OLD FORT DEARBORN
It makes my old head dizzy to recall the events of that hour across the
years that have intervened. Possibly I, as I write these words, am the
only person living who has looked upon that old stockade and taken part
in its tragic history. What a marvellous change has less than a century
witnessed! Once the outermost guard of our western frontier, it is now
the site of one of the great cities of two continents. To me, who have
seen these events and changes, it possesses more than the wonderment of a
dream.
That day, as I rode forward, I saw but little of the Fort's formation,
for my eyes and thoughts were so filled with those frenzied savages that
hemmed us about, and the cool deployment of the few troops that guarded
our passage-way, that everything else made but a dim impression. Yet the
glimpse I obtained, even at that exciting moment, together with the
subsequent experiences that came to me, have indelibly impressed each
detail of the rude Fort upon my memory.
It stands before me now, clear-cut and prominent, its outlines distinct
against the background of blue water or green plains. In that early day
the Fort was a fairly typical outpost of the border, like scores of
others scattered at wide and irregular intervals from the Carolina
mountains upon the south to the joining of the great lakes at the north,
forming one link in the thin chain of frontier fortifications against
Indian treachery and outbreak. It bore the distinction, among the
others, of being the most advanced and exposed of all, and its small
garrison was utterly isolated and alone, a forlorn hope in the heart of
the great wilderness.
The Fort had been erected nine years before our arrival, upon the
southern bank of a dull and sluggish stream, emptying into the Great Lake
from the west, and known to the earlier French explorers as the river
Chicagou. The spot selected was nearly that where an old-time French
trading-post had stood, although the latter had been deserted for so long
that no remnant of it yet lingered when the Americans first took
possession, and its site remained only as a vague tradition of those
Indian tribes whose representatives often visited these waters.
The earliest force despatched by the government to this frontier post
erected here a simple stockade of logs. These were placed standing on
end, firmly planted in the ground and extending upward some fifteen feet,
their tops sharpened as an additional protection against savage
assailants. This log stockade was built quite solid, save for one main
entrance, facing to the south and secured by a heavy, iron-studded gate,
with a subterranean or sunken passage leading out beneath the north wall
to the river, protected by a door which could be raised only from within.
The enclosure thus formed was sufficiently large to contain a somewhat
restricted parade-ground, about which were grouped the necessary
buildings of the garrison, the quarters for the officers, the soldiers'
barracks, the commandant's office, the guardhouse, and the magazine.
These rude structures were built in frontier style, of cleaved logs, and
with one exception were but a single story in height, so that their roofs
of rived shingles were well below the protection of the palisade of logs.
Besides these interior buildings, two block-houses were built, each
constructed so that the second story overhung the first, one of them,
standing at the southeast and one at the northwest corner of the
palisaded walls. A narrow wooden support, or walk, accessible only from
one or the other of these block-houses, enabled its defenders to stand
within the enclosure and look out over the row of sharpened logs.
At the time of our arrival the protective armament of this primitive
Fort, besides the small-arms of the garrison, consisted of three pieces
of light artillery, brass six-pounders of antique pattern, relics of the
Revolution. Outside the Fort enclosure, only a few yards to the west
along the river bank, stood the agency building, or, as it was often
termed, "goods factory," built for purposes of trading with the Indians,
so that it would not be necessary to open the Fort to them. This agency
building was a rather large two-story log house, not erected for any
purposes of defence. Along the southern side of the stream, in both
directions, the soldiers had excavated numerous root-houses, or cellars,
in which to store the products of their summer gardens,--these
excavations fairly honeycombing the bank.
