through a small back window into the room where the family were,
entering just as the Wabash Indians had left the house of Ouilmette for
that of Mr. Kinzie. The danger of the sergeant was now imminent. The
family stripped him of his uniform and arrayed him in a suit of
deerskin, with belt, moccasins, and pipe, like a French _engagé_. His
dark complexion and heavy black whiskers favored the disguise. The
family were all ordered to address him in French, and, although
utterly ignorant of this language, he continued to pass for a
_Weem-tee-gosh_,[10] and as such remained with Mr. Kinzie and his
family, undetected by his enemies, until they reached a place of
safety.
On the third day after the battle, Mr. Kinzie and his family, with the
clerks of the establishment, were put into a boat, under the care of
François, a half-breed interpreter, and conveyed to St. Joseph, where
they remained until the following November, under the protection of
To-pee-nee-bee's band. With the exception of Mr. Kinzie they were then
conducted to Detroit, under the escort of Chandonnai and their trusty
Indian friend, Kee-po-tah, and delivered as prisoners of war to Colonel
McKee, the British Indian Agent.
Mr. Kinzie himself was held at St. Joseph and did not succeed in
rejoining his family until some months later. On his arrival at Detroit
he was paroled by General Proctor.
Lieutenant Helm, who was likewise wounded, was carried by some friendly
Indians to their village on the Au Sable and thence to Peoria, where he
was liberated through the intervention of Mr. Thomas Forsyth, the half
brother of Mr. Kinzie. Mrs. Helm accompanied her parents to St. Joseph,
where they resided for several months in the family of Alexander
Robinson,[11] receiving from them all possible kindness and hospitality.
Later Mrs. Helm was joined by her husband in Detroit, where they both
were arrested by order of the British commander, and sent on horseback,
in the dead of winter, through Canada to Fort George on the Niagara
frontier. When they arrived at that post, there had been no official
appointed to receive them, and, notwithstanding their long and fatiguing
journey in the coldest, most inclement weather, Mrs. Helm, a delicate
woman of seventeen years, was permitted to sit waiting in her saddle,
outside the gate, for more than an hour, before the refreshment of fire
or food, or even the shelter of a roof, was offered her. When Colonel
Sheaffe, who was absent at the time, was informed of this brutal
inhospitality, he expressed the greatest indignation. He waited on Mrs.
Helm immediately, apologized in the most courteous manner, and treated
both her and Lieutenant Helm with the greatest consideration and
kindness, until, by an exchange of prisoners, they were liberated and
found means of reaching their friends in Steuben County, N. Y.
Captain and Mrs. Heald were sent across the lake to St. Joseph the day
after the battle. The Captain had received two wounds in the engagement,
his wife seven.
Captain Heald had been taken prisoner by an Indian from the Kankakee,
who had a strong personal regard for him, and who, when he saw Mrs.
Heald's wounded and enfeebled state, released her husband that he might
accompany her to St. Joseph. To the latter place they were accordingly
carried by Chandonnai and his party. In the meantime, the Indian who had
so nobly released his prisoner returned to his village on the Kankakee,
where he had the mortification of finding that his conduct had excited
great dissatisfaction among his band. So great was the displeasure
manifested that he resolved to make a journey to St. Joseph and reclaim
his prisoner.
News of his intention being brought to To-pee-nee-bee and Kee-po-tah,
under whose care the prisoners were, they held a private council with
Chandonnai, Mr. Kinzie, and the principal men of the village, the result
of which was a determination to send Captain and Mrs. Heald to the
Island of Mackinac and deliver them up to the British.
They were accordingly put in a bark canoe, and paddled by Robinson and
his wife a distance of three hundred miles along the coast of Michigan,
and surrendered as prisoners of war to the commanding officer at
Mackinac.
As an instance of Captain Heald's procrastinating spirit it may be
mentioned that, even after he had received positive word that his Indian
captor was on the way from the Kankakee to St. Joseph to retake him, he
would still have delayed at that place another day, to make preparation
for a more comfortable journey to Mackinac.
The soldiers from Fort Dearborn, with their wives and surviving
children, were dispersed among the different villages of the Potowatomi
upon the Illinois, Wabash, and Rock rivers, and at Milwaukee, until the
following spring, when the greater number of them were carried to
Detroit and ransomed.
