear of it stood the cabin of Antoine
Ouilmette.
Taking a more distant view toward the west, the observer might have seen
the point where the North and South branches of the river met and formed
the main body of the stream. The north banks of the river were wooded to
the water's edge except where clearings had been made around the cabins
mentioned.
Looking eastward, the broad expanse of Lake Michigan stretched away
beyond the limits of vision. At the season of year in which the events of
which we are writing took place the lake was usually devoid of storms and
rough weather.
Lake Michigan at this point has a breadth of fifty miles between the
mouth of the Chicago River and the opposite or Michigan shore; and
there being no eminence of sufficient height to rise above the horizon,
the prospect was like looking off to sea where there is an offing of
thousands of miles.
Northward the shores were fringed with a white oak forest, with a line
of sand-hills near the beach. Looking southward, the shore of the lake
trended away in a curve toward the southeast, and on its margin could
be traced the sand-hills characteristic of the shores as far as the eye
could reach.
It is a remarkable fact that most of the details of the Chicago massacre
are derived from the accounts furnished by the two women who were
eye-witnesses of the scenes described. Neither of these accounts was
directly written by the two women referred to, but are preserved through
secondary reports.
The narrative of Mrs. Helm, who was only seventeen years old at the
time, was taken down from dictation apparently by Mrs. John H. Kinzie
and incorporated in _Wau-Bun_. While this account, as given in the work
mentioned, is enclosed in quotation-marks as if in the language of the
narrator, it was evidently rendered by Mrs. Kinzie in her own words.
Mrs. Kinzie was not present at the massacre, not having come to Chicago
until twenty years thereafter, but she was diligent in procuring all the
information available at the time of writing her book. In her later years
she no doubt talked the matter over at length with Mrs. Helm, who was a
half-sister of her husband.
It is important, in obtaining a clear understanding of this narrative,
that the names of Mrs. John Kinzie, the wife of the pioneer of 1804, and
of Mrs. John H. Kinzie, the author, be not confused.
The narrative of Mrs. Heald reaches posterity through the story of her
son, Darius Heald. A portion was given in John Wentworth's address at
the unveiling of the memorial tablet on the site of old Fort Dearborn,
delivered May 21, 1881; and another portion is quoted in Joseph
Kirkland's book. _The Chicago Massacre_, published some years later.
Darius Heald was not born until ten years after the massacre, and his
testimony, written from his dictation, was derived entirely from the oral
account of his mother.
Comparing the account with that given by Mrs. Helm a number of
discrepancies in details is observed, though the main events are related
in both accounts in practically identical form.
The accounts of both Mrs. Helm and Mrs. Heald were written from
dictation. Mrs. Helm's account appeared in print twenty-four years after
the event which it describes, while Mrs. Heald's did not appear until
seventy-five years thereafter, having in the meantime been preserved only
in the form of a family tradition. It can therefore hardly have as much
historical value as the older published narrative of Mrs. Helm.
The morning of the fifteenth of August, 1812, dawned clear and the day
was oppressively warm. There was scarcely a breath of air stirring and
the surface of the lake was unruffled, stretching away, as one expressed
it, "like a sheet of burnished gold." The preparations for the departure
went actively forward. At nine o'clock Captain Wells took a place at the
head of the column on horseback, his face blackened, according to the
Indian custom, "in token of his impending fate."
Wells was under no illusions. He knew that at any moment the crisis would
be upon them, and he clearly realized how hopeless in the presence of
hordes of savages in the neighborhood, bent on blood and plunder, any
resistance would be, and how faint a chance there was for escape. But
brave and resolute he calmly went forward with the fixed purpose of doing
his duty in the face of inevitable destruction.
Following him rode half of his Miami band, and behind them the musicians
came, and as the march began they played the Dead March. Then came the
soldiers, each carrying twenty-five rounds of ammunition, all that had
been reserved from the general destruction, though a totally inadequate
supply for such a campaign as they might reasonably look forward to in
these threatening circumstances.
Next came a train of wagons in which the camp equipage and provisions
were carried, and in the wagons were also placed the women and children.
The rear of the column was brought up by the remainder of the Miami
escort. The wives of the married officers, Mrs. Heald and Mrs. Helm,
accompanied the procession on horseback.
