large party from the different tribes was on the way to Toronto, and
in the course of a single day some two hundred of them stopped at her
house, plundering it of all it contained. McMillan was still absent,
and the mother did not dare to interfere for the rescue of any portion
of her property, lest she should draw down vengeance upon herself and
her innocent children. The work of spoiling went on, therefore, while
they stood quietly aloof. A fine flock of geese, which she had raised
with care, was on the grass before the door, and the Indians soon
commenced execution among them. Mrs. McMillan started forward to save
her favorites; but a gun was instantly levelled at her, with the threat
of shooting, if she ventured to interrupt the sport. Like many other
matrons of that day, she prided herself on a handsome set of pewter
dishes and plates, which her industrious scouring kept as bright as
silver. Their polish and beauty pleased the Indians, who tried them
by biting, to ascertain if they were real silver, and the whole stock
speedily passed into the possession of the depredators, who left only
a knife and a tin cup in the house. When the last of the enemy had
passed over the river, the terrified family found themselves in safety,
but exhausted with hunger, while nothing in the shape of food was left
about the place. They were compelled to fast till supplies could be
brought from a distance of several miles.
When the war was over, and comparative quiet established, McMillan and
his family, with two or three others, removed to Detroit, ascending
the river on a large raft. The trials of the wife were not ended.
Straggling bands of savages were still lurking in the neighborhood
of the city, ready for any deed of robbery or bloodshed. One evening
when McMillan had left his home for a short time, the silence was
broken by the report of a gun, which caused some alarm to his wife and
children, though they were far from anticipating the extent of their
calamity. The father’s prolonged absence caused apprehension, which was
terminated by fatal certainty; during the night his lifeless body was
brought home. This blow was severely felt by the bereaved wife, but a
sense of duty to the loved ones dependent on her, prevented her from
being utterly overwhelmed. It may be imagined, after this sad tragedy,
how anxiously passed the nights in her lonely dwelling. In the middle
of one dark night, the roar of the alarm guns was again heard. The
affrighted mother sprang up, gathered her children hastily together,
and knowing well there was no safety within doors, hurried with them
from the house. The house of a friend at a considerable distance,
offered shelter, but the darkness was intense; the fugitives lost their
way, and ere long found themselves in the midst of the deep mire for
which the roads of Detroit were formerly so celebrated. More urgent
peril, however, was behind them; they struggled on, leaving their shoes
in the mud, and managed to escape to the house of their friend, where
they were received with kindness. The mother’s quick eye, scanning her
rescued group, now discovered that her son, eleven years of age, was
missing! The alarm was given, and the next day men were sent in every
direction about the country to search for him; but all in vain. It was
too certain that he had been captured, and the distracted mother feared
he had been murdered by the relentless savages. For four long months
she endured the tortures of suspense. She then learned that her boy had
been taken prisoner, and was still held in captivity at some distance
from the city. The sum demanded for his ransom was speedily sent, and
he was restored to the arms of his mother. During his captivity he had
fared hardly, subsisting chiefly on buds and roots, and never having
even a piece of bread. This son is now living at Jackson, Michigan.
After the termination of the Indian troubles, Mrs. McMillan maintained
her family by her exertions, giving each of her children a substantial
education, with such training as to fit them for every duty and
vicissitude of life. She made enough to purchase a valuable piece of
land near the Presbyterian church, with a large framed house, which is
now known as the Temperance or Purdy’s Hotel. Mrs. McMillan resides in
the city with one of her sons, and is often solicited by those who have
heard something of her romantic history, to relate her adventures in
detail, and describe the life led by many who like her, encountered the
perils of war in a new country.
XX.
CHARLOTTE A. CLARK.
This lady accompanied her husband, who was commissary to the United
States troops, in November, 1819, to a military station on the Upper
Mississippi, situated on the St. Peter’s side of the river. Several
persons went with them from Prairie du Chien; the voyage being made in
keel-boats, and the waters so low that the men were obliged frequently
to wade in the river and draw them through the sand. Six weeks were
occupied in passing over the distance of three hundred miles, one week
of which was spent at Lake Pepin.