Mrs. Burns, with her infant, became the prisoner of a chief, who carried
her to his village and treated her with great kindness. His wife, from
jealousy of the favor shown to "the white woman" and her child, always
treated them with great hostility. On one occasion she struck the infant
with a tomahawk, and barely failed in her attempt to put it to
death.[12] Mrs. Burns and her child were not left long in the power of
the old squaw after this demonstration, but on the first opportunity
were carried to a place of safety.
The family of Mr. Lee had resided in a house on the lake shore, not far
from the fort. Mr. Lee was the owner of Lee's Place, which he cultivated
as a farm. It was his son who had run down with the discharged soldier
to give the alarm of "Indians," at the fort, on the afternoon of April
7. The father, the son, and all the other members of the family except
Mrs. Lee and her young infant had fallen victims to the Indians on
August 15. The two survivors were claimed by Black Partridge, and
carried by him to his village on the Au Sable. He had been particularly
attached to a little twelve-year-old girl of Mrs. Lee's. This child had
been placed on horseback for the march; and, as she was unaccustomed to
riding, she was tied fast to the saddle, lest she should slip or be
thrown off.
She was within reach of the balls at the commencement of the engagement,
and was severely wounded. The horse, setting off at a full gallop,
partly threw her; but held fast by the bands which confined her, she
hung dangling as the animal ran wildly about. In this state she was met
by Black Partridge, who caught the horse and disengaged the child from
the saddle. Finding her so badly wounded that she could not recover, and
seeing that she was in great agony, he at once put an end to her pain
with his tomahawk. This, he afterwards said, was the hardest thing he
had ever done, but he did it because he could not bear to see the child
suffer.
Black Partridge soon became warmly attached to the mother--so much so,
that he wished to marry her; and, though she very naturally objected, he
continued to treat her with the greatest respect and consideration. He
was in no hurry to release her, for he was still in hopes of prevailing
upon her to become his wife. In the course of the winter her child fell
ill. Finding that none of the remedies within their reach was effectual,
Black Partridge proposed to take the little one to Chicago, to a French
trader then living in the house of Mr. Kinzie, and procure medical aid
from him. Wrapping up his charge with the greatest care, he set out on
his journey.
Arriving at the residence of M. Du Pin, he entered the room where the
Frenchman was, and carefully placed his burden on the floor.
"What have you there?" asked M. Du Pin.
"A young raccoon, which I have brought you as a present," was the reply;
and, opening the pack, he showed the little sick infant.
When the trader had prescribed for the child, and Black Partridge was
about to return to his home, he told his friend of the proposal he had
made to Mrs. Lee to become his wife, and the manner in which it had been
received.
M. Du Pin entertained some fear that the chief's honorable resolution to
allow the lady herself to decide whether or not to accept his addresses
might not hold out, and at once entered into a negotiation for her
ransom. So effectually were the good feelings of Black Partridge wrought
upon that he consented to bring his fair prisoner to Chicago
immediately, that she might be restored to her friends.
Whether the kind trader had at the outset any other feeling in the
matter than sympathy and brotherly kindness, we cannot say; we only know
that in course of time Mrs. Lee became Madame Du Pin, and that the
worthy couple lived together in great happiness for many years after.
The fate of Nau-non-gee, a chief of the Calumet village, deserves to be
recorded.
During the battle of August 15, the principal object of his attack was
one Sergeant Hays, a man from whom he had accepted many kindnesses.
After Hays had received a ball through the body, this Indian ran up to
tomahawk him, when the sergeant, summoning his remaining strength,
pierced him through the body with his bayonet. The two fell together.
Other Indians running up soon dispatched Hays, and not until then was
his bayonet extracted from the body of his adversary.
After the battle the wounded chief was carried to his village on the
Calumet, where he survived for several days. Finding his end
approaching, he called together his young men, and enjoined them, in the
most solemn manner, to regard the safety of their prisoners after his
death, and out of respect to his memory to take the lives of none of
them; for he himself fully deserved his fate at the hands of the man
whose kindness he had so ill requited.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] This narrative related by two of the survivors, Mrs. John Kinzie and
Mrs. Helm, to Mrs. Juliette A. Kinzie, is taken from "Waubun." It was
first published in pamphlet form in 1836; was transferred, with little
variation, to Brown's "History of Illinois," and to a work called
"Western Annals." Major Richardson likewise made it the basis of his two
tales, "Hardscrabble," and "Wau-nan-gee."
