sister in the absence of her husband, was alarmed by an attack from one
of these ferocious animals. A crazy woman belonging to the settlement
had come to stay the night in the house. Late in the evening they heard
a noise among some fowls roosting upon the projecting logs of the
cabin, and going to the door they distinctly saw a large bear standing
on his hind legs, trying to reach the fowls, that crowded together in
their terror above the range of his paws. It required all Elizabeth’s
presence of mind and energy to prevent the lunatic from rushing out;
but by alarming her fears she persuaded her to be quiet, and fastened
the doors. A more severe encounter took place some years afterwards,
in the house of her brother. A hungry bear broke into the yard and
attempted to catch a goose wandering on the premises. Mrs. Harper, the
sister-in-law, hastily called to her children to come in, and barred
the door; but the fierce creature had heard the sound of her voice, and
bent on securing his prey, sprang through the open window and attacked
her. Her clothes were much torn, and her arm badly scratched; but her
husband and a man who chanced to be with him coming to the rescue,
they beat off the bear with clubs, and killed him. The fright of Mrs.
Harper had such an effect upon her that she suffered in health for many
years.
When the school was established in 1802, the earliest on the Reserve,
Elizabeth Harper was employed to teach it. The following winter Abraham
Tappen was appointed to take charge of it, and some of the scholars
came from distant settlements. The school was taught alternately by
Tappen and Miss Harper during the winter and summer, for some years.
Religious meetings were established about the same time.
In 1806, Elizabeth was married to Abraham Tappen, then engaged as a
surveyor, and employed in equalizing the claims of land-holders. His
duties compelled him to be absent from home during a great part of
the time, and after they were settled, the labor of superintending
the clearing of a new farm devolved upon the wife. The work was done,
however, with an energy and cheerful spirit worthy the daughter of
such a mother; and a substantial foundation was thus laid for future
comfort and prosperity. For a few years the youthful couple lived in a
small log hut containing but one room, in which it was necessary very
frequently to entertain company, as Tappen’s acquaintance and business
associations with land owners and land agents brought strangers
continually to his house, and the duties of hospitality were esteemed
sacred in the most primitive settlements. Mrs. Tappen was often obliged
to spread the floor with beds for the accommodation of her guests and
the abundance of her table, and the excellent quality of her cooking,
could be attested by many who from time to time were the chance inmates
of her cheerful home. At that early period an unaffected kindness of
feeling, poorly replaced in a more advanced state of society by the
conventionalities of good breeding, prevailed among the settlers, and
some families were sincerely attached to each other. Good offices were
interchanged between neighbors every day, and a friendly intercourse
maintained by frequent visits. These were often paid from one to
another, even when a journey of fifteen miles on horseback, occupying a
whole day, had to be performed. The alarms and accidents to which a new
settlement is liable, tended also to bind the emigrants together for
mutual assistance and protection. One of a number of similar incidents
which occurred in 1811, caused much trouble to the Harper family. A
son of Mrs. Wheeler, nine years of age, had gone out alone to gather
chestnuts. The afternoon was sultry, and he was thinly clad, but it was
not long before a terrible storm of wind and rain came on, prostrating
acres of the forest, and swelling the streams in a little while to
torrents. Just before dark, Mrs. Tappen received a hasty summons to go
to her sister, whom she found half frantic with fears for the missing
boy. The alarm quickly spread, the neighbors assembled, and people
came from a distance of fifteen and twenty miles to aid in the search,
which was continued through the next day and the following one, without
success, till near the close of the third day, when the child was found
in so exhausted a state that in attempting to rise he fell upon his
face. His limbs were torn and filled with porcupine’s quills.
Not very long afterwards, another boy belonging to the settlement was
lost in the woods, and the members of his family, in the search for
him, called his name aloud repeatedly. It may not be generally known
that the panther, which at this time came frequently near the dwellings
of man, emits a cry resembling a human voice in distress. The calling
of the boy’s name was several times answered, as his friends supposed,
and after following the sound and hallooing some time, they discovered
that the voice was not human. In a state of torturing anxiety and
apprehension, they were obliged to wait for day-light, when the boy
made his appearance. He had wandered in an opposite direction from the
panther’s locality, and had found shelter at a house, where he remained
all night.
