THE FATE OF THE SURVIVORS
Twenty-nine soldiers, seven women, and six children remained alive at
the close of the battle among the sand dunes to face the horrors of
captivity among the Indians. These figures do not include Kinzie, the
trader, and the members of his family, who were regarded as neutrals
and were not included by the Indians in the number of their prisoners.
Concerning the fate of some of the survivors we have full information,
but of others not even the names can be given with certainty, and of
their fate we can speak only in general terms.
The student of the Fort Dearborn massacre finds himself hampered by
a notable dearth of official records. This is due in part to the
destruction, at the time of the massacre itself, of such as existed at
Chicago; to an even greater extent, perhaps, to the destruction of the
records of the War Department at the time of the looting of the Capital
by the British in 1814. Finally, by a departmental ruling promulgated
in 1897, The historical investigator has in recent years been denied
the cold comfort of access to such fragmentary records as do in fact
exist in the files of the War Department.[601] For such official
documents as have been available for this study, therefore, the writer
is indebted to other sources. Some of them were copied by earlier
investigators in the field, before the War Department files were sealed
to the student, and have been printed in various places. Others have
been found in manuscripts or in printed works existing outside the
government archives.
[Footnote 601: This prohibition was removed in 1912, too late, however,
to be of any advantage to the author in the preparation of this
work. For this reason the statements made have been allowed to stand
unchanged.]
The last existing muster-roll of the Fort Dearborn garrison prior
to the massacre has hitherto been supposed to be that for December,
1810.[602] However, the Heald papers belonging to the Wisconsin State
Historical Society include the muster-roll for the period ending May
31, 1812.[603] It shows a garrison strength of fifty-five men, which
was probably the number present at the time of the massacre. No list
of those slain in the massacre has ever been made, nor is there any
comprehensive account of the names and fate of the survivors. The
attempt to construct one[604] from the various fragmentary sources of
information in existence has proved more successful than could perhaps
have been reasonably anticipated. Yet it reveals certain discrepancies
which cannot be harmonized until additional sources of information
shall be uncovered. This is not surprising in view of the confusion
attendant upon the massacre, and the scattering far and wide of the
survivors following it. The passage of time and the absence of records
make it impossible at this date to check up the errors and fill in
the gaps in our information. The hardships endured or the adventures
encountered by those whose experiences have been recorded may have been
no greater or more noteworthy than by those whose fate is now buried
in oblivion. Yet the historian must deal with the information he can
obtain, and this chapter of necessity concerns itself largely with
a comparatively small number of the survivors whose story has been
preserved.
[Footnote 602: Printed in Wentworth, _Early Chicago_, 88.]
[Footnote 603: The muster-roll is printed for the first time as
Appendix VIII.]
[Footnote 604: For it see Appendix IX.]
The battle and the massacre proper had barely ended when the dreary
work of torture began. It had been stipulated by Captain Heald that
the lives of the prisoners should be spared, but this agreement was
promptly violated. We cannot speak with much assurance of the details
of the tortures, but concerning the main fact there is no doubt. One
man. Burns, who had been wounded in the battle, was killed by a squaw
about an hour after its conclusion.[605] Possibly this is the man whom
Mrs. Helm refers to as having been stabbed to death with a stable fork
in her presence.[606] In Judge Woodward's letter to General Proctor
upon the survivors of the massacre, Burns is spoken of as a "citizen,"
and he is similarly designated in Helm's account of the massacre. A
letter of Sergeant Griffith to Captain Heald in 1820 clears up the
question of his identity.[607] It shows that he was a sergeant in the
Chicago militia, enrolled by Heald after the murders at the Lee farm
in April, 1812. It confirms the fact of his death at the hands of his
captors after the surrender, and incidentally throws a pleasing light
upon his character, recalling to Heald's mind "the Soldierlike conduct
of ... Burns while engaged with an unequal force of Savages, and the
manner in which he was inhumanly murdered (in your presence) after he
was a prisoner." The _Wau Bun_ narrative represents the Burns family as
living at the time of the massacre on the north bank of the river some
distance above the Kinzie house.[608] Apparently Burns was a discharged
soldier who had made Chicago his permanent home, for the Fort Dearborn
muster-roll for November, 1810, shows that he was then a member of the
garrison and that his term of enlistment would expire in June, 1811.
[Footnote 605: Letter of Sergeant Griffith to Heald, January 13, 1820,
Draper Collection, U, VIII, 88; Judge Woodward to Proctor, October 7,
1812, Appendix VII.]
[Footnote 606: Kinzie, _Wau Bun_, 176.]
[Footnote 607: Cited _supra_, note 605.]
[Footnote 608: Kinzie, _Wau Bun_, 155, 159.]
The various accounts generally agree that a number of the prisoners
were put to death during the night following the massacre. Judge
Woodward's letter to Proctor, which, written October 7, 1812, and
based on information given by Heald and Sergeant Griffith, is the
most reliable source of information on this particular point, states
that five soldiers were known to have been put to death at this
time. The _Wau Bun_ narrative, written many years later, makes the
same statement. The Darius Heald narrative states that the Indians
were believed to have gone off down the lake shore on the evening
of the massacre day to have a "general frolic," torturing the
wounded soldiers. Woodward gives the names of two of these victims,
Richard Garner and James Latta, both private soldiers. By a process
of comparison of all the sources concerning those who perished in
captivity we get the names of the other three, Micajah Denison, John
Fury, and Thomas Poindexter.[609] But one account attempts to tell
us how they died, and this, of more than dubious validity, suggests
rather than describes their fate. A half-breed Frenchwoman, who had
remained in her hut on the north side of the river during the battle
and massacre, made her way after its conclusion to a point opposite
the Indian village north of the fort. Here she could see the "torture
ground" where the squaws had three men, and the warriors one white
woman, undergoing the most fearful torture and indignities, "such
as she had never heard of in Canada."[610] Perhaps after all it is
just as well that we have no more detailed description. The fate of
the victims was no more awful than that customarily meted out to the
vanquished white man in the course of his contest with the red man for
the possession of this continent and it is better that the gory details
should sink into oblivion.
[Footnote 609: For the way in which these names are determined see
Appendix IX.]
[Footnote 610: _Head Papers_, in Chicago Historical Society library.]
On the day after the massacre, the fort having been burned and the
plunder and the prisoners divided, the bands began to scatter to
their various homes. The dreary story of the hardships endured by
the captives and the indignities and cruelties meted out to them
by their masters is relieved, happily, now and then by some act of
kindness or generosity calculated to prove that gentleness and humanity
were qualities not entirely unknown, even to the savage red man.
Ultimately the majority of the prisoners were to find their way back to
civilization, but for several death offered the only avenue of escape
from their captivity. For some, indeed, death must have come as a
welcome relief from sufferings far more dreadful.
Such must have been the case with Mrs. Needs, the wife of one of
the soldiers. Her husband, her child, and herself all survived the
massacre, only to die in captivity. The husband died in January, 1813;
the brief record left us contains no indication of the cause of his
death.[611] Annoyed by the crying which hunger forced from the child,
the savages tied it to a tree to perish of starvation or to become the
prey of some wild beast. Still later the wretched mother perished from
cold and hunger. Another prisoner, William Nelson Hunt, was frozen
to death.[612] Hugh Logan, an Irishman, unable to walk because of
excessive fatigue, was tomahawked; such, also, was the fate of August
Mortt, a German, and for a similar reason.[613]
[Footnote 611: _Niles' Register_, June 4 1814.]