The escort promised by the Potawatamis in council was on hand and moved
with the procession, a few hundred yards to the west, keeping a parallel
course. There was a lingering hope among the whites that the Indians
would be true to their promise and continue with them throughout their
journey as a protecting force, and in this hope the movements of the
Indians were watched with the greatest interest, though with painful
forebodings and suspicions.
Among the people thus hoping against hope "there were not wanting gallant
hearts who strove to encourage in their desponding companions the hopes
of escape they were far from indulging themselves."
Early in the morning of the day of the departure of the garrison John
Kinzie had received a message from Topenebe of St. Joseph's band
informing him of what he already was well convinced of, that the
Potawatamis who were to act as escort on the march had treacherous
designs, and would without doubt attack the column. Topenebe was a chief
in the Potawatami tribe, but a firm friend of the whites and especially
of the Kinzie family. He warned Mr. Kinzie not to accompany the troops
when they left the fort, but rather to take passage in a boat with his
family and proceed directly to St. Joseph, where he might rejoin the
troops if they were successful in passing through the country.
Mr. Kinzie, however, decided to place his family in the boat, while he
himself accompanied the troops, in the hope and belief that his presence
would operate as a restraint upon the fury of the savages in case of an
attack. This brave action on the part of Mr. Kinzie, who thus cast in his
lot with those who were going forth to almost certain destruction, must
be regarded as an exhibition of rare personal courage notable even among
many other instances of a similar kind seen on that fatal day.
The party in the boat which left the Kinzie house about the same time
that the troops marched out of the fort consisted of Mrs. Kinzie and her
four children, the eldest of whom by her second marriage was John Harris,
then nine years old. The others were: Ellen Marion, six and a half years
old; Maria Indiana, four years old, and Robert Allen, two and a half
years old. In addition there were Josette La Framboise, a French-Ottawa
half-breed, a nurse in the family; Chandonnais, a clerk in the employ of
Mr. Kinzie; two servants, a boatman, and the two Indians who had brought
the message from Topenebe. This made a party of twelve persons in the
boat.
Upon Mrs. Kinzie now devolved the responsibility and direction of the
party in the boat, since her husband had chosen to accompany the troops.
Proceeding to the mouth of the river, the boat was detained for a time
while the party beheld the passage of the column just beginning its
march. Mrs. Kinzie "was a woman of uncommon energy and strength of
character," says the author of _Wau-Bun_, "yet her heart died within her
as she folded her arms around her helpless Infants, and gazed upon the
march of her husband and eldest child to certain destruction." It will
be recalled that Mrs. Kinzie's eldest child was Mrs. Margaret Helm, who
was with her husband on the march.
Antoine Ouilmette and his family did not abandon their dwelling as did
all the other residents of the village. A sister of his wife, known
in the accounts as Mrs. Bisson, was a member of this same household.
Ouilmette was regarded by the Potawatamis as belonging to their tribe,
and he felt no apprehension of danger in remaining on the ground.
Renegade whites living among the savages usually maintained their
standing among them by offering no opposition to any atrocities committed
by them, and sometimes even participating in the warfare against their
own race.
The line of march lay along the shore of the lake toward the south.
In the absence of roads through the country at that early period the
traveling was difficult for wagons, and the margin of the lake was
usually preferred for that kind of locomotion wherever it lay in the
desired direction. For a considerable distance toward the southern end of
the lake the route of the proposed march would be along the sandy beach,
usually firm and smooth near the water's edge.
Boat navigation was the main reliance for transporting men and goods,
though as yet there was not a sufficiently large number of boats of any
description on Lake Michigan to have moved so large a body of men and
women at one time as composed the procession leaving the fort. And even
if there had been enough of such as were used by the traders, it is not
likely that the people would have been permitted by the hostile Indians
even to embark in them.
The fort was no sooner vacated than the Indians rushed in and began to
plunder the place of everything that was movable. In an adjoining field
there had been a herd of cattle kept for the use of soldiers, such as
milch cows, oxen, etc., and these were allowed to run at large when the
troops departed. The Indians gave chase and shot them all, seemingly for
the satisfaction they found in the mere act of killing, and the deed was
quite in keeping with their usual improvident habits. Mrs. Helm, in her
account, said that she well-remembered a remark of Ensign Ronan as the
shooting of the cattle went on. "Such," said he, "is to be our fate,--to
be shot down like beasts."