Having reached the place of destination, the company were obliged to
live in their boats till pickets could be erected for their protection
against the Indians, who not understanding the object of this invasion
of the wild, or the display of arms and ammunition, might fall upon
them in some unguarded moment. Huts also had to be built, though in
the rudest manner, to serve as a shelter during the winter from the
rigors of a severe climate. After living with her family in the boat
for a month, it was a highly appreciated luxury for Mrs. Clark to find
herself at home in a log hut, plastered with clay, and “chinked” for
her reception. It was December before they got into winter quarters,
and the fierce winds of that exposed region, with terrific storms now
and then, were enough to make them wish to keep within doors as much as
possible. Once, in a violent tempest, the roof of their dwelling was
raised by the wind, and partially slid off; there was no protection
for the inmates, but the baby in the cradle was pushed under the
bed for safety. Notwithstanding these discomforts and perils, the
inconveniences they had to encounter, and their isolated situation, the
little party of emigrants were not without their social enjoyments.
They were nearly all young married persons, cheerful and fond of
gaiety, and had their dancing assemblages once a fortnight. An instance
of the kindness of the commanding officer, Col. Leavenworth, deserves
mention. One of the other officers having been attacked with symptoms
of scurvy, and great alarm prevailing on that account, the Colonel
took a sleigh, and accompanied by a few friends, set off on a journey
through the country inhabited by Indians, not knowing what dangers he
might encounter from their hostility, or the perils of the way, for
the purpose of procuring medicinal roots. The party was absent several
days, and in the meantime collected a supply of hemlock and spignet,
which they used with excellent effect in curing the disease.
In the ensuing summer, when Col. Snelling had the command, Fort
Snelling was begun. St. Louis, distant nine hundred miles, was at that
time the nearest town of any importance. After the erection of the
fort, Mrs. Clark says--“we made the first clearing at the Falls of St.
Anthony, and built a grist-mill.” The wife of Capt. George Gooding,
of the 5th regiment, was the first white woman who ever visited those
beautiful falls. She afterwards married Col. Johnson, and went to
reside in St. Louis. The daughter of Mrs. Clark, now Mrs. Van Cleve
of Ann Arbor, was born while the troops were stationed at Prairie du
Chien. At that time Col. Leavenworth received orders to go up to the
place where, in the following summer, Fort Snelling was built. He went,
though he had at this time no wholesome provisions; even the bread,
it was said, was “two inches in the barrels thick with mould;” no
vegetables were to be had, and several of the men were perishing with
scurvy. The Sioux Indians were in the vicinity, and they were mutually
suspicious of each other, so that no game could be bought; nor was
there a prospect of matters being mended till more amicable relations
could be established. The prices of such fresh edibles as could be
procured at Prairie du Chien were enormous; a small and lean chicken
procured for a sick lady cost a dollar; beets as large as the finger,
one dollar a dozen; and onions were ten dollars a bushel. The cold
is described as so intense that the soldiers called out merely while
they could answer to the roll, often had their faces frost-bitten; the
thermometer at seven in the morning being known to stand thirty-five
degrees below zero.
Mrs. Clark remained at Fort Snelling, with the exception of about a
year, till 1827. The only young lady in the company was married when
about fifteen years of age, to a Mr. Dennis, also of the army. The
wedding took place in the winter, and the bridal party was obliged
to descend the river, three hundred miles, on the ice, to Prairie du
Chien, to have the ceremony performed. The monotony of their life was
varied by continual alarms and excitements, from the encounters of the
hostile tribes of Sioux and Chippewas, who came frequently into their
close neighborhood, and were not scrupulous as to deeds of violence
and treachery towards each other. The incidents we shall mention,
illustrative of other experiences, are alluded to in a preceding memoir.