[Footnote 612: _Niles' Register_, June 4, 1814. The name is printed as
Nelson; it does not occur in any of the other accounts of the massacre,
nor on the muster-roll of Heald's company of May 31, 1812. The latter
does contain the name of William Nelson Hunt, however, and he is
probably the man designated as Nelson in the newspaper account.]
[Footnote 613: The following letter written by Thomas Forsyth to Nathan
Heald, April 10, 1813, suggests a different reason for the killing of
Mortt. The letter is reproduced in full for the sake of the information
it gives concerning the massacre and the affairs of some of the
participants in it. The original manuscript is the property of Mrs.
Lillian Heald Richmond, of St. Louis, Mo.
St. Louis 10th April 1813.
Sir: I had the honor to receive from the hand of Gov. Howard, your
letter to him of the 24th February last, in answer to his to you
respecting Kinzie & Forsyth Claims for losses sustained 1st August
at Chicago, in your letter you mention that you gave Mr. Kinzie a
quantity of gunpowder for hire of horses to carry provisions, &c
to Detroit, in that case, the gunpowder was from you to us, for
hire of horses for public use and of course the gunpowder became
our property, after the delivery of the gunpowder to Mr. Kinzie,
I understood from him (K-) that either you or the late Captain
Wells, and perhaps both, told him, that if he, (K) would destroy
all his gunpowder and Whiskey, that he should be paid for his
losses by the U. States all of which was certainly destroyed; in
your letter to Gov. Howard, you say you seen the Whiskey destroyed
and that you have no doubt but the gunpowder was also destroyed;
In that case I would thank you if you would forward on to me at
this place, a certificate of what you know about the destruction
of those articles, also the prices of gunpowder, Whiskey, mules
& horses, at Chicago. I have claimed for each horse $60--Mules
$90--Whiskey $2 per gallon, gunpowder $2 per lb. this you know was
the current price for Whiskey and Gunpowder; I paid myself, this
price for Gunpowder bought out of the Factory of that place, as for
the horses and Mules they are by no means high; our losses in horn
cattle, hogs, merchandise &c are very great for which we demand
nothing for. Depain and Buisson wintered at Chicago last winter
with goods from Mackinaw, they have bought of[f] Mrs. Leigh and
her younger child, and another woman which I expect is Mrs. Cooper
or Burns, Old Mott was a prisoner, and became out of his head last
Winter and was killed by the Indians.
Please give my respects to Mrs. Heald.
And Remain your most Obedt Servt
T. Forsyth
]
With relief we turn from these tragic details to the story of the
efforts which were making to restore the captives to civilization.
On September 9 Proctor communicated to General Brock the news of the
massacre at Fort Dearborn, expressing regret over its occurrence and
denying that the British had known anything of the intended attack, or
that the superintendent of the Indian Department had any influence over
the Indians.[614] At the time of writing this letter Proctor believed
that Captain Heald and his wife and Kinzie were the only survivors
of the massacre, and no suggestion was made by him of measures for
the relief of the captives. Soon, however, Captain and Mrs. Heald and
Sergeant Griffith reached Detroit, bringing information that nearly
half of the garrison and a number of women and children were captives
among the Indians. Detroit and Michigan being in the hands of the
British, in the absence of any official representative of the American
government Judge Woodward assumed the duty of procuring the initiation
of measures for the relief of the prisoners. On the strength of the
information furnished by Heald and Griffith he addressed a letter to
Proctor, representing that over thirty Americans had been taken by
the Indians.[615] He urged that immediate measures be taken for their
relief, suggesting the sending a special messenger overland to Chicago,
charged with the duty of collecting the captives who still survived and
information of those who had perished, and supplied with the means of
conveying the former to either Detroit or Mackinac. He further urged
that Captain Roberts, the commander at Mackinac, be instructed to
co-operate in the efforts to rescue the Americans, and assured Proctor
that the funds necessary for the work would be repaid either by the
American government or by private individuals.
[Footnote 614: _Michigan Pioneer Collections_, XV, 144.]
[Footnote 615: The original draft of this letter is printed in Appendix
VII; the statements in the text are based on the letter as actually
sent. This differed in some respects from the rough draft.]
In consequence of this bold and manly appeal, tardy measures were
instituted by Proctor which resulted in the rescue of a number of
the captives. Woodward was assured that all possible measures would
be taken to secure their release, and two weeks later Proctor, in
reporting the correspondence to his superior, announced that the chiefs
of the tribe concerned in the massacre had been informed of his desire
that the captives be brought to him.[616] Weeks passed, however, and it
was not until the departure of Robert Dickson for the West in February,
1813, that any active measures were taken to recover them.
[Footnote 616: Proctor to Woodward, October 10, 1812, _Michigan Pioneer
Collections_, XV, 163; Proctor to Evans, October 28, 1812, _ibid._,
172.]
Dickson, as we have already seen,[617] had led a motley band of
northwestern Indians to the assault on Mackinac in the summer of
1812. In November he proceeded to Montreal and Quebec to lay before
the authorities there a plan he had conceived for securing the active
co-operation of the northwestern tribes in the prosecution of the war
against the Americans.[618] He proposed that large stores of supplies
be sent to Chicago and Green Bay in the spring of 1813, which points
were the most convenient for rendezvous. He himself, if given the
necessary authority and assistance, would proceed by way of Detroit and
Chicago to the Mississippi and collect the warriors at these points,
whence they could be led to the seat of war around Detroit in time to
participate in the operations of 1813.
[Footnote 617: _Supra_, p. 214.]
[Footnote 618: For Dickson's project see _Michigan Pioneer
Collections_, XV, 180-82, 202-4, 208-11, 316--21 _et passim_.]
This plan was accepted by the military authorities and Dickson set out
for the West. On February 15 he was at Sandwich and a month later was
among the Pottawatomies of St. Joseph.[619] Here he was informed that
the Fort Dearborn captives still in the hands of the Indians numbered
seventeen men, four women, and several children. He at once took steps
to secure them, and expressed confidence that he would succeed in
getting them all. On March 22 he was at Chicago, and here penned the
description of the fort to which reference has been made in a preceding
chapter.[620] From this point he hastened on toward the Mississippi.
Early in June he was back at Mackinac at the head of six hundred
warriors, and in addition to these he reported the dispatch of eight
hundred by land to Detroit.[621] That, in the face of such exertions
as these achievements imply, he should have found any time to bestow
on the Fort Dearborn captives, speaks well for both his energy and his
humanity.
[Footnote 619: _Ibid._, XV, 250, 258.]
[Footnote 620: _Supra_, p. 631.]
[Footnote 621: _Michigan Pioneer Collections_, XV, 321-23.]
Apparently in the press of other matters Dickson neglected to report
further as to his measures for the relief of the captives. In May,
1814, however, nine surviving members of the Fort Dearborn garrison
arrived at Plattsburg, New York, from Quebec.[622] The story they
told was that after the massacre they had been taken to the Fox River
country and there distributed among the Indians as servants. In this
situation they remained about nine months, when they were brought
to Chicago, where they were purchased by a "French trader" acting
under the instructions of General Proctor. Doubtless the "trader"
was Dickson, whose arrival at Chicago, March 22, 1813, falls in the
ninth month after the massacre. From Chicago the captives were sent on
to Amherstberg, or Maiden, and thence to Quebec, where they arrived
November 8, 1813.
[Footnote 622: _Niles' Register_, June 4, 1814.]
The names of the nine men who were thus restored to their countrymen
almost two years after the massacre deserve a place in our narrative.
They were James Van Horn, Dyson Dyer, Joseph Noles, Joseph Bowen, Paul
Grummo, Nathan Edson, Elias Mills, James Corbin, and Fielding Corbin.