In taking their departure from the fort there was little in the conduct
of the savages to indicate the hostility which was so soon to manifest
itself. Mrs. Heald gave an account of the scene many years later, and
she said in her narrative that "the fort was vacated quietly, not a
cross word being passed between soldiers and Indians, and good-byes were
exchanged."
In fact, it was generally believed that those Indians who gathered about
the entrance of the fort, prepared to rush in the moment the last men
passed out, took no part in the later events of the day, being fully
occupied in their work of plundering and cattle-killing. John Wentworth
in one of his lectures on the subject went further, and declared that the
Indians who had lived a long time in the immediate vicinity of the fort
were friendly to the whites and "did their best to pacify the numerous
warriors who flocked here from the more distant hunting grounds."
The column had not proceeded very far on its course before it was noticed
that the Potawatami escort was diverging from the direction in which both
columns started out and that at the distance of a mile from the fort
there was a considerable distance between them.
A range of sand-hills and sand-banks of no great height skirted the
shore dividing the sandy beach from the prairie beyond them. Among these
sand-hills were a few trees and bushes supporting a precarious existence.
Westward of this range of sand-hills which began to rise about a mile
from the fort the Indians continued their course and were soon lost to
view.
Suddenly, far in the advance, Captain Wells was seen to turn his horse
and ride furiously back along the marching men, who quickly came to a
halt. Wells was swinging his hat in a circle around his head, which meant
in the sign language of the frontier, "We are surrounded by Indians!"
As he approached the commanding officer he shouted, "They are about to
attack us; form instantly and charge upon them." The Potawatami escort
had in fact become the attacking party, choosing to murder the whites
rather than join in looting the fort.
The Indians could now be seen in great numbers coming into view from
behind the mounds of sand, their heads bobbing up and down "like turtles
out of the water." The troops were promptly formed and they had no sooner
taken position than the Indians began firing upon them with deadly
effect, the first victim being a veteran of seventy years of age.
After firing one round the troops charged up the slopes of the
sand-hills, driving the Indians from the position. However, they
scattered in both directions and presently began to envelop the flanks
of the line according to the usual practice in savage warfare. At this
juncture the mounted Miamis would have been of the greatest service in
preventing such a manoeuvre, but they had all fled across the prairie
after the first shot was fired, quickly disappeared in the distance, and
were seen no more.
Captain Heald, in a letter written a few weeks after the event, said:
The situation of the country rendered it necessary for us to take the
beach, with the lake on our left, and a high sand-bank on our right,
at about one hundred yards' distance. We had proceeded about a mile
and a half when it was discovered that the Indians were prepared
to attack us from behind the bank. I immediately marched up with
the company to the top of the bank when the action commenced; after
firing one round we charged, and the Indians gave way in front and
joined those on our flanks.
The horses upon which Mrs. Heald and Mrs. Helm were riding became almost
unmanageable after the firing had begun. The explosion of a charge in an
old flint lock musket was a terrific outburst of noise. It produced a
volume of sound which we can scarcely realize when comparing it with the
report of a service rifle in use at the present day. It was little wonder
that the horses pranced and bounded when these thundering volleys were
heard.
Mrs. Helm said that she drew off a little and gazing upon her husband
(Lieutenant Helm) and her father (Mr. Kinzie), whom, although he was
her step-father, she was always fond of calling father, she saw that
they both were yet unharmed. But she felt that as for herself her hour
had come, and she endeavored to forget those she loved, and to prepare
herself for her approaching fate.
It was the endeavor of the savages to close upon their victims whenever
they found an opportunity to bring their tomahawks and scalping knives
into use. While some were firing upon the troops from cover, others were
seeking to attack those who had become separated from their friends.
These they could quickly overcome owing to their skill in the use of
those murderous weapons.
One Sergeant Holt, who was accompanied by his wife, had received a ball
in his neck in the early part of the engagement. He handed his sword to
his wife, who was on horseback near him, and told her to defend herself.
The Indians were desirous of obtaining possession of the horse and at
the same time sparing her life, for generally they wished to take the
women captives. Mrs. Holt resisted vigorously when the savages attempted
to seize the horse; she broke away from them and dashed out on the open
prairie. Still pursuing, they overtook her and succeeded in dragging
her from her horse. She was then made a prisoner and later taken to the
Illinois River country, where she received kind treatment. Ultimately she
was ransomed and restored to her friends.