[2] Burns' house stood near the spot where the Agency Building, or
"Cobweb Castle," was afterwards erected, at the foot of North State
Street.
[3] A trading-establishment--now Ypsilanti.
[4] Captain Wells, when a boy, was stolen by the Miami Indians from the
family of Hon. Nathaniel Pope in Kentucky. Although recovered by them,
he preferred to return and live among his new friends. He married a
Miami woman, and became a chief of the nation. He was the father of Mrs.
Judge Wolcott of Maumee, Ohio.
[5] The spot now called Bertrand, then known as _Parc aux Vaches_, from
its having been a favorite "stamping-ground" of the buffalo which
abounded in the country.
[6] Mrs. Helm is represented by the female figure in the bronze group
erected by George M. Pullman, at the foot of 18th Street, to commemorate
the massacre which took place at that spot.
[7] The exact spot of this encounter was about where 21st Street crosses
Indiana Avenue.
[8] Along the present State Street.
[9] Billy Caldwell was a half-breed, and a chief of the nation. In his
reply, "I am a Sau-ga-nash," or Englishman, he designed to convey, "I am
a white man." Had he said, "I am a Potowatomi," it would have been
interpreted to mean, "I belong to my nation, and am prepared to go all
lengths with them."
[10] Frenchman.
[11] The Potowatomi chief, so well known to many of the early citizens
of Chicago.
[12] Twenty-two years after this, as I [Mrs. Juliette A. Kinzie] was on
a journey to Chicago in the steamer "Uncle Sam," a young woman, hearing
my name, introduced herself to me, and, raising the hair from her
forehead, showed me the mark of the tomahawk which had so nearly been
fatal to her.
[Illustration: _The old Kinzie house_]
JOHN KINZIE
A SKETCH
John McKenzie, or, as he was afterwards called, John Kinzie, was the son
of Surgeon John McKenzie of the 60th Royal American Regiment of Foot,
and of Anne Haleyburton, the widow of Chaplain William Haleyburton of
the First or Royal American Regiment of Foot.
Major Haleyburton died soon after their arrival in America, and two
years later his widow married Surgeon John McKenzie. Their son John was
born in Quebec, December 3, 1763.
In the old family Bible the "Mc" is dropped in recording the birth of
"John Kinsey" (so spelled), thus indicating that he was known as John
Kinsey, or, as he himself spelled it, "Kinzie," from early childhood.
Major McKenzie survived the birth of his son but a few months, and his
widow took for her third husband Mr. William Forsyth, of New York City.
Young John grew up under the care and supervision of his stepfather, Mr.
Forsyth, until at the age of ten he began his adventurous career by
running away.
He and his two half brothers attended a school at Williamsburg, L. I.,
escorted there every Monday by a servant, who came to take them home
every Friday. One fine afternoon when the servant came for the boys
Master Johnny was missing. An immediate search was made, but not a trace
of him could be found. His mother was almost frantic. The mysterious
disappearance of her bright, handsome boy was a fearful blow.
Days passed without tidings of the lost one, and hope fled. The only
solution suggested was, that he might have been accidentally drowned and
his body swept out to sea.
Meantime Master John was very much alive.
He had determined to go to Quebec to try, as he afterwards explained, to
discover some of his father's relatives.
He had managed to find a sloop which was just going up the Hudson, and
with the confidence and audacity of a child, stepped gaily on board and
set forth on his travels.
Most fortunately for him, he attracted the notice of a passenger who was
going to Quebec, and who began to question the lonely little lad. He
became so interested in the boy that he took him in charge, paid his
fare, and landed him safely in his native city.
But here, alas, Master Johnny soon found himself stranded. Very cold,
very hungry, and very miserable, he was wandering down one of the
streets of Quebec when his attention was attracted by a glittering array
of watches and silver in a shop window, where a man was sitting
repairing a clock.
Johnny stood gazing wistfully in. His yellow curls, blue eyes, and
pathetic little face appealed to the kind silversmith, who beckoned him
into the shop and soon learned his story.
"And what are you going to do now?" asked the man.
"I am going to work," replied ten-year-old valiantly.