The quarters within the fort were crowded, and Mrs. Clark’s house,
a substantial stone building, stood without the walls a few rods
distant, on the military land adjoining. After the conclusion of the
amicable treaty already mentioned, the Chippewas had pitched their
camp at the foot of a hill not far from this house. About nine o’clock
in the evening, the family was alarmed by an unusual noise in that
direction, and the discharge of firearms. A gentleman who was at that
time the guest of Mr. Clark, entered in haste and some trepidation,
saying that a bullet had just whistled past his head, and that there
must be some difficulty “below.” The seclusion of the dwelling was
thought of with terror whenever there was any alarm at night, though
the sight of the fort close at hand gave courage to all in the daytime.
Protection and aid, however, were promptly invoked, and the troops
aroused. It appeared that some of the Sioux, after having sat in the
wigwams of the Chippewas, smoked the pipe of peace, and bid them
good night, had deliberately turned about and fired upon them. The
confusion that ensued may be imagined; the Chippewas flew to arms, and
the treacherous Sioux made their escape. The commanding officer of
the garrison had the wounded taken to the hospital, and attended to
as well as the circumstances permitted. Among them was an aged chief
and his little daughter, only ten years of age, in whom the ladies
were deeply interested. She was much injured, and survived but a short
time. The Indians called upon the commander, as the representative of
their “great father,” to compel the Sioux to render satisfaction for
this cruel outrage; and in pursuance of the instructions of government
to commanders on the out-posts, to maintain peace as far as possible
between the hostile tribes without interfering in their affairs, he
sent an order to the chiefs requiring the surrender of the young men
who had been guilty.
Not long after this, a large party of Sioux was seen approaching the
fort. “We could see them,” said Mrs. Clark, “for a long way on the
hills by which Fort Snelling is surrounded, and it was easy to perceive
at once that they were disposed to resist the summons. The interpreter,
who was a thorough fellow, and knew how important was an aspect of
courage and determination in dealing with savages, went out to meet
them, and informed them what would be the consequence of their refusal
to comply with the just demand; their great father, the President,
would send into the country as many warriors as there were leaves on
the trees, or blades of grass under their feet, and these would kill
and burn until not a Sioux should be left. A hurried council was held
by the chiefs, and at length it was decided that the criminals should
be given up.” They were accordingly delivered, and put in durance to
await the pleasure of the injured tribe. Meanwhile the old chief who
had been wounded and bereaved of his child, was rapidly sinking to the
grave, and true to his warrior nature, desired only to live long enough
to see just vengeance overtake the murderers. They were appointed to
suffer the Indian punishment of running the gauntlet.
An enclosed piece of ground was selected, not far from the fort,
lined with men and women of both tribes, the soldiers of the garrison
being also spectators of the scene. The dying chief appeared, borne
on the shoulders of his young men; and all was soon in readiness. If
the condemned could reach the further side of the fence, where their
friends were stationed, their lives were safe. Again to quote Mrs.
Clark: “A gentleman who chanced to be in company with several Chippewa
braves who had just come from the fort, and were walking towards
the ground, told me they were laughing and talking as if perfectly
indifferent to what was going on, till they reached the place where the
deadly work was about to commence. Then their countenances underwent a
fearful change almost instantaneously, expressing the darkest passion
and the most ferocious hatred.”
The scene was one of intense and terrible interest. It lasted but
a few moments, amid cheers from both sides, and yells that were
absolutely deafening. The children of the white residents who witnessed
it, partook of the wild excitement. “My brother Malcolm,” says Mrs.
Clark’s daughter, “a little fellow, threw up his cap, and shouted with
the rest. One young Indian--‘Young Six’ he was called--had petted us
frequently, and was a great favorite; we were anxious he should escape,
and watched his fearful race with breathless eagerness. He reached
the fence, and sprang upon it; a moment more and he would have been
safe among his friends, who were ready to receive and welcome him,
when suddenly he bounded high in air and fell, pierced by a shower
of bullets.” Women and men then rushed frantically upon the bodies
of the slain; the scalps were torn off, and the corpses horribly
mutilated with hatchets, the squaws even thrusting their fingers into
the bullet-holes, and licking the blood as it flowed! When the savage
avengers supposed they had done their duty to their lost friends, the
scene was closed with their scalp-dance, the fearful orgies being
prolonged several hours.
