SECOND-SIGHT--HICKORY CREEK.
At the age of fourteen the heroine of the foregoing story married
Colonel McKillip, a British officer. This gentleman was killed near Fort
Defiance, as it was afterwards called, at the Miami Rapids, in 1794. A
detachment of British troops had been sent down from Detroit to take
possession of this post. General Wayne was then on a campaign against
the Indians, and the British Government thought proper to make a few
demonstrations in behalf of their allies. Having gone out with a party
to reconnoitre, Colonel McKillip was returning to his post after dark,
when he was fired upon and killed by one of his own sentinels. Mrs. Helm
was the daughter of this marriage.
During the widowhood of Mrs. McKillip, she resided with her parents, at
Grosse Pointe, eight miles above Detroit, and it was during this period
that an event occurred which, from the melancholy and mysterious
circumstances attending it, was always dwelt upon by her with peculiar
interest.
Her second brother, Thomas Lytle, was, from his amiable and affectionate
character, the most dearly beloved by her of all the numerous family
circle. He was paying his addresses to a young lady who resided at the
river Trench,[43] as it was then called, now the river Thames, a stream
emptying into Lake St. Clair about twenty miles above Detroit. In
visiting this young lady, it was his custom to cross the Detroit River
by the ferry with his horse, and then proceed by land to the river
Trench, which was, at some seasons of the year, a fordable stream.
On a fine forenoon, late in the spring, he had taken leave of his mother
and sister for one of these periodical visits, which were usually of two
or three days' duration.
After dinner, as his sister was sitting at work by an open window which
looked upon a little side inclosure filled with fruit-trees, she was
startled by observing some object opposite the window, between her and
the light. She raised her eyes and saw her brother Thomas. He was
without his horse, and carried his saddle upon his shoulders.
Surprised that she had not heard the gate opening for his entrance, and
also at his singular appearance, laden in that manner, she addressed
him, and inquired what had happened, and why he had returned so soon. He
made her no reply, but looked earnestly in her face, as he moved slowly
along the paved walk that led to the stables.
She waited a few moments, expecting he would reappear to give an account
of himself and his adventures, but at length, growing impatient at his
delay, she put down her work and went towards the rear of the house to
find him.
The first person she met was her mother. "Have you seen Thomas?" she
inquired.
"Thomas! He has gone to the river Trench."
"No, he has returned--I saw him pass the window not fifteen minutes
since."
"Then he will be in presently."
His sister, however, could not wait. She proceeded to the stables, she
searched in all directions. No Thomas--no horse--no saddle. She made
inquiry of the domestics. No one had seen him. She then returned and
told her mother what had happened.
"You must have fallen asleep and dreamed it," said her mother.
"No, indeed! I was wide awake--I spoke to him, and he gave me no answer,
but such a look!"
All the afternoon she felt an uneasiness she could not reason herself
out of.
The next morning came a messenger from the river Trench with dismal
tidings.
The bodies of the young man and his horse had been found drowned a short
distance below the ford of the river.
It appeared that, on arriving at the bank of the river, he found it
swollen beyond its usual depth by the recent rains. It being necessary
to swim the stream with his horse, he had taken off his clothes and made
them into a packet which he fastened upon his shoulders. It was supposed
that the strength of the rapid torrent displaced the bundle, which thus
served to draw his head under water and keep it there, without the power
of raising it. All this was gathered from the position and appearance of
the bodies when found.
From the time at which he had been seen passing a house which stood near
the stream, on his way to the ford, it was evident that he must have
met his fate at the very moment his sister saw, or thought she saw him,
passing before her.
I could not but suggest the inquiry, when these sad particulars were
narrated to me,--
"Mother, is it not possible this might have been a dream?"
"A dream? No, indeed, my child. I was perfectly wide awake--as much so
as I am at this moment. I am not superstitious. I have never believed in
ghosts or witches, but nothing can ever persuade me that this was not a
warning sent from God, to prepare me for my brother's death."