"Why, what could you do?" laughed the man.
"I could do anything you told me to do, if you just showed me how to do
it," said John.
The result was that John got a job.
The silversmith had no children, and as the months rolled on he grew
more and more fond of John. He taught him as much of his trade as the
lad could acquire in the three years of his stay in Quebec. Later in his
life this knowledge was of great value to him, for it enabled him to
secure the friendship and assistance of the Indians by fashioning for
them various ornaments and "tokens" from the silver money paid them as
annuities by the United States Government. The Indians called him
"Shaw-nee-aw-kee" or the Silver Man, and by that name he was known among
all the tribes of the Northwest.
These happy and useful years drew to a close. As John was one day
walking down the street, a gentleman from New York stopped him and
said: "Are you not Johnny Kinzie?" John admitted that he was, and the
gentleman, armed with the astonishing news and the boy's address,
promptly communicated with Mr. Forsyth, who at once came to Quebec and
took the runaway home.
His rejoicing mother doubtless saved him from the sound thrashing he
richly deserved at the hands of his stepfather.
John had now had enough of running away, and was content to stay at home
and buckle down to his books. The few letters of his which remain and
are preserved in the Chicago Historical Society give evidence of an
excellent education.
The roving spirit was still alive in him, however. Mr. Forsyth had moved
West and settled in Detroit, and when John was about eighteen years old
he persuaded his stepfather to fit him out as an Indian trader.
This venture proved a great success. Before he was one and twenty, young
Kinzie had established two trading posts, one at Sandusky and one at
Maumee, and was pushing towards the west, where he later started a
depot at St. Joseph, Michigan.
John Kinzie's success as an Indian trader was almost phenomenal. He
acquired the language of the Indians with great facility; he respected
their customs, and they soon found that his "word was as good as his
bond." He was a keen trader, not allowing himself to be cheated, nor
attempting to cheat the Indians. He quickly gained the confidence and
esteem of the various tribes with which he dealt, and the personal
friendship of many of their most powerful chiefs, who showed themselves
ready to shield him in danger, and to rescue him from harm at the risk
of their lives.
When in the neighborhood of Detroit, he stayed with his half brother,
William Forsyth, who had married a Miss Margaret Lytle, daughter of
Colonel William Lytle of Virginia. In their home he was always a welcome
guest; and here he met Mrs. Forsyth's younger sister, Eleanor. She was
the widow of a British officer, Captain Daniel McKillip, who had been
killed in a sortie from Ft. Defiance. Since her husband's death, she
and her little daughter Margaret had made their home with the Forsyths.
John Kinzie fell desperately in love with the handsome young widow, and
on January 23, 1798, they were married.
In all of his new and arduous career he had been greatly aided and
protected by John Harris, the famous Indian scout and trader mentioned
by Irving in his Life of Washington (Volume 1, Chapter XII). It was in
grateful appreciation of these kindnesses that he named his son "John
Harris," after this valued friend.
Mr. Kinzie continued to extend his business still farther west, until in
October, 1803, when his son John Harris was but three months old, he
moved with his family to Chicago, where he purchased the trading
establishment of a Frenchman named Le Mai.
Here, cut off from the world at large, with no society but the garrison
at Fort Dearborn, the Kinzies lived in contentment, and in the quiet
enjoyment of all the comforts, together with many of the luxuries of
life. The first white child born outside of Fort Dearborn was their
little daughter Ellen Marion, on December 20, 1805. Next came Maria,
born September 28, 1807. Then, last, Robert Allan, born February 8,
1810.
By degrees, Mr. Kinzie established still more remote posts, all
contributing to the parent post at Chicago; at Milwaukee, with the
Menominee; at Rock River with the Winnebago and the Potowatomi; on the
Illinois River and the Kankakee with the Prairie Potowatomi; and with
the Kickapoo in what was called "Le Large," the widely extended district
afterwards converted into Sangamon County. He was appointed Sub-Indian
Agent and Government Interpreter, and in these capacities rendered
valuable service.
About the year 1810, a Frenchman named Lalime was killed by John Kinzie
under the following circumstances: Lalime had become insanely jealous of
Mr. Kinzie's success as a rival trader, and was unwise enough to
threaten to take Kinzie's life. The latter only laughed at the reports,
saying "Threatened men live long, and I am not worrying over Lalime's
wild talk." Several of his stanchest Indian friends, however, continued
to warn him, and he at last consented to carry some sort of weapon in
case Lalime really had the folly to attack him. He accordingly took a
carving knife from the house and began sharpening it on a grindstone in
the woodshed.
