The son of a Kickapoo Chief, being engaged to a Ouiattanon girl, came
in quest of her to fort Knox, at Vincennes—though an Indian war was
then waging against the United States; and, in this, the Kickapoos were
among the most formidable. We happened to be there at this time. It
was summer, and the weather very warm. The young Kickapoo was admitted
into the fort, and, among other presents, threw down several joints of
venison; observing to the commanding officer, that, if he could not eat
them himself, (for they were tainted,) they might answer for his _hogs_
and _dogs_—muttering at the same time, and making the sign of a halter
round his neck, that perhaps they might hang him for appearing among
them; alluding, no doubt, to the then Indian war.
On the evening of the same day the young Kickapoo got into a drunken
frolic, with other savages, among whom was the before mentioned
Indian. The latter said to the Kickapoo, “May be I shall kill you:”
and, without further preface, he plunged a knife into him—which
instantly proved fatal. At this moment the Ouiattanons in company took
the alarm—fearful of the consequences that might befal their tribe,
from the death of the son of a powerful chieftain. It was therefore
determined to propitiate the Kickapoo’s father, by sending a deputation
to him with the present of a ten gallon keg of whisky as a peace
offering. This was furnished for the purpose, on request, by the
commanding officer of the fort. They had not gone far when the precious
liquor proved too great a temptation: the keg was broached, and soon
emptied. What then was to be done?
Next morning, however, they appeared again at the fort—deplored the
‘_accident_,’ (as they called it,) and begged for another keg of
liquor. This too was granted—and off they went again. But this keg
met with the fate of the former: its contents proved an irresistible
temptation. As no more whisky could now be obtained, the mission fell
through.
Upon this, the Indians appeared before the fort, with the murderer in
custody, under the window of the writer, and demanded justice to be
done on the prisoner. He told them it was an affair for themselves to
settle, as it was confined to themselves alone. They now marched in
Indian file, carrying off the murderer, who, every now and then, looked
fearfully behind him—for the brother of the deceased’s sweetheart had
taken post next in his rear. They had not proceeded far, when this
brother plunged a knife into the prisoner’s back, which broke, and a
part was left buried in the wound. The whole party now returned before
the fort—the wounded man singing his death-song. He was borne off by
his friends into a thicket, in the prairie, where all their efforts to
extract the broken blade proved ineffectual; and the next day or two he
died.
The Spider, a brother of the murderer, and then at Kaskaskia, hearing
of the predicament which had befallen the latter, hastened to
Vincennes—but death had closed the scene. He came in time, however,
to attend the funeral. When the body was about to be consigned to the
earth, he opened the blanket which enveloped the corpse, and taking off
a silver ornament which encompassed his head, he bound it around that
of the defunct, saying, “There, brother! this will bring you respect in
the land of Spirits.”
[Illustration]