Such was Fort Dearborn in August of the fatal year 1812. It stood ugly,
rude, isolated, afar from any help in time of need. Its nearest military
neighbor lay directly across the waters of the Great Lake, where a small
detachment of troops, scarcely less isolated than itself, garrisoned a
similar stockade near the mouth of the river Saint Joseph. To the
westward, the vast plains, as yet scarce pressed by the adventurous feet
of white explorers, faded away into a mysterious unknown country, roamed
over by countless tribes of savages; to the northward lay an unbroken
wilderness for hundreds of leagues, save for a few scattered traders at
Green Bay, until the military outpost at Mackinac was reached; to the
eastward rolled the waters of the Great Lake, storm-swept and unvexed by
keel of ship, an almost unsurpassable barrier, along whose shore
adventurous voyagers crept in log and bark canoes; while to the southward
alternating prairie and timber-land stretched away for unnumbered leagues
the Indian hunting-grounds,--broken only by a few scattered settlements
of French half-breeds.
From the walls of the Fort the eye ranged over a dull and monotonous
landscape, nowhere broken by signs of advancing civilization or even of
human presence. A few hundred yards to the east the waves of Lake
Michigan broke upon the wide, sandy beach, whence the tossing waters
stretched away in tumultuous loneliness to their blending with the
distant sky. Southward, along the shore of the lake, the nearly level
plain, brown and sun-parched, soon merged into rounded heaps of
wind-drifted sand, barely diversified by a few straggling groups of
cottonwoods. To the westward extended the boundless prairie, flat and
bare as a floor, except where the southern fork of the little river cut
its way through the soft loam, and gave rise to a scrubby growth of
cottonwood and willow; while northward, across the main body of the
river, the land appeared more rugged and broken, and somewhat heavily
wooded with oak and other forest trees, but equally devoid of evidences
of habitation.
In all this wide survey from the little knoll on which the Fort stood,
five houses only were visible. These were built roughly of logs in the
most primitive style of the frontier, and, with a single exception, were
now deserted by their occupants, who had retreated for safety to the
stockade of the Fort. The single exception was the larger and more
ambitious dwelling standing on the north bank of the river, occupied by
John Kinzie and his family, himself an old-time Indian trader, whose
honesty and long dealing with the savages had made him confident of their
friendship and fidelity. At one time, however, so threatening had become
the strange bands that flocked in toward Dearborn, as crows to a feast,
he also deserted his home, and, with those dependent upon him, sought
refuge within the Fort walls; but, influenced by the pledge of the
Pottawattomies, and believing that safety lay in trusting to their
friendship, they had returned to their own house. The other cabins were
scattered to the westward of the stockade, close to the river bank.
These dwellings had been occupied by the families of Ouilmette, Burns,
and Lee, respectively; while the last named owned a second cabin, built
some distance up the south branch of the river, and occupied by a tenant
named Liberty White.
The prospect was in truth depressing to one accustomed to other and more
civilized surroundings. A spirit of loneliness, of fearful isolation,
seemed to hover over the restless waters upon the one hand, and those
vast silent plains on the other; sea and sky, sky and sand, met the
wearied eye wherever it wandered. The scene was unspeakably solemn in
its immensity and loneliness; while irresistibly the thought would wander
over those fateful leagues of prairie and forest that stretched
unbrokenly between this far frontier and the few scattered and remote
settlements that were its nearest neighbors.
It was not until some time later that these sombre reflections pressed
upon me with all their force. After the excitement of our first
boisterous greeting was over, and I found opportunity to lean across the
top of the guarded stockade and gaze alone over the desolate spectacle I
have endeavored to describe, I could feel more acutely the hopelessness
of our situation and the danger threatening us from every side. But at
the moment of our entrance, all my interest and attention had been
centred upon the scenes and persons immediately about me. It was my
first experience within the stockaded walls of an armed government post.
The scene was new to my young senses, and, in spite of the excitement
that still heated my blood, I looked upon it with such absorbing interest
as to be forgetful for the moment even of the fair girl who rode in at my
side.