The experience of Mrs. Tappen during her residence in the backwoods was
full of such incidents. But the forest around them gradually receded
before the axe of the enterprising emigrant, the country became cleared
and cultivated, and with the progress of improvement the condition of
the early settlers became more safe and comfortable. Judge Tappen and
Mrs. Tappen still reside on the same farm which they first reduced to
cultivation, about half a mile from the spot where her father fixed
his dwelling on his first removal to the country. The little village
of Unionville, in Lake County, Ohio, has been built partly on Judge
Tappen’s farm, and partly on the land formerly owned by his wife, the
county line running through it.
XVII.
REBECCA HEALD.
It was the lot of this matron to have the story of her life associated
with one of the most remarkable and melancholy events recorded in the
annals of border warfare. She was the wife of Capt. Heald, commandant
at Fort Dearborn, Chicago, and bore a part in the scenes of the
massacre that took place there on the 15th August, 1812. A brief notice
of her will be an appropriate introduction to an account of that
memorable occurrence.
Rebecca Wells was the daughter of Col. Wells of Kentucky. Her uncle,
with whom she resided in early life, was Capt. William Wells. The story
of this brave man, who forms so conspicuous a figure in our frontier
annals, was a singular romance. When a child he was captured by the
Miami Indians, and became the adopted son of Little Turtle, the most
eminent forest warrior and statesman between Pontiac and Tecumseh, and
the leader of the confederated tribes. When old enough, the captive was
compelled to do service, and took a distinguished part in the defeats
of Harmar and St. Clair. It is said that his sagacity foresaw that the
white men would be roused by these reverses to put forth their superior
power in such a manner as to command success; and also that a desire
to return to his own people influenced him to abandon the savages.
“His mode of announcing this determination was in accordance with the
simple and sententious habits of forest life. He was traversing the
woods one morning with his adopted father, the Little Turtle, when
pointing to the heavens, he said, ‘When the sun reaches the meridian,
I leave you for the whites; and whenever you meet me in battle, you
must kill me, as I shall endeavor to kill you.’ The bonds of affection
and respect which had bound these two singular and highly gifted men
together were not severed or weakened by this abrupt declaration.”
Wells soon after joined the army of Gen. Wayne, who had taken command
of the troops after the resignation of St. Clair, and by his knowledge
of the forest, and of the Indian haunts, habits, and modes of warfare,
became an invaluable auxiliary to the Americans. He commanded a very
effective division of spies, of whom were the best woodsmen on the
frontier, served faithfully and fought bravely through the campaign,
and after Wayne’s treaty at Greenville in 1795 had restored peace
between the Indians and the whites, rejoined his foster father, Little
Turtle, their friendship remaining uninterrupted till the death of the
chief.
Gen. Hunt mentions an incident which may show the sanguinary spirit
of the border warfare. Capt. Wells made an excursion with Lieut.
McClenan and eleven men into the enemy’s country, following a trail
of Indians for two days. They came in sight of them just as they
were about encamping for the night, and waited till it was dark to
make their attack. Wells, having then assumed the dress of an Indian
warrior, advanced with his men, who, on the first alarm given by the
savages, threw themselves on the ground, while the Captain continued
to approach. Supposing him a friend, the Indians met and took him into
their camp, he taking the precaution to seat himself on the extreme
right of the war-party, and within view of McClenan. He then announced
himself as from the British fort Miami, and commenced giving the party,
consisting of twenty-two Indians and a squaw, the news from their
British allies. The squaw meanwhile placed over the fire a kettle full
of hominy, and as it began to boil, stirred it with a ladle, when the
party of white men, mistaking her motions for the concerted signal of
attack, fired upon the savages. The poor squaw received a shot, and
fell across the fire; the Captain saw that his life depended on prompt
action, and grasping his tomahawk, commenced the work of slaughter,
while his men rushed into the midst. All the Indians were killed except
three, who made their escape. Both the Captain and Lieutenant were
wounded.