And those who knew her rational good sense--her freedom from fancies or
fears, and the calm self-possession that never deserted her under the
most trying circumstances--would almost be won to view the matter in the
light she did.
* * * * *
The order for the evacuation of Port Dearborn, and the removal of the
troops to Fort Howard (Green Bay), had now been received. The family
circle was to be broken up. Our mother, our sister Mrs. Helm, and her
little son, were to return with us to Fort Winnebago; the other members
of the family, except Robert, were to move with the command to Green
Bay.
The schooner Napoleon was to be sent from Detroit to convey the troops
with their goods and chattels to their destined post. Our immediate
party was to make the journey by land--we were to choose, however, a
shorter and pleasanter route than the one we had taken in coming hither.
My husband, with his Frenchmen, Petaille Grignon and Simon Lecuyer, had
arrived, and all hands were now busily occupied with the necessary
preparations for breaking up and removal.
I should be doing injustice to the hospitable settlers of Hickory Creek
were I to pass by without notice an entertainment with which they
honored our Chicago beaux about this time. The merry-making was to be a
ball, and the five single gentlemen of Chicago were invited. Mr. Dole,
who was a new-comer, declined; Lieutenant Foster was on duty, but he did
what was still better than accepting the invitation, he loaned his
beautiful horse to Medard Beaubien, who with Robert Kinzie and Gholson
Kercheval promised himself much fun in eclipsing the beaux and creating
a sensation among the belles of Hickory Creek.
Chicago was then, as now, looked upon as the City _par excellence_. Its
few inhabitants were supposed to have seen something of the world, and
it is to be inferred that the arrival of the smart and dashing young men
was an event looked forward to with more satisfaction by the fair of the
little settlement than by the swains whose rivals they might become.
The day arrived, and the gentlemen set off in high spirits. They took
care to be in good season, for the dancing was to commence at two
o'clock in the afternoon. They were well mounted, each priding himself
upon the animal he rode, and they wore their best suits, as became city
gallants who were bent on cutting out their less fashionable neighbors
and breaking the hearts of the admiring country damsels.
When they arrived at the place appointed, they were received with great
politeness--their steeds were taken care of, and a dinner was provided
them, after which they were ushered into the dancing-hall.
All the beauty of the neighboring precincts was assembled. The ladies
were for the most part white, or what passed for such, with an
occasional dash of copper color. There was no lack of bombazet gowns and
large white pocket-handkerchiefs, perfumed with oil of cinnamon; and as
they took their places in long rows on the puncheon floor, they were a
merry and a happy company.
But the city gentlemen grew more and more gallant--the girls more and
more delighted with their attentions--the country swains, alas! more and
more scowling and jealous. In vain they pigeon-winged and
double-shuffled--in vain they nearly dislocated hips and shoulders at
"hoe corn and dig potatoes"--they had the mortification to perceive that
the smart young sprigs from Chicago had their "pick and choose" among
their very sweethearts, and that they themselves were fairly danced off
the ground.
The revelry lasted until daylight, and it was now time to think of
returning. There was no one ready with obliging politeness to bring them
their horses from the stable.
"Poor fellows!" said one of the party, with a compassionate sort of
laugh, "they could not stand it. They have gone home to bed!"
"Serves them right," said another; "they'd better not ask us down among
their girls again!"
They groped their way to the stable and went in. There were some animals
standing at the manger, but evidently not their horses. What could they
be? Had the rogues been trying to cheat them, by putting these strange
nondescripts into their place?
They led them forth into the gray of the morning, and then--such a trio
as met their gaze!
There were the original bodies, it is true, but where were their manes
and tails? A scrubby, pickety ridge along the neck, and a bare stump
projecting behind, were all that remained of the flowing honors with
which they had come gallivanting down to "bear away the bell" at
Hickory Creek, or, in the emphatic language of the country, "to take the
rag off the bush."
Gholson sat down on a log and cried outright. Medard took the matter
more philosophically--the horse was none of his--it was Lieutenant
Foster's.