With the exception of Grummo, no record has been found of the further
career of these men. His story, written down over four score years
after the massacre, possesses considerable interest, and contains,
moreover, certain details not preserved elsewhere.
In later life Grummo, or De Garmo, as he seems to have been known,
settled at Maumee City, a few miles from Toledo, Ohio. Here on a small
reservation in the early thirties was the gathering-place and council
house of the surviving remnants of the Pottawatomie, Wyandot, and
other tribes. Here, too, gathered various traders, among others Robert
Forsyth, and James Wolcott, whose brother, Alexander, was Indian agent
at Chicago until his death in 1830. From 1837 until about the year
1841 Charles A. Lamb, to whom we are indebted for the preservation of
the story, was the nearest neighbor of Grummo at Maumee City.[623] He
describes him as a tall, well-built man, who always insisted that he
was a participant in the Fort Dearborn massacre.
[Footnote 623: Letter of Charles A. Lamb, August 24, 1893, MS in
Chicago Historical Society library.]
As Lamb remembered his story, Grummo represented that he was employed
as a scout in the summer of 1812, carrying dispatches between Fort
Dearborn and Fort Wayne. After the battle he was adopted by a chief
whose son he had killed in the contest. His new-found father took him,
in company with others, in a northwesterly direction. After traveling
many days, they crossed the Mississippi above the Falls of St. Anthony,
the object of their journey being to induce the tribes to join them in
the war against the Americans. Returning from this mission, Grummo's
captors sold him to the British at Detroit, "or somewhere around
there." By them he was taken to Louisburg where he was kept till the
close of the war, when he found his way to New York.
Such, in brief, was Grummo's story as recorded by Lamb a half-century
after he had heard it. In some respects it is perplexing, and many of
its details are untrustworthy. There is no reason to question Lamb's
sincerity. He frankly admits his liability to error in telling it after
the lapse of so great a time. It is evident, too, that Grummo drew a
long bow in relating his own experiences. This, however, is so common
a characteristic of old soldiers' stories that it need occasion no
particular surprise. Lamb further records that though Grummo, whose
story he has related only briefly, added many things to prove his
veracity, yet he was never able to secure a pension. Both General Cass
and General John E. Hunt exerted their influence in his behalf, but on
the records of the War Department he had been set down as a deserter,
and this charge could not be disproved.
The fortunes of the officers, Heald and Helm, and their wives, may
be followed with less difficulty, though even here we encounter at
times perplexing contradictions. The Indians who secured possession
of Captain Heald and his wife at the close of the battle belonged to
different bands. Owing to the entreaties of Mrs. Heald, however, and
the efforts of Chandonnai, the two were brought together.[624] On
the day after the battle their captors set out with them for the St.
Joseph River, coasting around the southern end of Lake Michigan in a
canoe.[625] The trip consumed, according to Heald's journal, three
days, although the distance is only about one hundred miles.
[Footnote 624: The details as to Chandonnai's agency in the matter
vary somewhat in the different accounts; it is clear that he exerted
his influence, whether by purchasing Mrs. Heald from her captives or
otherwise, to bring the Captain and his wife together, and that the
Healds afterward regarded him in the light of a benefactor.]
[Footnote 625: The principal sources for the captivity of the Healds
are the following: Heald's official report of the massacre (Appendix
IV); his Journal (Appendix III); the Heald papers in the Draper
Collection; the Darius Heald narrative of the massacre as reported,
first, to Lyman C. Draper (Appendix V); and second, to Joseph Kirkland
(_Magazine of American History_, XXVIII, 111-22). A brief account
gained from Sergeant Griffith, the companion of the Healds until they
reached Pittsburgh, is contained in McAfee, _History of the Late War_,
100-101.]
Practically the only details recorded of this journey are contained in
the narrative of Darius Heald to Kirkland in 1892. That these details,
based on second-hand information and written down at so late a date,
cannot be relied upon is obvious. Yet they are of sufficient interest
to merit inclusion here. Both Heald and his wife were badly wounded,
the former being shot in the thigh and through the right forearm,
and the latter having a half-dozen wounds in all, no one of which,
apparently, was dangerous. After the party had traveled for many hours
around the end of the lake a young deer was seen, coming down to the
water in a clump of bushes to get a drink. The travelers drew close to
the shore and the deer was shot by an Indian. They then pitched camp
and dressed the animal. Using the hide as a kneading board Mrs. Heald
stirred some flour which they had brought along in a leather bag into
a stiff paste which she wound around sticks and toasted over the fire.
Captain Heald afterward declared that this was the best bread he ever
ate.
At the mouth of the St. Joseph, which was reached on August 19,
the party halted. The Healds were permitted to stay in the house of
Burnett, the trader, and their wounds were dressed and given medical
attention by an Indian doctor.[626] After a few days most of the
Indians trooped off to participate in the attack on Fort Wayne. In
their absence an avenue of escape opened to the captives. A friendly
Indian, Alexander Robinson, was prevailed upon to conduct them to
Mackinac in his birch-bark canoe. He was assisted by his squaw and,
possibly, by one or two half-breeds, and for the service Heald paid him
one hundred dollars.
[Footnote 626: Among the Heald papers in the Draper Collection is a
certificate of Captain Heald "on honor" that he paid ten dollars to an
Indian for attendance and medicine while sick of his wounds at the St.
Joseph River.]
The distance to Mackinac was three hundred miles along the eastern
shore of Lake Michigan, and the journey consumed sixteen days. The
treatment accorded to the fugitives by Captain Roberts on their arrival
there forms one of the bright spots in the story of the wearisome
captivity. He extended them every kindness within his power to render
their condition as comfortable as possible. Both Captain Heald and
Captain Roberts were Masons, and, as Mrs. Heald told the story in
after-years, they retired to a private room together, when Heald told
his story and asked for help and for protection from the Indians,
who, he feared, were in pursuit of him. Roberts felt doubtful of his
ability to protect the fugitives, but Heald was given his parole and
permission to proceed to Detroit. Sergeant Griffith was permitted to
attend him, and Heald agreed to deliver him up to the British officer
in command upon reaching Detroit. It is of interest to note that one of
the witnesses of Heald's parole was Robert Dickson, the vigilant and
enterprising foe of the Americans in the Northwest. Probably due to the
influence of Captain Roberts, the captives secured passage to Detroit
on a small sailboat, paying to Robert Irwin, the master, seventeen
dollars for their transportation thither. Before parting from Captain
Roberts the latter took out his pocketbook and urged Heald to help
himself, saying he might repay the money if he ever reached home; if
not it would not matter. It was not necessary to accept the generous
offer, however, for before the evacuation Mrs. Heald had taken the
precaution to sew a sum of money in her husband's underclothing, and
this he had succeeded in retaining when stripped of his uniform by his
captors.
On reaching Detroit at the close of September, Heald reported to
General Proctor and was permitted by him to rejoin his countrymen.
Griffith, also, was allowed to continue to attend him "to the U.
States," on Heald's promise to do all in his power to prevent his
serving in arms against the British until regularly exchanged. The
party left Detroit October 4 for Buffalo, to which place they had been
provided with transportation by Proctor. Curiously enough the vessel
which bore them was the "Adams," Kingsbury's erstwhile "navy of the
lakes," which had often journeyed to Chicago on friendly missions
during the life of the first Fort Dearborn. In July Hull had attempted
to fit it out for one more trip to carry provisions to Mackinac and
Fort Dearborn. The successful execution of this project might have
rendered Heald's present journey unnecessary. With the capture of
Detroit the "Adams" had fallen into the hands of the British, and, as
a British vessel, bore the defeated commander to Buffalo. From Buffalo
the party journeyed by land to Erie, and thence by water to Pittsburgh,
which was reached October 12. The movements of Griffith from this time
are unrecorded. The Healds remained here sixteen days, during which
time the commander wrote his official report of the massacre and of
his subsequent movements. Resuming their journey down the Ohio on
November 8 they reached Louisville, the girlhood home of Mrs. Heald,
eleven days later. In their captivity and flight three months of time
had been consumed, and a circuit of nearly two thousand miles had been
traversed, almost all of it by water, much of the way in a canoe or
open boat.[627] The distance from Chicago to Louisville by rail today
is less than one-sixth as long as Heald's route, and can be traversed
in thrice as many hours as the number of months he required.