In consideration of his services, Capt. Wells was appointed Indian
agent at Fort Wayne. At this post he continued until the war of 1812,
soon after the outbreak of which he departed for the purpose of
escorting the troops from Chicago to Fort Wayne.
The gentleman[33] to whom I am indebted for much of the information
contained in this sketch, visited Capt. Wells at Fort Wayne in 1809,
and there formed an acquaintance with his niece. One of his juvenile
amusements was setting up a target for her to shoot at with a rifle.
She and Capt. Heald were accustomed to go out with their rifles to
shoot at the bunghole of a barrel at a distance of one hundred yards,
and from continual practice Miss Wells had become extremely expert in
that soldierlike exercise. The Captain was at that time evidently a
candidate for the favor of the fair markswoman, and took great pleasure
in instructing her in every species of military accomplishment which
she took a fancy to learn. Shortly after this period they were married;
and in 1812 Capt. Heald was in command of the garrison at Chicago.
This, it will be remembered, was at that time a remote outpost of the
American frontier, scarcely to be called a settlement, as the only
inhabitants without the garrison were a few Canadians and the family
of a gentleman engaged in the fur trade, who had removed from St.
Joseph’s in 1804. He was a great favorite among the Indians, who called
him by a name signifying “the Silverman,” from the circumstance of
his furnishing them with rings, brooches, and other ornaments of that
metal. His influence with the tribes wherever his trading-posts were
dispersed, made him an object of suspicion to the British, and being at
length taken prisoner, he was detained in captivity till the close of
the war.
The peninsula of Michigan was then a wilderness, peopled only by
savages; and intercourse between the posts of Fort Wayne, Detroit,
and Chicago, was carried on by such hardy travellers as ventured
occasionally to encounter the perils and fatigues of the journey,
guided by a devious Indian trail, encamping at night beside a stream,
or seeking shelter in some hospitable wigwam, or even lodging among the
branches of the trees.[34] The fort at Chicago was constructed with
two blockhouses on the southern side, and a sallyport or subterranean
passage from the parade-ground to the river, designed either to
facilitate an escape, or as a means of supplying the garrison with
water during a siege. The chief officers at this time, besides Capt.
Heald, were very young men; the command numbered about seventy-five
men, not all of whom were able to do service. The garrison had
maintained a constant and friendly intercourse with the neighboring
Indians, and as the principal chiefs of all the bands in the vicinity
seemed to be on the most amicable terms with the Americans, no
interruption of their harmony was anticipated.
After the fatal event, however, many circumstances were recollected,
which should have opened their eyes. One instance may be mentioned.
In the spring previous, two Indians of the Calumet band came to the
post, on a visit to the commanding officer. As they passed through the
quarters, they saw Mrs. Heald and another lady playing at battledore,
and one of the savages said to the interpreter, “The white chiefs’
wives are amusing themselves; it will not be long before they are
hoeing in our cornfields.” This speech, then regarded as merely an idle
threat, or an expression of jealous feeling at the contrast with the
situation of their own women, was remembered mournfully some months
afterwards.
The first alarm was given on the evening of the 7th of April, 1812.
Near the junction of Chicago river with Lake Michigan, directly
opposite the fort, from which it was separated by the river and a
few rods of sloping green turf, stood the dwelling-house and trading
establishment of Mr. Kinzie. This gentleman was at home, playing the
violin for the amusement of his children; they were dancing merrily,
awaiting the return of their mother, who had gone a short distance
up the river to visit a sick neighbor. Suddenly the door was thrown
open, and Mrs. Kinzie rushed in, pale with affright, and hardly able
to articulate--“The Indians! The Indians! They are up at Lee’s place,
killing and scalping!” This was a farm intersected by the river, about
four miles from its mouth. Mrs. Kinzie, when she had breath enough to
speak, informed her startled family that while she had been “at Burns’,
a man and boy were seen running down on the opposite side of the river;
and that they had called across to Burns’ family to save themselves,
for the Indians were at Lee’s place, from which they had just made
their escape.” The fugitives were on their way to the fort.