Mrs. Helm was attacked by a young Indian, who raised his tomahawk,
intending to deal her a blow, but she avoided the murderous weapon
and seized her assailant around the neck. This is the moment that the
sculptor of the bronze group, now situated at the intersection of
Eighteenth Street and Calumet Avenue, chose for his representation.
Mrs. Helm tried to get possession of the scalping knife which hung in a
scabbard over his breast, but another and an older Indian dragged her
away with a strong grasp. Struggling and resisting, she was then borne
toward the lake, plunged into the water and firmly held, as if it were
the intention to drown her. She soon perceived, however, that the object
of her captor was not to drown her, as he held her in such a position as
to keep her head above water. She began to gather courage, and looking
the savage full in the face, she saw at once, notwithstanding the paint
with which he had disguised himself, that it was Black Partridge, the
chief who had surrendered his medal to the commandant the evening before.
[Illustration: MEMORIAL MONUMENT TO THE MASSACRE
_This monument marks the spot where the battle and massacre of the troops
and others took place on the 15th of August 1812. The monument was
designed by Mr. Carl Rohl-Smith. It consists of a bronze group placed
on a pedestal of granite, upon the sides of which are panels depicting
scenes in relief connected with the events of that day. It is situated
at the foot of Eighteenth street, adjoining the tracks of the Illinois
Central Railroad, and was the gift of Mr. George M. Pullman to the people
of Chicago._
_The scene represents Black Partridge rescuing Mrs. Helm from death at
the hands of a frenzied savage, the prostrate figure being that of the
unfortunate Dr. Van Voorhis, the post surgeon, who met his death on that
occasion. The child stretching out its arms in an appeal for help recalls
the fiendish massacre of infants which was the terrible feature of the
day._]
When the firing was nearly over, the chief brought her out of the water
and placed her on a sand-bank. "It was a burning August morning,"
she said, "and walking through the sand in my drenched condition was
inexpressibly painful and fatiguing. I stooped and took off my shoes to
free them from the sand with which they were nearly filled, when a squaw
seized them and carried them off, and I was obliged to proceed without
them."
As she gained the prairie she was met by Mr. Kinzie, who informed her
that her husband (Lieutenant Helm) was safe, and but slightly wounded.
She was led back to the Indian encampment on the banks of the Chicago
River. "At one time," she continues in her story, "I was placed upon a
horse without a saddle, but finding the motion insupportable, I sprang
off. Supported partly by my kind conductor, Black Partridge, and partly
by another Indian, Pee-so-tum, who held dangling in his hand a scalp,
which by the black ribbon around the queue I recognized as that of
Captain Wells, I dragged my fainting steps to one of the wigwams."
Arrived at the entrance of a chief's wigwam, the wife of the chief,
inspired by a sentiment of pity for her, an exhibition of feeling rare
among Indian women, seeing her exhausted condition, took a kettle and,
dipping up some water from the small creek near by, threw in a quantity
of maple sugar, and, stirring it with her hand, gave the mixture to her
to drink. She was greatly refreshed by the draught. This act of kindness
touched the poor young woman deeply, occurring as it did in the midst of
so many horrors.
In the meantime the men in the ranks fell rapidly under the withering
fire of their savage foes, who were now on all sides of them in
overwhelming numbers. Still they continued the struggle bravely, and the
prairie was soon thickly scattered with dead and wounded. Captain Heald
himself received a wound in his hip, from which he suffered for the
remainder of his life, and which caused his death some years later. It
may be stated in passing that the bodies of those who were killed in this
bloody combat lay exposed to the elements and wild beasts for four years,
until eventually their remains were gathered up and buried by United
States soldiers arriving to rebuild the fort.
The troops behaved most gallantly while the battle lasted and seemed
determined to make as brave a defence as possible. They were soon
reduced to about one-half of their original number. After the action had
continued about a quarter of an hour Captain Heald drew off the few men
still remaining and took possession of a small elevation in the open
prairie, beyond the range of the shots coming from the sand-hills which
the Indians now held, thus having reversed the positions which the
opposing forces occupied at the beginning of the battle.
There was nothing now to prevent the savages from attacking the wagons
containing the women and children. The troops were isolated on the
prairie and could not even defend themselves, much less could they do
anything to protect the helpless people in the wagons.