[Footnote 627: The estimate of the distance made by Heald in his
Journal was nineteen hundred and seven miles. Of this only ninety
miles, from Buffalo to Erie, were traveled by land.]
At the home of Mrs. Heald's parents the fugitives were greeted as
people risen from the dead. Part of the booty captured by the Indians
at the time of the massacre had been taken down the Illinois River and
sold to the whites. It chanced that Colonel O'Fallon, an old friend of
the Healds, saw and recognized certain articles which had been their
personal property. He had ransomed them and sent them to Samuel Wells
at Louisville, as a memento of his brother and daughter who were both
supposed to have been killed. Most of these articles, including Heald's
sword, a comb, finger ring, brooch, and table spoons of Mrs. Heald, are
still in the possession of her descendants.
[Illustration: THE HEALD HOME NEAR O'FALLON, MISSOURI
(From photograph taken in 1912, reproduced by courtesy of the
grandchildren of Major Heald)]
Captain and Mrs. Heald spent the winter at her father's home, and in
the spring of 1813 went to Newport where the ensuing summer was passed.
They shortly returned to the vicinity of Louisville, where in 1814 they
purchased some land and began the erection of farm buildings, into
which they moved late that fall. Three weeks after the massacre, while
he was pushing his weary flight in an open canoe along the desolate
eastern shore of Lake Michigan to Mackinac, Heald had been promoted
to the rank of major.[628] His wounds, which never ceased to trouble
him, incapacitated him for further service, and at the consolidation of
the army in 1814 he was discharged. In 1817 he was granted a pension
of twenty dollars a month, to date from the time of his discharge
from the army in 1814.[629] During this year he removed to Stockland,
now O'Fallon, Missouri. Here he purchased a farm from Jacob Zumwalt
which had been granted to the latter by the Spanish government toward
the close of the eighteenth century.[630] Here Major Heald continued
to reside until his death in 1832, and Mrs. Heald until her demise
a quarter of a century later. Shortly before Heald's death his old
benefactor, Chandonnai, paid him a visit, accompanied by a chief and
a number of other Indians. The members of the party were on their way
to Kansas to view the country and report to their people upon its
desirability. They visited with Major Heald, who caused a sheep and a
beef to be killed for their entertainment and talked over with them
the story of the captivity. The Heald estate is still intact in the
hands of the grandchildren. The old homestead, built by the original
proprietor of hewn walnut logs, with the flooring held in place by
wooden pegs, still stands. Within its walls the first Methodist
sacrament in Missouri is said to have been administered in 1807, by
Rev. Jesse Walker, the pioneer of Methodism in Chicago. For many years
the house has been unoccupied, but it is still in a partial state of
repair. Recently two of its rooms have been fitted up to serve as the
meeting-place of local chapters of the society of Daughters of the
Revolution.
[Footnote 628: _Drennan Papers_, Gushing to Heald, November 9, 1812.]
[Footnote 629: The following letter from William Turner regarding
the granting of Heald's pension discloses a creditable aspect of
the latter's character. The original letter is the property of a
granddaughter of Heald, Mrs. Edmonia Heald McCluer.
Washington City
25th January 1817
Dear Maj: I have taken the liberty without your approbation or
knowledge with the assistance of my friend General Parker to
procure you a full pension as Capt. We were at first in hopes to
procure it as full pay for a Maj. but on examining the list of
Officers we found that your promotion as Maj. took place eleven
days after you received your wound.
It will take effect from the 10th June 1814 at twenty dollars per
month which will be six hundred dollars up to the 31st Dec 1816.
You will excuse me for the liberty I have taken in procuring this
pension without your knowledge and will explain that I always feel
it my indisputable duty to render assistance to my fellow citizens
in all cases but more particularly to a brother officer who has
served his country as faithfully as you have and whose increasing
friendship for myself & family have been so conspicuous.
Should you feel any delicacy in receiving the pension which I trust
you will not as you are so greatly entitled to it, permit me to
suggest the propriety of bestowin[g] it on your child or children,
which will be of service to them at some future period.
General Parker will enclose to you the warrant or certificate for
the pension with instructions how you are to obtain the money
already due.
Wm. Turner
Maj. N. Heald
Louisville, Kentucky
]
[Footnote 630: Letters of Mrs. Rebecca Heald McCluer, granddaughter of
Nathan Heald, to the author, May 7 and June 1, 1912.]
The fortunes of the Kinzie family after the massacre are recounted
with much detail in the family narrative, _Wau Bun_. Unfortunately,
however, the details are untrustworthy. Some of the incidents recited
undoubtedly possess a certain basis of fact, and the broader outlines
of the itinerary of the family may in the main be accepted as correct;
but these things aside, accuracy of statement is no more to be looked
for than in a medieval historical romance.[631] Several days after
the battle the family proceeded by boat to the St. Joseph River[632]
where it remained some weeks with the friendly Pottawatomies, when
Mrs. Kinzie and her children journeyed to Detroit under the escort of
Chandonnai, while John Kinzie remained behind for a time in the hope of
collecting some of his scattered property.
[Footnote 631: Probably there was a kernel of fact around which the
story of the rescue of the family by Billy Caldwell from impending
slaughter at the hands of the Wabash band of Indians was developed.
Forsyth's letter to Heald, January 2, 1813 (_infra_, note 632),
recounts the disappointment of "them murdering dogs from the Wabash,"
who reached Chicago shortly after Heald's departure therefrom. It is
not improbable that they sought to vent their displeasure upon the
Kinzies, nor, if so, that Caldwell, who was a firm friend of Kinzie,
intervened to protect them. That Mrs. Helm may have sought refuge with
Ouilmette's family is equally consonant with probability; but here
as elsewhere it is evident from a critical reading that the bulk of
the narrative is the product of the author's literary imagination.
The account of the rescue of Sergeant Griffith must be regarded in
a similar light. A careful reading of the story, accompanied by the
reflection that Griffith was an experienced frontiersman and soldier,
suffices to convince one of this. Instead of being on the north side
of the river during the battle, Griffith was a participant in it.
Necessarily then, the greater part of the narrative is invalid. Yet
Helm's brief entry concerning Griffith, "Supposed to be a Frenchman
and released," seems to indicate that Mrs. Kinzie's narrative had some
incitement in fact.]
[Footnote 632: According to the family narrative on the third day
after the battle. The following letter from Thomas Forsyth to Heald,
January 2, 1813, shows that in fact it was the fifth day. The letter is
primarily concerned with the property losses of Forsyth and Kinzie, but
incidentally it supplies some interesting data concerning the massacre
and certain of the survivors. The original manuscript is owned by Mrs.
Lillian Heald Richmond of St. Louis, Mo.