Perhaps, in the exposed and perilous situation of the garrison, the
commandant could not venture to interfere with the execution of savage
vengeance; for the mangled bodies of the slain were suffered to lie
a long time unburied. The old chief, feeling now that his time was
come for departure to the spirit-land, caused himself to be painted
according to Indian custom, and the scalps to be hung round his neck,
sang his own death-song, and expired with the calmness of a hero or a
philosopher.
The daughter of Mrs. Clark was married to Mr. Van Cleve while her
parents were at Fort Winnebago. They were obliged to send one hundred
miles for the clergyman--Rev. Dr. Gregory, then missionary to the
Indians near Green Bay. It was said that when he arrived, it was well
he was familiar with the service, being so snow-blind from his long
drive, that he could not have read it.
Mrs. Clark is described as still a very handsome woman, with grey hair
neatly arranged over a classic head, and a countenance lighted up with
intelligence and spirit when in conversation, with great sweetness
of expression at all times. She interests every one who forms her
acquaintance, and often delights her friends by a narration of the
incidents of her pioneer experience, delineating the scenes at Fort
Snelling with so much graphic and vivid power that they seem to pass
before the auditor. Her children inherit her talent, with her agreeable
person and manners, and are ornaments of the polished society in
which they move. Mrs. Van Cleve resides at Ann Arbor, Michigan; Mrs.
Clark, Miss Clark and Mrs. Lincoln, in Cincinnati, and another married
daughter on the other side of the river in Kentucky. Malcolm Clark has
spent many years at a distance from civilization among the aboriginal
tribes, and is now a trader near Fort Benton in Oregon, married to a
woman of the “Black Foot” Indians. He is highly respected by them, and
called “Lesokin,” or “four bears,” because he killed four of those
animals one morning before breakfast. In 1850 he returned to “the
settlements,” on a visit to his family, bringing his two elder children
to his sister to be educated at Ann Arbor. The girl--Pistapowaca--had
been christened before her arrival by a Roman Catholic priest, but the
boy--Natiena--was baptized in St. Andrew’s church in that village--the
grandmother herself leading him to the font, and appearing as the only
sponsor. The father had a Spanish boy with him, bound to his service
by a tie of gratitude, whose duty it was to attend the children. Mr.
Clark wore his Indian dress--the leggins ornamented with human hair--as
far east as St. Louis--and so much had his complexion changed, that his
sisters would scarcely have recognized him. The mother had cheerfully
consented to part with her children for their good, for she had a stout
heart, and knew they ought to be taught many things. Her boy, she said,
would certainly return; he was to be a great chief, as her father had
been; and so, when the canoe was ready for the departure of her husband
and children, she accompanied them to the river side, and as the bark
pushed off, threw herself upon the ground, concealing her face in her
dress. When, after rounding a point, they again caught sight of her,
she was still lying motionless, absorbed in grief. When the father left
his children to return to his distant home, the little girl, taught to
subdue the expression of emotion, would not suffer herself to cry out;
but clasped her throat with her hands to choke down her feelings.
One incident in Clark’s early life is characteristic. When a mere lad,
the men at the fort had trapped a wolf, and were debating how they
could manage to muzzle him, before taking him out. Malcolm passing by,
inquired what they were about, and immediately offered to hold the
animal. Suiting the action to the word, he clapped his hands on either
side the creature’s jaws, and held them forcibly together, while the
soldiers slipped on the cords. Clark was at West Point when the Texan
difficulties with Mexico broke out, and departed to join the service;
working his way afterwards to his present home, where the traders have
established a garrison of their own, for protection against the hostile
Indians. Nearly all of them have married Indian women, who, proud of
the alliance, have become the “exclusives” of the country, refusing to
hold intercourse with other squaws. The boy aforementioned was the son
of a Spaniard by an Indian wife, and had been captured by a party of
Indians who had come unexpectedly upon the garrison, seized him while
others escaped, and were about to satiate their revenge by torturing
him. Watching his opportunity, with wonderful address, Clark rushed out
at the gate of the fort into the midst of the savages, caught the boy,
and was again safe within the walls before the Indians had recovered
from their surprise. The poor lad was wounded severely by the hatchets
thrown at him, the scars of which he bore ever afterwards. He became
so much attached to his deliverer, that he could not be induced at any
time to separate from him.