All was now consternation. The family were hurried into two old
pirogues moored near the house, and paddled across the river to take
refuge in the fort, where the man--a discharged soldier--and boy had
already told their story. In the afternoon, a party of ten or twelve
Indians, dressed and painted, had arrived at the house, and according
to the custom among savages, entered and seated themselves without
ceremony. Something in their appearance and manner had excited the
suspicions of one of the family--a Frenchman--who observed, “I do not
like the looks of these Indians; they are none of our folks. I know
by their dress and paint that they are not Pottowattamies.” Upon this
the soldier bade the boy follow him, and walked leisurely towards the
two canoes tied near the bank. Some of the Indians asked where he was
going; on which he pointed to the cattle standing among the haystacks
on the opposite bank and made signs that they must go and fodder them;
and that they would return and get their supper. He got into one canoe
and the boy into the other. When they had gained the other side of the
narrow stream, they pulled some hay for the cattle, making a show of
collecting them, and when they had gradually made a circuit, so that
their movements were concealed by the haystacks, they took to the woods
near, and made for the fort. They had run about a quarter of a mile,
when they heard the discharge of two guns, and when they came opposite
Burns’ they called to warn the family of their danger and hastened on.
A party of five or six soldiers, commanded by Ronan, was sent from the
fort to the rescue of Burns’ family: they went up the river in a scow,
took the mother with her infant scarcely a day old, on her bed to the
boat, and conveyed her with the rest to the fort.
The same afternoon a corporal and six soldiers had gone up the river
to fish. Fearing that they might encounter the savages, the commanding
officer at the fort now ordered a cannon to be fired to warn them of
danger. Hearing the signal, they put out their torches and dropped down
the river in silence. It will be borne in mind that the unsettled state
of the country since the battle of Tippecanoe the preceding November,
caused every man to be on the alert, and the slightest alarm was
sufficient to ensure vigilance. When the fishing party reached “Lee’s
place,” it was proposed to stop and bid the inmates be on their guard,
as the signal from the fort indicated danger. All was still around the
house, but they groped their way, and as the corporal leaped the fence
into the small enclosure, he placed his hand upon the dead body of a
man, who he soon ascertained had been scalped. The faithful dog stood
guarding the lifeless remains of his master. The soldiers retreated
to their canoes, and reached the fort about eleven o’clock. The next
morning a party of citizens and soldiers went to Lee’s and found two
dead bodies, which were buried near the fort. It was subsequently
ascertained, from traders in the Indian country, that the perpetrators
of this bloody deed were a party of Winnebagoes, who had come into
the neighborhood determined to kill every white man without the walls
of the fort. Hearing the report of the cannon, they set off on their
retreat to their homes on Rock river.
The inhabitants of the place, consisting of a few discharged soldiers
and some families of half-breeds, now entrenched themselves in the
“agency house,” a log building standing a few rods from the fort.
It had piazzas in front and rear, which were planked up; portholes
were cut, and sentinels posted at night. The enemy was supposed to be
still lurking in the neighborhood, and an order was issued forbidding
any soldier or citizen to leave the vicinity of the garrison without
a guard. One night a sergeant and private who were out on patrol,
came suddenly upon a party of Indians in the pasture adjoining the
esplanade, and fired upon them as they made good their retreat. The
next morning traces of blood were found, extending some distance into
the prairie. On another occasion the savages entered the esplanade to
steal the horses, and not finding them in the stable, made themselves
amends for their disappointment by stabbing the sheep and then turning
them loose. The poor animals ran towards the fort; the alarm was given,
and parties were sent out, but the marauders escaped.
These occurrences were enough to keep the inmates of the fort in a
state of apprehension, but they were no further disturbed for many
weeks. On the afternoon of August 7th, a Pottowattamie chief arrived
at the post, bearing despatches from Gen. Hull, at Detroit, which
announced the declaration of war between the United States and Great
Britain; also that the island of Mackinaw had fallen into the hands of
the British.