St. Louis, 2nd Jany. 1813
Sir: I have forwarded on to the City of Washington our Claims
against the U. States for our Whiskey Gunpowders and horses that
was lost at Chicago in August last. Lt. Helm (who I got off from
the Indians) has proven by affidavit, to the Quantity of Gunpowders
and Whiskey, but by a neglect in drawing up his affidavit it does
not say that Lt. Helm saw the Gunpowder and Whiskey destroyed, say
850 Lbs. gunpowder and 1,200 Gallons Whiskey. I therefore would
thank you if you would forward on to the City of Washington, to
Gov. Howard of this place, who is gone on to that city, and has
our claims with him, a Certificate or affidavit stating simply the
destruction of the Gunpowder and Whiskey, (as Lt. Helm has proven
that he saw the Horses and Mules in possession of the Indians when
he was a prisoner) will be sufficient.
The day after the horrid affair, and I believe the very day you
left Chicago for St. Joseph's I arrived there (Chicago) I remained
four days with Kinsie and his family, and I left Chicago the same
day Kinsie left it for St. Joseph's, and I have not heard of him
since, you was certainly very fortunate in getting of from Chicago
the moment you did, as I can assure you that a very few days longer
and probably you would never have left Chicago, as them murdering
dogs from the Wabash, was very much displeased when they you was
gone, and said it would be needless to follow you, as the wind was
fair and they could not overtake you, was they to follow the boat.
Lynch & Suttenfield was badly wounded, and were both killed before
the Indians arrived at River Aux Sable. Crosier was taken off from
River Aux Sable to Green Bay by a Chipeway Indian, an old friend of
his, and therefore he is free. When you send on the deposition to
Gov. Howard, direct your letter to him at Lexington Kentucky and
should he not be there his friends will forward it on to the Seat
of Government.
Please give my respects to Mrs Heald.
And remains
Sir
Your most Obedient
Servt. Thomas Forsyth
_Sdg._
Capt. N. Heald
Louisville
]
Mrs. Helm shared the fortunes of her mother's family as far as
Detroit. Meanwhile her husband, Lieutenant Helm, was taken by his
captors down the Illinois River. Before leaving Chicago, apparently,
Mrs. Kinzie interceded with her son-in-law's captors in his behalf; her
speech had "the desired effect," and within a few weeks Thomas Forsyth
succeeded in ransoming Helm by the payment of two mares "and a keg of
stuff when practicable."[633] After spending some time with his rescuer
at Peoria, Helm proceeded down the river, arriving at St. Louis October
14, two months after the massacre. Thence he made his way to his
father's home in New York, where he rejoined Mrs. Helm, who had arrived
there shortly before. For some reason not now in evidence, five months
elapsed between Helm's arrival at St. Louis and the conclusion of his
journey, the reunion with Mrs. Helm occurring in March, 1813, seven
months and one week after their separation.[634]
[Footnote 633: Helm's narrative of the massacre, Appendix VI; letter of
Forsyth to Heald, January 2, 1813, _supra_, note 632; Forsyth to John
Kinzie, September 24, 1812, in _Magazine of History_, March, 1912, p.
89.]
[Footnote 634: In _Wau Bun_, p. 187, occurs a moving story of Mrs.
Helm's journey from Detroit to Fort George on the Niagara frontier.
It represents that Helm rejoined his wife in Detroit, where both were
arrested by order of the British commander and sent on horseback in
the dead of winter through Canada to Fort George. No official appeared
charged with their reception, and on their arrival they were forced to
sit waiting outside the gate for more than an hour, without food or
shelter, notwithstanding the fact that Mrs. Helm was a delicate woman
and the weather was most cold and inclement. When Colonel Sheaffe
learned of this brutal inhospitality he expressed his indignation
over it, and treated the prisoners kindly until they were exchanged,
when they made their way to their friends in New York. Aside from the
improbability that Helm, finding himself safe among his own countrymen
at St. Louis, would voluntarily go to Detroit to become a prisoner of
the British, the truth of Mrs. Kinzie's detailed narration is disproved
by the explicit statement of Helm in his narrative of the massacre that
after separating from his wife near the fort on the day of the massacre
they met again at his father's home in the state of New York, "she
having arrived seven days before me after being separated seven months
and one week."]
The story of Mrs. Simmons and her infant daughter is in some respects
the most interesting and heroic of the narratives of the Fort Dearborn
captives.[635] Her husband was one of the little band of soldiers who
died fighting in defense of the wagons. Among the children in the wagon
was his son, David, two years of age, who perished beneath the tomahawk
of the young fiend who slaughtered the children collected there. Mrs.
Simmons on foot survived the massacre and succeeded in preserving her
daughter, Susan, a babe of six months, whom she carried in her arms.
Perceiving the delight which the savages derived from tormenting their
prisoners, she resolved to suppress any manifestation of anguish. If
the family narrative may be credited, her resolution was promptly put
to a terrible test. The slain children were collected in a row, among
them the gory corpse of her son, and she was led past them in the
effort to discover from her bearing whether any of them had belonged to
her. She passed through the ordeal without a sign of recognition, and
according to the same account, endured the long months of her terrible
captivity without once shedding a tear.
[Footnote 635: For the story of the captivity of Mrs. Simmons the
principal source is the family narrative. _Heroes and Heroines of the
Fort Dearborn Massacre. A Romantic and Tragic History of Corporal John
Simmons and His Heroic Wife_, by N. Simmons, M.D. The book is of value
only for its story of the experiences of Mrs. Simmons and her daughter.
The Fort Dearborn muster-roll for May, 1812, shows that Simmons was not
a corporal as stated, but only a private. In general the book must be
used with great caution.]
In the division of the captives Mrs. Simmons fell along with others
into the hands of some savages from the vicinity of Green Bay. On the
morning after the massacre they crossed the Chicago River and began the
homeward march. The weather was warm and the hardship of the journey
for Mrs. Simmons, aside from the fatigue of the travel, consisted
mainly in being compelled to do the drudgery of her captors, such as
gathering fuel and building fires. On the march she walked, carrying
her baby the entire distance, two hundred miles or more. The hardships
of the march were as nothing in comparison with the reception which
awaited its conclusion. Runners were sent in advance to announce the
approach of the war party to the members of the tribe in camp, and as
it drew near the women and children streamed forth to meet it. They
saluted the captives with a fusillade of insults, kicking and otherwise
abusing them. Arrived at the village, they were put under close guard
until the following day.
In the morning the village was early astir, and preparations were made
for subjecting the captives to the ordeal of running the gauntlet.
A long double line was formed by the women and children in an open
space before the wigwams, and each of the soldiers was compelled to
run between the lines, receiving the blows dealt out with sticks and
clubs by those composing them. Mrs. Simmons' hope of being spared this
ordeal proved vain, and she was led to the head of the line. Wrapping
her babe in her blanket, and enfolding it in her arms to shield it, she
ran rapidly down the path of torment and reached the goal, bleeding and
bruised, but with the infant unharmed.
At this stage of her persecutions the mother encountered an unexpected
act of kindness. An elderly squaw led her into her wigwam, washed her
wounds, and gave her food and an opportunity to rest. The new-found
friend continued her kindly services as long as Mrs. Simmons remained
in the same camp with her; and the captive ever afterward spoke of her
as her "Indian mother," and regretted her inability to repay the favors
received from her.
Meanwhile Robert Dickson was collecting the western tribes to lead
them to the scene of war on the Lake Erie frontier. The warriors
rendezvoused at Green Bay, from which place the chieftain, Black Hawk,
destined to play a prominent role in the Northwest twenty years later,
led a party of live hundred southward around Lake Michigan, past the
slaughtered garrison of Fort Dearborn, and onward to the frontier.[636]
The band to which Mrs. Simmons belonged seems to have participated in
this movement of the western tribes. The captive retraced her weary
way from Green Bay to Chicago and the bones of her murdered husband,
carrying her baby as before. From Chicago her captors led her around
the lake to Mackinac; the length of the entire journey was about six
hundred miles, and winter closed in before it was completed. Scantily
clad, suffering from cold, weariness, and hunger, the mother strove
desperately to save her child, and accomplished the almost incredible
exploit of carrying it in safety to Mackinac.