The dull clang of the heavy iron-bound gate behind us was a welcome sound
after the fierce buffetings of our perilous passage; yet it only
partially shut off the savage howlings, while above the hideous uproar
came the sharp reports of several guns. But the instant bustle and
confusion within scarcely allowed opportunity to notice this disorder;
moreover, there had come to us a sense of safety and security,--we were
at last within the barriers we had struggled so long to gain. However
the savage hordes might rage without, we were now beyond their reach, and
might take breath again.
Our little party, closely bunched together, with Wells and the timorous
Miamis at its head, surged quickly through between the bars, and came to
a halt in an open space, evidently the parade-ground of the garrison, the
bare earth worn smooth and hard by the trampling of many feet. A tall
flag-pole rose near the centre, and the wavering shadow of the banner at
its top extended to the eastern edge of the enclosure. Out from the
log-houses which bordered this enclosure there came a group of people to
welcome us,--officers and soldiers, women neatly dressed and with bright
intelligent faces, women of rougher mould attired in calico or deerskin,
hardy-looking men in rude hunter's garb, picturesque French voyageurs
wiry of limb and dark of skin, an Indian or two, silent, grave,
emotionless, a single negro, and trailing behind them a number of dirty,
delighted children, and dogs of every breed and degree. It was a motley
gathering, and appeared almost like a multitude as it hurried forth into
the open parade-ground, and surged joyfully about us, all eager to
welcome us to Dearborn, and hopeful that we brought them encouragement
and relief. We were of their own race, a link between them and the
far-distant East; and our coming told them they were not forgotten.
The odd commingling of tongues, the constant crowding and scraps of
conversation, the volley of questioning from every side, was confusing
and unintelligible. I could gain only glimpses here and there of what
was going on; nor was I able to judge with any accuracy of the number of
those present. I looked down upon their appealing, anxious faces, with a
sad heart. In some way the sight of them brought back thoughts of the
savage, howling mob without, clamoring for blood, through which we had
won our passage by sheer good-fortune; of those leagues of untracked
forest amid whose glooms we had ploughed our way. I thought of these
things as I gazed upon the helpless women and children thronging about
me, and my heart sank as I realized how great indeed was the burden
resting upon us all, how frail the hope of safety. Death, savage,
relentless, inhuman death in its most frightful guise with torture and
agony unspeakable, lurked along every mile of our possible retreat; nor
could I conceive how its grim coming might long be delayed by that
palisade of logs. We were hopeless of rescue. We were alone, deserted,
the merest handful amid the unnumbered hordes of the vast West. Swift
and terrible as this conception was when it swept upon me, it grew deeper
as I learned more fully the details of our situation.
Just in front of where I lingered in my saddle, the crush slightly
parted, and I noticed a tall man step forward,--a fair man, having a
light beard slightly tinged with gray, and wearing the undress uniform of
a captain of infantry. A lady, several years his junior, stood at his
side, her eyes bright with expectancy. At sight of them, Captain Wells
instantly sprang from his horse and hastened forward, his dark face
lighted by one of his rare smiles.
"Captain," he exclaimed, clasping the officers hand warmly, and extending
his other hand in greeting to the lady, "I am glad indeed to have reached
you in time to be of service; and you, my own dear niece,--may we yet be
permitted to bring you safely back to God's country."
I was unable to catch the reply of either; but I noted that the lady
flung her arms about the speaker's neck and kissed his swarthy cheek.
Then Captain Wells spoke more loudly, so that his words reached my ears.
"But, Heald," he said, "what means all this litter of garrison equipment
lying scattered about? Surely you have no present intention to leave the
Fort, in face Of that savage mob out yonder?"
"'T is the orders of General Hull," was the low; and somewhat hesitating
response, "and the Pottawattomie chiefs have pledged us escort around the
head of the lake. But this is no place to discuss the matter. As soon
as possible I would speak with you more fully in my office."
The look of undisguised amazement upon Wells's face startled me; and as I
glanced about me, wondering whom I might take counsel with, I was
astonished to note the horse that Toinette had ridden standing with empty
saddle. De Croix, negligently curling his mustache between his slender
fingers, gazed at me with a blank stare.