Robert characteristically looked around to see whom he could knock down
on the occasion; but there was no one visible on whom to wreak their
vengeance.
The bumpkins had stolen away, and, in some safe, quiet nook, were snugly
enjoying their triumph, and doubtless the deceitful fair ones were by
this time at their sides, sharing their mirth and exultation.
The unlucky gallants mounted their steeds, and set their faces homeward.
Never was there a more crestfallen and sorry-looking cavalcade. The poor
horses seemed to realize that they had met the same treatment as the
messengers of King David at the hands of the evil-disposed Hanun. They
hung their heads, and evidently wished that they could have "tarried at
Jericho" for a season. Unfortunately, there was in those days no back
way by which they could steal in, unobserved. Across the prairie, in
view of the whole community, must their approach be made; and to add to
their confusion, in the rarity of stirring events, it was the custom of
the whole settlement to turn out and welcome the arrival of any
new-comer.
As hasty a retreat as possible was beaten, amid the shouts, the jeers,
and the condolences of their acquaintances; and it is on record that
these three young gentlemen were in no hurry to accept, at any future
time, an invitation to partake of the festivities of Hickory Creek.
* * * * *
In due time the Napoleon made her appearance. (Alas that this great
name should be used in the feminine gender!) As there was at this period
no harbor, vessels anchored outside the bar, or tongue of land which
formed the left bank of the river, and the lading and unlading were
carried on by boats, pulling in and out, through the mouth of the river,
some distance below.
Of course it always was a matter of great importance to get a vessel
loaded as quickly as possible, that she might be ready to take advantage
of the first fair wind, and be off from such an exposed and hazardous
anchoring-ground.
For this reason we had lived _packed up_ for many days, intending only
to see our friends safe on board, and then commence our own journey back
to Fort Winnebago.
Our heavy articles of furniture, trunks, etc. had been sent on board the
Napoleon, to be brought round to us by way of Fox River. We had retained
only such few necessaries as could be conveniently carried on a
pack-horse, and in a light dearborn wagon lately brought by Mr.
Kercheval from Detroit (the first luxury of the kind ever seen on the
prairies), and which my husband had purchased as an agreeable mode of
conveyance for his mother and little nephew.
It was a matter requiring no small amount of time and labor to
transport, in the slow method described, the effects of so many families
of officers and soldiers, with the various etceteras incident to a total
change and removal. It was all, however, happily
accomplished--everything, even to the last article, sent on
board--nothing remaining on shore but the passengers, whose turn it
would be next.
It was a moment of great relief; for Captain Hinckley had been in a
fever and a fuss many hours, predicting a change of weather, and
murmuring at what he thought the unnecessary amount of boat-loads to be
taken on board.
Those who had leisure to be looking out towards the schooner, which had
continued anchored about half a mile out in the lake, had, at this
crisis, the satisfaction to see her hoist sail and leave her station for
the open lake; those who were a little later could just discern her
bearing away to a distance, as if she had got all on board that she had
any idea of taking. Here we were, and here we might remain a week or
more, if it so pleased Captain Hinckley and the schooner Napoleon, and
the good east wind which was blowing with all its might.
There was plenty of provisions to be obtained, so the fear of starvation
was not the trouble; but how were the cooking and the table to be
provided for? Various expedients were resorted to. Mrs. Engle, in her
quarters above-stairs, ate her breakfast off a shingle with her
husband's jack-knife, and when she had finished, sent them down to
Lieutenant Foster for his accommodation.
We were at the old mansion on the north side, and the news soon flew up
the river that the Napoleon had gone off with "the plunder" and left the
people behind. It was not long before we were supplied by Mrs. Portier
(our kind Victoire) with dishes, knives, forks, and all the other
conveniences which our mess-basket failed to supply.
This state of things lasted a couple of days, and then, early one fine
morning, the gratifying intelligence spread like wild-fire that the
Napoleon was at anchor out beyond the bar.
There was no unnecessary delay this time, and at an early hour in the
afternoon we had taken leave of our dear friends, and they were sailing
away from Chicago.[44]