[Footnote 636: Black Hawk, _Life_, 40-42.]
Here she was cheered by the prospect of ransom or exchange; but the
sequel proved that her trials were as yet but half surmounted. To
accomplish her release she was sent to Detroit. The terrible march was
again resumed, this time in the dead of winter. The route led through
three hundred miles of wilderness; deep snows with occasional storms
impeded the progress; her clothing was in rags, and food was so scarce
that she was often constrained to appease her hunger by eating roots,
acorns, and nuts, found under the snow. The child, now a year old, had
much increased in weight, while the mother's strength was diminishing.
But the prospect of release at the end of the journey buoyed up her
hopes and she continued to struggle on.
From Detroit to her parental home near Piqua, Ohio, the journey was
comparatively easy. The first stage took her to Fort Meigs, then in
command of General Harrison, where she arrived late in March, 1813.
Here she learned that a supply train which had recently come from
Cincinnati was about to return, and that it would pass within a few
miles of her father's home. She accordingly secured passage in one of
the government wagons. She still had over a hundred miles to travel
over wet and swampy roads in early spring time; but in comparison
with her earlier travels this stage of the journey must have seemed
luxurious enough. About the middle of April she left the train at a
point within four miles of her home, walked to the blockhouse where
her parents had taken refuge from marauding Indians, and rejoined the
family circle which had long mourned her as dead. Three years before,
with husband and baby son, she had set out for her new home at Fort
Dearborn. Both husband and son were dead and she now returned a widow,
but with another child, who had been born at Fort Dearborn in February,
1812. Safe among her former friends, the brave woman at last broke
down; to use her own language she "did nothing but weep for months."
There were still other dangers and trials, however, for Mrs. Simmons
to pass through. In August a murderous attack was made by some
marauding Indians upon the family of Henry Dilbone, who had married
the sister of Mrs. Simmons. Mr. and Mrs. Dilbone were working together
in the flax field, with their four young children close at hand.
Near the close of the day's work their dog raised an alarm, and at
almost the same instant the husband fell shot through the breast.
The savage sprang forward from his place of concealment to take his
victim's scalp. But the latter though mortally wounded was not dead,
and gathering his remaining strength he rose, ran to the edge of the
field, and leaped the fence which separated it from an adjoining swamp,
where he fell among the bushes. The Indian abandoned the pursuit and
turned back after Mrs. Dilbone, who had fled for concealment into
the neighboring corn. Her flight was vain, however, for she was soon
overcome, tomahawked, and scalped. The slayer now turned his attention
to the four children, the eldest of whom was ten years of age and the
youngest seven months. They, meanwhile, had been making what progress
they could toward the house. Instead of pursuing them the warrior made
off into the forest, fearing probably that the noise caused by the
discharge of his gun and the screams of Mrs. Dilbone would attract
rescuers to the spot.
The neighbors were quickly aroused and a company went in search of
Mr. and Mrs. Dilbone. The corpse of the latter was found and carried
together with the children to the blockhouse of the Simmons family. The
search for Mr. Dilbone was given over for that night, through fear of
an ambuscade. In the morning it was resumed and he was soon found, too
weak to move or even to cry out. He, too, was borne to the blockhouse,
where he expired the following day. Thus after her own escape from
captivity and death at the hands of the savages, Mrs. Simmons found
herself once more in the midst of bloodshed and slaughter--her sister
and brother-in-law slain, her nephews orphaned. To such perils were the
people on the northwestern frontier exposed during these troublesome
and bloody years.
The story of the later career of Mrs. Simmons and her daughter can
quickly be told. The latter in due course of time grew to womanhood
and became the wife of Moses Winans. The couple first settled in
Shelby County, Ohio, but in 1853 they removed to Springville, Iowa.
Mrs. Simmons, who had previously taken up her abode in her daughter's
family, removed with them to Iowa, and died at Springville in
1857.[637] Mrs. Winans' husband died in 1871, and seventeen years later
she went to Santa Ana, California, to make her home with her younger
daughter. She lived to become the last survivor of the Fort Dearborn
massacre, dying at Santa Ana, April 27, 1900.[638]
[Footnote 637: For this and the following facts concerning Mrs. Winans
see the letters and affidavits pertaining to the securing of a pension
for Susan Simmons Winans in the Chicago Historical Society library.]
[Footnote 638: Gale, _Reminiscences of Early Chicago_, 133.]
An interesting although necessarily incomplete narrative of the
fortunes of the surviving members of the Burns family may be
constructed by assembling the facts contained in several widely
scattered sources of information. The killing of the husband, Thomas
Burns, an hour after the surrender has already been described.[639] A
son of Mrs. Burns by a former marriage, Joseph or James Cooper, was
also a member of the slaughtered militia.[640] To complete the tale of
the mother's bereavement, her two children next in age perished in the
massacre. The mother with two children, one of them an infant, alone
survived to undergo the horrors of captivity among the Indians.[641]
Concerning this captivity we have two accounts, both of them brief and
unsatisfactory. Mrs. Kinzie relates in _Wau Bun_ that Mrs. Burns and
her infant became the prisoners of a chief, who carried them to his
village. His wife, jealous of the favor shown by her lord and master
to the white woman and her child, treated them with the greatest
hostility, and on one occasion sought unsuccessfully to brain the
infant with a tomahawk. Soon after this demonstration the prisoners
were removed to a place of safety. The author further relates that
twenty-two years after the massacre she encountered a young woman on a
steamer, who, hearing her name, introduced herself and raising the hair
from her forehead displayed the mark of the tomahawk, which so nearly
had been fatal to her.[642]
[Footnote 639: _Supra_, pp. 227, 234.]
[Footnote 640: Letter of Griffith to Heald, January 13, 1820, Draper
Collection, U, VIII, 88.]
[Footnote 641: Griffith speaks of three children of Mrs. Burns. Helm's
account of the massacre and the letter of Abraham Edwards to John
Wentworth, which will be considered presently, mention only two, and
this harmonizes with Heald's list of the survivors.]
[Footnote 642: Kinzie, _Wau Bun_, 188-89.]
The other narrative was given to John Wentworth in 1861 by the son of
Abraham Edwards, who was hospital surgeon in Hull's army at Detroit in
1812.[643] He settled at Detroit in 1816, and there the family made
the acquaintance of Mrs. Burns. Her daughter, Isabella Cooper, became
an inmate of the Edwards home, and thus the younger Edwards became
familiar with the story. Together with her mother and sister she had
been an occupant of one of the wagons when the evacuation of Fort
Dearborn took place. A young Indian pulled her out of the wagon by her
hair, but the child, though only about nine years of age, fought him to
the best of her ability, biting and scratching. Finally he threw her
down, scalped her, and was about to tomahawk her, when an old squaw
who had frequently visited at her father's house intervened and saved
her life. The rescuer later took the child to her wigwam where she
cared for her and healed her wound, although a spot on the top of her
head the size of a silver dollar remained bare. She and her mother and
sister remained among the Indians two years, when they were taken to
Mackinac, purchased by some traders, and sent to Detroit.
[Footnote 643: Wentworth, _Early Chicago_, 54-60.]