"Where is Mademoiselle?" I questioned anxiously, as he remained silent.
"Surely she was with us as we came in!"
"Pish! of course," he returned carelessly; "if she chooses to dismount
and rejoin her friends, what has that to do with John Wayland? Cannot
the girl so much as move without your permission, Monsieur?"
The words were insolent, not less than the manner that accompanied them.
Instantly there flashed upon me the thought that this Frenchman sought a
quarrel with me; but I could conceive no reason therefor, and was not
greatly disposed to accommodate him.
"'T was no more than curiosity that urged my question," I answered,
assuming not to notice his bravado. "I was so deeply interested in other
things as to have forgotten her presence."
"Something no lady is ever likely to forgive," he interjected. "But what
think you they propose doing with us here?"
As if in direct answer to his question, the young officer who had met us
without now elbowed his way through the throng, until he stood at our
horses' heads.
"Gentlemen," he said, with a quick glance into our faces, "dismount and
come within. There is but little to offer you here at Dearborn, we have
been cut off from civilization so long; but such as we possess will be
shared with you most gladly."
De Croix chatted with him in his easy, familiar manner, as we slowly
crossed the parade; while I followed them in silence, my thoughts upon
the disappearance of Toinette and the Frenchman's sudden show of
animosity. My glance fell upon the groups of children scattered along
our path, and I wondered which among them might prove to be Roger
Matherson's little one. At the entrance of one of the log houses
fronting the parade,--a rather ambitious building of two stories, if I
remember rightly, with a narrow porch along its front,--an officer was
standing upon the step, talking with a sweet-faced woman who appeared
scarce older than seventeen.
"Lieutenant Helm," said Ronan, politely, "this is Captain de Croix, of
the French army."
He presented De Croix to Mrs. Helm, and then turned inquiringly toward me.
"I believe I have failed to learn your name?"
"I am simply John Wayland," I answered, and, with a glance at my face,
Lieutenant Helm cordially extended his hand.
"We are greatly pleased to welcome you both," he said earnestly, but with
a grave side-glance at his young wife, "though I fear we have little to
offer you except privation and danger."
"How many have you in the garrison?" I questioned, my eyes upon the
moving figures about us. "It looks a crowd, in that narrow space."
"They are all there who are able to crawl," he said, with a grave smile.
"But in this case our numbers are a weakness. In the garrison proper we
have four commissioned officers, with fifty-four non-commissioned
officers and privates. To these may be added twelve settlers acting as
militiamen, making a total defensive force of seventy men. But fully
twenty-five of these are upon the sick-list, and totally unfit for active
duty; while we are further burdened by having under our protection twelve
women and twenty children. It almost crazes one to think of what their
fate may be."
"Your defences look strong enough to keep off savages," broke in De
Croix, "and I am told there is a sufficiency of provisions. Saint Guise!
I have seen places where I had rather reside in my old age; yet with
plenty of wine, some good fellows, and as lovely women as have already
greeted me here, 'twill not prove so bad for a few weeks."
Helm glanced at him curiously; then his gaze, always gravely thoughtful,
wandered back to me.
"We are to evacuate the Fort," he said quietly.
"Evacuate?" echoed the Frenchman, as if the word were displeasing. "'T
is a strange military act, in my judgment, and one filled with grave
peril. Does such decision come from a council?"
"There has been no council," broke in Ronan, hastily. "The commander has
not honored his officers by calling one. Such were the orders as
published on parade this morning."
He would have added more, but Helm warned him, by a sudden look of
disapproval.
"I understand," he explained quietly, "that the instructions received
from General Hull at Detroit were imperative, and that Captain Heald was
left no discretion in the matter."
"I have not yet discovered the man who has seen the orders," exclaimed
the Ensign hotly, "and we all know it means death."
Helm faced him sternly.
"A soldier's first duty is obedience," he said shortly, "and we are
soldiers. Gentlemen, will you not come in?"