The orders to the commanding officer, Capt. Heald, were “to evacuate
the post, if practicable, and in that event, to distribute all the
United States’ property contained in the fort and the United States’
factory or agency, among the Indians in the neighborhood.” After
having delivered his despatches, the chief, Winnemeg, requested a
private interview with Mr. Kinzie, who had taken up his residence
within the garrison, stated that he was acquainted with the purport
of the communications, and earnestly advised that the post should not
be evacuated, since the garrison was well supplied with ammunition
and provision for six months. It would be better to remain till a
reinforcement could be sent to their assistance. In case, however,
Capt. Heald should decide upon leaving the fort, it should be done
immediately, as the Pottowattamies, through whose country they must
pass, were ignorant of the object of Winnemeg’s mission, and a forced
march might be made before the hostile Indians were prepared to
intercept them.
Capt. Heald was immediately informed of this advice, and replied that
it was his intention to evacuate the fort; but that, inasmuch as he had
received orders to distribute the United States’ property, he would not
leave till he had collected the Indians in the neighborhood and made an
equitable division among them. Winnemeg then suggested the expediency
of marching out and leaving all things standing, for while the savages
were dividing the spoils the troops might possibly effect their retreat
unmolested. This counsel, though strongly seconded, was not approved by
the commanding officer.
The order for evacuating the post was read the next morning upon
parade, and in the course of the day, as no council was called, the
officers waited upon Capt. Heald, and urged him to relinquish his
design on account of the improbability that the command would be
permitted to pass in safety to Fort Wayne by the savages, whose thirst
for slaughter could hardly be controlled by the few individuals who
were supposed to have friendly feelings towards the Americans. Their
march must of necessity be slow, as a number of women and children,
with some invalid soldiers, would accompany the detachment. Their
advice, therefore, was to remain, and fortify themselves as strongly
as possible, in hopes that succor from the other side of the peninsula
would arrive before they could be attacked by the British from
Mackinaw. In reply to this remonstrance Capt. Heald urged that he
should be censured for remaining when there appeared a prospect of
a safe march, and that on the whole he deemed it most expedient to
assemble the Indians, distribute the property among them, and then ask
of them an escort to Fort Wayne, with the promise of a considerable
reward upon their safe arrival, adding that he had full confidence in
the friendly professions of the savages, from whom, as well as from the
soldiers, the capture of Mackinaw had been kept a profound secret.
The project was considered a mad one, and much and increasing
dissatisfaction prevailed among the officers and soldiers. The Indians
became every day more unruly. Entering the fort in defiance of the
sentinels, they often made their way without ceremony to the quarters
of the officers. On one occasion a savage took up a rifle, and fired
it in Mrs. Heald’s parlor. Some supposed this a signal for an attack,
as there was vehement agitation among the old chiefs and squaws; but
the manifestation of hostile feeling was suppressed, and the Captain
continued to feel confidence in such an amicable disposition among the
Indians, as would ensure the safety of his troops on their march to
Fort Wayne.
The inmates of the fort, meanwhile, suffered greatly from apprehension,
scarcely daring to yield to sleep at night, and a general gloom and
distress prevailed. The Indians being assembled from the neighboring
villages, a council was held with them on the 12th, Capt. Heald alone
attending on the part of the military, as his officers refused to
accompany him. Information had secretly been brought to them that it
was the intention of the young chiefs to fall upon them and murder
them while in council, but the Captain could not be persuaded of the
truth of this, and therefore left the garrison, while the officers
who remained took command of the block-houses which overlooked the
esplanade on which the council was held, opened the port-holes, and
pointed the cannon so as to command the whole assembly.
“In council, the commanding officer informed the Indians of his
intention to distribute among them, the next day, not only the goods
lodged in the United States’ Factory, but also the ammunition and
provisions with which the garrison was well supplied. He then requested
of the Pottowattamies an escort to Fort Wayne, promising them a liberal
reward upon their arrival there, in addition to the presents they were
now to receive. With many professions of friendship and good-will the
savages assented to all he proposed, and promised all he required.