The narrative thus told by Edwards to Wentworth fifty years after the
massacre is confirmed in part by a letter of Sergeant Griffith to
Captain Heald in 1820.[644] Griffith had recently been to Detroit, and
wrote to Heald, then living on his farm in Missouri, to enlist his
support in procuring a pension for Mrs. Burns. She was then living in
Detroit, supporting herself and her three surviving children by her
own labor. A number of officers and others had interested themselves
in the project of obtaining a pension for her. Her husband had been
enrolled by Heald as a sergeant in the militia, in which capacity he
had served for several months and finally given up his life. Of all
this the government had no record or knowledge, however, and so Heald's
certificate as to the nature of Burns's services was needed. In the
absence of any knowledge concerning the success of the pension project,
we may hope that the government ministered to the needs of the widow
who had suffered so grievously in the Fort Dearborn massacre. Edwards
records that Mrs. Burns died at Detroit about the year 1823. He also
states that the daughters were living as late as 1828, at which time he
left Detroit, and that he had since heard they were living in Mackinac.
With this, except for the brief notice by Mrs. Kinzie of a meeting with
one of them, which has already been mentioned, our knowledge of them
comes to an end.
[Footnote 644: Letter of Griffith to Heald, January 13, 1820, cited
_supra_, note 640.]
Hovering on the border between myth and history are a number of stories
concerning the fate of others who went through the massacre. Some of
these may be true, while some are certainly without foundation in
fact; they are grouped together here because of the impossibility of
confirming their claim to validity. The story of little Peter Bell
will probably forever remain an unsolved mystery. In September, 1813,
a British officer, Captain Bullock, addressed an inquiry from Mackinac
to General Proctor concerning the disposition to be made of certain
prisoners whom the Indians had surrendered to the British at that
post.[645] Among others he mentioned Peter Bell, a boy of five or six
years of age, "whose Father and mother were killed at Chicagoe." He had
been purchased from the Indians by a trader and brought to Mackinac
in July, 1813, in accordance with the orders of Robert Dickson. The
mystery concerns the identity of the child. The time and manner of his
rescue harmonizes with what is known of Dickson's work for the relief
of the Chicago captives. But in none of the accounts of Fort Dearborn
and the little settlement around its walls prior to 1812, is there
any mention of a Bell family. The various accounts of the massacre
establish conclusively the proposition that there were nine women among
the whites on that day. Two of these were killed; the names of all of
them are known, and the list contains no Mrs. Bell. Moreover, it is
clear from the sources that six children survived the massacre. The
names of all these are known, but that of Peter Bell is not among them.
The only explanation of the child's identity which suggests itself is
that he was taken captive at some other place than Chicago and that his
captors for some reason, perhaps because of the ransom offered, saw
fit to surrender him as one of the children taken at Fort Dearborn.
Whatever the true explanation may be, a mournful interest attaches to
the forlorn little waif who thus appears for a moment amidst the wreck
of battle, only to sink again into oblivion.
[Footnote 645: _Michigan Pioneer Collections_, XV, 392.]
The fate of the Lee family is recorded in the pages of Wau Bun.[646]
All of its members except the mother and an infant child were killed
during the battle. The fate of the girl, twelve years of age, was
particularly pathetic. On leaving the fort, she had been placed upon
horseback, but being unused to riding she was tied to the saddle for
greater security. During the battle her horse ran away and the rider,
partially dismounted yet held by the bands, hung dangling as the animal
ran. From this predicament she was rescued by Black Partridge, with
whom she had been a great favorite; but finding her badly wounded, he
terminated her sufferings with a blow of the tomahawk.
[Footnote 646: Kinzie, _Wau Bun_, 189-91.]
The mother and her infant child were taken by Black Partridge to his
village. There the infant fell ill and Black Partridge fell in love,
instituting a campaign for the hand of his captive. Unable to cure
the sick child, he took it during the winter to Chicago, where a
French trader had established himself since the massacre. The trader,
M. Du Pin, not only prescribed for the child, but learning of Black
Partridge's designs upon its mother, proceeded to ransom her and then
in turn to marry her.[647] This story is repeated with embellishments
by Matson, who, with curious disregard for consistency, includes an
important feature not found in the original. He avers that the child
who was dragged by the horse and afterward tomahawked was Lillian Lee,
ten years of age; and that she had a sister two years older who escaped
unharmed, was taken by her captors to the Kankakee, and the following
spring was carried to St. Louis, where she married a man named Besson,
and was still living in East St. Louis at the time Matson's book was
written.[648]
[Footnote 647: In his letter to Heald, April 10, 1813 (_supra_, note
613), Forsyth stated that "Dupain and Buisson wintered at Chicago last
winter with goods from Mackinaw, they have bought of[f] Mrs. Leigh and
her younger child, and another woman which I expect is Mrs. Cooper or
Burns."]
[Footnote 648: Matson, _Pioneers of Illinois_, 257-62. The book was
published in 1882. Notwithstanding the author's statement that he had
interviewed Mrs. Besson and "listened to her thrilling narrative,"
there is much in his account to excite distrust. It recites many
details which are obviously purely imaginary, and for the rest follows,
in the main, the account in _Wau Bun_.]
The story of David Kennison, a survivor of the Fort Dearborn garrison,
is worthy of preservation, if only because of the remarkable career of
the man.[649] Born in New Hampshire in 1736, if his own story of his
age is to be accepted, a member of the Boston Tea Party, a participant
in Lexington and Bunker Hill and many another battle of the Revolution,
he had reached the respectable age of seventy-one when, in March, 1808,
he enlisted in the army for the regular term of five years. Probably
this was a re-enlistment, for Kinzie's account books show that he was
at Chicago as early as May, 1804. The garrison muster-roll for May,
1812, shows that he was present for duty at that time. The supposition
that he was a participant in the massacre three months later rests upon
inference, for his name is nowhere expressly mentioned in connection
with that event. Presumably he was one of the small number of survivors
who returned from captivity concerning whom no definite record is left.
In his old age Kennison told of further service in the War of 1812, but
it is evident that his memory had become confused upon the subject.
[Footnote 649: The account given here of Kennison is drawn from the
following sources: the _Chicago Democrat_, November 6 and 8, 1848, and
February 25, 26, 27, 1852; the _Chicago Daily News_, December 19, 1903;
the Fort Dearborn garrison payroll for the quarter ending December 31,
1811, and the muster-roll for the period ending May 31, 1812, both
among the Heald papers in the Draper Collection (for the latter see
Appendix VIII); the garrison muster-roll for December, 1810, printed
in Wentworth, _Early Chicago_, 88. Many of the details concerning the
career of Kennison are, of course, of doubtful validity.]
After the war Kennison settled in New York, and in the ensuing years
of peace met with physical injuries far more numerous and serious than
in all of his years of warfare. A falling tree fractured his skull and
broke his collar bone and two ribs; the discharge of a cannon at a
military review broke both of his legs; and the kick of a horse on his
forehead left a scar which disfigured him for life. Notwithstanding
these accidents, Kennison succeeded in becoming a husband four times
and a father twenty-two, and in living to the mature age of one hundred
and fifteen. Late in life he became separated from all his children,
and in 1845 he came to Chicago where his last years were spent. He drew
a pension of eight dollars a month for his Revolutionary services, and
until 1848 eked out this means of support by manual labor. Becoming
incapacitated for the latter, however, he entered the Chicago Museum;
in his card to the public announcing this step he explained that the
smallness of his pension obliged him to take it to provide himself with
the necessary comforts of life. For the last twenty months of his life
the veteran was bedridden, but his sight and hearing, which for a time
had been deficient, became perfect again, and he retained his ordinary
faculties to the end. His death occurred February 24, 1852.