* * * * *
Hezekiah Geer was one of the most enterprising among the pioneers
of Illinois. His residence is now at Galena, where he is one of the
largest lead dealers in that region; and his present prosperity, nobly
earned as it has been, is doubly enjoyed from the remembrance of the
hardship, privation, and actual suffering endured on their first
migration into the country, when the means of the new settler were
inadequate without incessant toil to the wants of a large family; when
for years they scarcely saw the face of a clergyman, except at distant
intervals an itinerant missionary. The reward of these labors, which
Mr. Geer’s children share in peace and abundance, she who partook all
his cares, and practised every self-denial to lighten them, did not
live to enjoy. They removed from Massachusetts to the southern part of
Illinois some time about 1820, when the portions of country now covered
with smiling villages and thriving farms were a wilderness untrodden
save by the roving hunter, the surveyor, or the savages who receded
before the footsteps of civilization. Her experience is much the same
with that of many others who left home and kindred to seek better
fortune in the forest, and found themselves obliged to struggle with
difficulties they had never, or but faintly imagined.
During the Black Hawk war a large part of Michigan and the neighboring
territories suffered much from apprehension of danger, kept up by
floating rumors that the Indians were intent on depredations and
incited to attack the whites by the occurrences that had taken place
in Illinois. Mr. Geer and his family had then been living at Galena
some years. The inhabitants of the place and neighborhood were in a
state of excitement from continual alarms, and prepared to take refuge
in the fort, in case of the appearance of the dreaded enemy. It was an
object with the commander to assure himself that he might depend on
the promptitude and courage of his troops and the citizen volunteers
in case of sudden attack, and he adopted a singular method of testing
these qualities. One dark and stormy night he caused a select number
to march off silently to a hill not far distant, where they raised
the Indian war whoop. The ruse was but too successful in creating a
general panic; the soldiers of the garrison and men of the village
were instantly on the alert and ready for action; but the terror and
confusion that prevailed among the helpless women and children, were
beyond the power of language to describe. Mrs. Geer was at that time
the mother of a young infant, with twins not more than two years
old. Springing out of bed and hastily throwing on a few articles of
clothing, she caught in her arms her babe and one of the twins--her
eldest daughter--and followed by the other children, rushed forth,
hurrying to the shelter and protection of the fort. Mr. Geer was at
that time holding a command, having been on duty since the breaking
out of the war. The effects of this cruel experiment were fatal to
some of the children who were borne into the cold night air and storm
by their terrified mothers. Both those Mrs. Geer carried in her arms
died from the effects of the exposure. Yet in the midst of the general
consternation occasioned by the alarm, some of the women found time to
laugh; for one man who in his fear had hid himself in a corner of the
room where they were gathered in the fort, was discovered by some of
them, and driven out with a flourish of broomsticks.
Mrs. Clark said that while her husband was at Fort Winnebago, it was
no uncommon thing to test the courage of the soldiers by getting
up a false alarm. The lead mines were then attracting considerable
attention, and desertions to them were so common among the soldiers
in the winter of 1819, that orders were often given to beat the long
roll at dead of night, that it might be ascertained who was missing.
The commanding officer, just before this signal sounded, would go
round to the beds of those soldiers in whose fidelity he had confidence
to notify them of the object of the alarm. But the women even of his
own family, though warned, could not hear the dismal note of the drum
without a thrill of terror. It may be supposed that experiments of this
kind could not be frequently repeated with the intended effect.