Young John stood beside him, much interested in this novel proceeding.
"What are you doing, father?" he asked.
"Sharpening this knife, my son," was the reply.
"What for?" said John.
"Go into the house," replied his father, "and don't ask questions about
things that don't concern you."
A few days passed. Nothing happened; but Mr. Kinzie carried the knife.
Mrs. Kinzie's daughter by her first marriage was now seventeen years
old, and was the wife of Lieutenant Linai Thomas Helm, one of the
officers stationed at Fort Dearborn, and Mr. Kinzie frequently went
over there to spend the evening. One very dark night he sauntered over
to the fort, and was just entering the inclosure, when a man sprang out
from behind the gate post and plunged a knife into his neck. It was
Lalime. Quick as a flash, Mr. Kinzie drew his own knife and dealt Lalime
a furious blow, and a fatal one. The man fell like a log into the river
below. Mr. Kinzie staggered home, covered with blood from the deep
wound.
The late Gurdon S. Hubbard, in a letter to a grandson of John Kinzie's,
gives the following account of the affair:
143 Locust St., Chicago, Ill.,
Feb. 6th, 1884.
Arthur M. Kinzie, Esq.,
My Dear Sir,
I have yours of 5th. You corroborate what I have said about your
grandfather killing Lalime as far as you state. I am glad you do. I
cannot forget what I heard from your grandmother and Mrs. Helm.
They said your grandfather, coming in bloody, said "I have killed
Lalime. A guard will be sent from the Fort to take me. Dress my
neck quickly!" Your grandmother did so, remarking "They shall not
take you to the fort--come with me to the woods." She hid him, came
home, and soon a Sergeant with guard appeared. Could not find your
grandfather.
After the excitement was over, the officers began to reason on the
subject calmly, for Lalime was highly respected, good social
company, educated. They came to the conclusion that the act was in
self defence. The history of Chicago, by Mr. Andreas will soon be
out. He sent me the account relating to your grandfather to revise.
Much in it incorrect, which I have explained.
Can't you come and see me?
Your friend,
G. S. Hubbard.
As far as it goes this account agrees with the facts as held by the
family. The Kinzies, however, always stated that after the excitement
subsided, as it did in a few weeks, Mr. Kinzie sent word to the
commanding officer at the fort that he wished to come in, give himself
up, and have a fair trial. This was granted. The fresh wounds in his
neck--the thrust had barely missed the jugular vein--and the testimony
given as to the threats Lalime had uttered, resulted in an immediate
verdict of justifiable homicide.
In the meantime some of Lalime's friends conceived the idea that it
would be a suitable punishment for Mr. Kinzie to bury his victim
directly in front of the Kinzie home, where he must necessarily behold
the grave every time he passed out of his own gate. Great was their
chagrin and disappointment, however, when Mr. Kinzie, far from being
annoyed at their action, proceeded to make Lalime's grave his special
care.
Flowers were planted on it and it was kept in most beautiful order. Many
a half hour the Kinzie children longed to spend in play, was occupied by
their father's order in raking the dead leaves away from Lalime's grave
and watering the flowers there.
About two years subsequent to this event the Fort Dearborn Massacre
occurred. John Kinzie's part in that tragedy has already been given in
Helm's narrative.
After the massacre Mr. Kinzie was not allowed to leave St. Joseph with
his family, his Indian friends insisting that he remain and endeavor to
secure some remnant of his scattered property. During his excursions
with them for that purpose he wore the costume and paint of the tribe in
order to escape capture and perhaps death at the hands of those who were
still thirsting for blood.
His anxiety for his family at length became so great that he followed
them to Detroit, where he was paroled by General Proctor in January.
At the surrender of Detroit, which took place the day before the
massacre at Chicago, General Hull had stipulated that the inhabitants
should be permitted to remain undisturbed in their homes. Accordingly,
the family of Mr. Kinzie took up their residence among their friends in
the old mansion which many will recollect as standing on the northwest
corner of Jefferson Avenue and Wayne Street, Detroit.