It was fitting that such a character should receive an imposing
funeral. On the day before his death, in response to a request
presented in his behalf that he be saved from the potter's field,
the City Council had voted that a lot and a suitable monument be
provided for him in the City Cemetery. The funeral was held from the
Clark Street Methodist Church, and several clergymen assisted in the
services. At their conclusion a procession moved in two divisions
from the church to the cemetery, to the accompaniment of cannon
booming at one-minute intervals. In the procession were the mayor and
the councilmen, a detachment of the United States army, the various
military companies and bands of the city, companies of firemen, and
others. Upon this spectacle and that of the interment, which was marked
by the usual military honors, a large proportion of the population
of the city gazed. The cemetery occupied a portion of the ground now
included in Lincoln Park. When the use of this for burial purposes was
abandoned a number of years later, nearly all of the bodies interred in
it were removed. Kennison's was one of the few left undisturbed. For
many years the site of his grave had practically been forgotten, when,
in 1905, with appropriate ceremonies it was marked by a massive granite
monument, erected by a number of patriotic societies. Thus it has come
to pass that Kennison's burial place possesses a prominence of which
the humble soldier in life can hardly have dared to dream. Veteran of
our two wars against Great Britain, participant in the Boston Tea Party
and the Fort Dearborn Massacre, he enjoys the unique distinction of a
grave in Chicago's most famous park, overlooking the blue waters of
Lake Michigan.
Another massacre story, concerning the mythical character of which
there can be no doubt, is noticed here because of the use that has
been made of it by a historian of acknowledged worth and ability.
Among the beautiful sheets of water which dot the surface of the Lower
Peninsula of Michigan is Diamond Lake near the town of Cassopolis.
In its midst lies Diamond Lake Island, a wooded expanse of perhaps
forty acres in extent. This was occupied in the early days of white
settlement in Cass County by an aged recluse who bore the prosaic
name of Job Wright, but who was often more romantically designated as
the hermit of Diamond Lake Island. The hermit eked out a living by
fishing, hunting, trapping, and basket-weaving. Since he was of an
uncommunicative disposition, his neighbors were free to give rein to
their imagination in constructing the story of his past, and the scars
upon his face furnished a visible support for the rumor that he had
been a soldier.[650]
[Footnote 650: For the story of Job Wright see Mathews, _History of
Cass County, Michigan_, 65-66; _Michigan Pioneer Collections_, XIV,
265-67.]
Another character of note in Cass County three-quarters of a century
ago was Shavehead, the erstwhile leader of a band of renegade Indians.
Shavehead's peculiar cognomen was due to his fashion of dressing his
head; the hair at the base of the head was shaved off, and the rest
gathered in a bunch and tied at the top. He had been throughout his
lifetime the persistent foe of the whites, and among the early settlers
of Cass County he enjoyed a reputation for knavery and villainy which
must, if he was aware of it, have delighted his heart.
With old age Shavehead fell upon evil days. His followers disappeared,
and with the advance of white settlement and the disappearance of
game the old chief was reduced to sore straits for food. At times,
however, he succeeded in securing a supply of fire-water sufficient
to obliterate for the time being the memory of his troubles. On one
occasion the hermit, visiting Cassopolis to dispose of his wares, had
his attention attracted by a group of men and boys on the village
street who were being harangued by an Indian. Shavehead, for it was
he, partially intoxicated, was gesticulating wildly, relating the
warlike exploits of his stormy past. As the white man paused to listen,
the old chief was describing the massacre at Fort Dearborn, and the
slaughter of the women and children around the baggage wagons. As he
proceeded with his boastings the hermit muttered words of recognition,
and involuntarily drew his gun from his shoulder as though to terminate
Shavehead's recital together with his life; he, too, had fought near
the baggage wagons. Changing his mind, however, he listened patiently
to the end, but when at sundown the Indian left the town the soldier
followed on his track. "The red man and the white passed into the shade
of the forest; the soldier returned alone. Chief Shavehead was never
seen again. He had paid the penalty of his crime to one who could, with
some fitness, exact it."[651]
[Footnote 651: Mason, _Chapters from Illinois History_, 321.]
Such is the story of Shavehead and the hermit of Diamond Lake Island.
So complete is it in its tragic fitness that one would fain believe it.
Yet, though it received the approval of Edward G. Mason, it must be
pronounced purely mythical, at least so far as its connection with Fort
Dearborn is concerned. That Shavehead and Job Wright are historical
characters in the early settlement of Cass County is clear. That the
former took part in the Fort Dearborn Massacre is possible, and even
probable. But that he met his death at the hands of Job Wright there
is no proof whatsoever. Various other accounts exist, in fact, having
apparently an equal claim on our credulity with the one already cited,
of the manner in which Shavehead met his end.[652] Furthermore there
is no evidence that Job Wright was a member of the Fort Dearborn
garrison in 1812. On the contrary, that he was not may be stated with
a positiveness bordering on certainty. That he was not a member of
Heald's company is shown by the muster-roll of the garrison for May
31, 1812, while the possibility of his belonging to the militia is
negatived by the positive statements of both Heald and Helm that all of
the latter were slain.
[Footnote 652: _Michigan Pioneer Collections_, XIV, 266-67.]
It remains to relate what is perhaps the strangest tale of all,
concerning the survivors of the massacre. For it we are indebted to
Moses Morgan, whose share in the building of the second Fort Dearborn
has already been explained.[653] In October, 1816, two of the men
detailed to select timber for the work of construction proceeded in a
skiff far up the North Branch, when they came upon a half-concealed
Indian hut. They were first apprised of its proximity by the shrill
shrieks of the squaws, who had seen their boat as it approached. As
they turned their skiff to retreat they heard the voice of a white
man, imploring them to stop and talk with him. The man spoke good
English, indifferent French, and poor Winnebago. He informed them that
he was one of the members of Heald's company. He had been wounded in
the battle, but was mercifully saved by an elderly squaw, whom he had
often provided with something to eat. She prevented the Indians from
scalping him, and with the help of her girls moved him across the river
and put him under some bushes. Here they cared for him, attending to
his wounds, although both they and he suffered much from lack of food.
As soon as he could be moved the women tied him onto a flat piece of
timber taken from the burnt fort, and dragged him to a small lake some
forty miles to the northward. Here he found himself compelled to take
the old squaw for a wife or perish from starvation. Upon her sudden
death, a year before the visit of the sawyers, he had taken the two
oldest girls to be his squaws. There was a third girl, younger than
these, and the three women and himself comprised the inmates of the hut.
[Footnote 653: _Supra_, p. 134.]
When the sawyers reported their discovery at the encampment it was
feared the squaws would spirit away their common husband. On the
following day the surgeon. Doctor Gale, accompanied the sawyers to the
hut, taking a boat load of presents for the squaws. It appeared that
the inmates were about to change their location, and as a preliminary
step the soldier had taken the youngest girl to be his third wife.
She was then one hundred and fifty moons, or thirteen years old, but
had desired to be married before leaving the vicinity of her mother's
burial place.
Doctor Gale examined the man's wounds and found that they had healed,
but with unnecessarily poor results, one leg being shortened and one
arm of little use. The doctor took down his name and other personal
details, and listened to his story of the massacre. He refused to
return to civilization as long as the squaws would live with him and
care for him; but he promised to bring them to visit the encampment,
exacting, however, a promise that the little squaw should not be
ridiculed by the soldiers. Nothing more was ever seen of the man, a
fact not much to be wondered at. The surgeon wrote out his account of
the interview and handed it, together with the memoranda he had made,
to the adjutant, by whom in some manner it was lost. That the story did
not, like the wounded soldier, pass into complete oblivion is owing to
the quite accidental circumstance of its narration by Moses Morgan to
Head, whose interest in Chicago history led him to preserve it.