On the Illinois river, near two hundred miles from its junction with the
Mississippi, there lived in 1812, an old pioneer, known in those days as
"Old Parker the squatter." His family consisted of a wife and three
children, the oldest a boy of nineteen, a girl of seventeen, and the
youngest a boy of fourteen. At the time of which we write, Parker and his
oldest boy had gone in company with three Indians on a hunt, expecting to
be absent some five or six days.--The third day after the departure, one
of the Indians returned to Parker's house, came in and sat himself down by
the fire, lit his pipe and commenced smoking in silence. Mrs. Parker
thought nothing of this, as it was no uncommon thing for one or sometimes
more of a party of Indians to return abruptly from a hunt, at some sign
they might consider ominous of bad luck, and in such instances were not
very communicative. But at last the Indian broke silence with "ugh, old
Parker die." This exclamation immediately drew Mrs. Parker's attention,
who directly enquired of the Indian, what's the matter with Parker? The
Indian responded Parker sick, tree fell on him, you go, he die. Mrs.
Parker then asked the Indian if Parker had sent for her, and where he was?
The replies of the Indian somewhat aroused her suspicions. She, however,
came to the conclusion to send her son with the Indian to see what was the
matter. The boy and Indian started. That night passed, and the next day
too, and neither the boy or Indian returned. This confirmed Mrs. Parker in
her opinion that there was foul play on the part of the Indians. So she
and her daughter went to work and barricaded the door and windows in the
best way they could. The youngest boy's rifle was the only one left, he
not having taken it with him when he went to hunt after his father. The
old lady took the rifle, the daughter the axe, and thus armed they
determined to watch through the night; and defend themselves if necessary.
They had not long to wait after night fall, for shortly after that some
one commenced knocking at the door, crying out "Mother! mother!" but Mrs.
Parker thought the voice was not exactly like that of her son--in order to
ascertain the fact, she said "Jake, where are the Indians?" The reply
which was "um gone," satisfied her on that point. She then said, as if
speaking to her son, "Put your ear to the latch-hole of the door I want to
tell you something before I open the door." The head was placed at the
latch-hole, and the old lady fired through the same spot and killed an
Indian. She stepped back from the door instantly, and it was well she did
so, for quicker than I have penned the last two words two rifle bullets
came crashing through the door. The old lady then said to her daughter,
"Thank God there are but two, I must have killed the one at the door--they
must be the three who went on the hunt with your father. If we can only
kill or cripple another of them, we will be safe; now we must both be
still after they fire again, and they will then break the door down, and I
may be able to shoot another one; but if I miss them when getting in, you
must use the axe."--The daughter equally courageous with her mother
assured her she would. Soon after this conversation two more rifle bullets
came crashing through the window. A death-like stillness ensued for about
five minutes, when two more balls in quick succession were fired through
the door, then followed a tremendous punching with a log, the door gave
way, and with a fiendish yell an Indian was about to spring in, when the
unerring rifle fired by the old lady stretched his lifeless body across
the thresh-hold of the door. The remaining, or more properly the surviving
Indian fired at random and ran, doing no injury. "Now" said the old
heroine to her undaunted daughter "we must leave." Accordingly with the
rifle and the axe, they went to the river, took the canoe, and without a
mouthful of provision except one wild duck and two black birds which the
mother shot, and which were eaten raw, did these two courageous hearts in
six days arrive among the old French settlers at St. Louis. A party of
about a dozen men crossed over into Illinois--and after an unsuccessful
search returned without finding either Parker or his boys. They were never
found. There are yet some of the old settlers in the neighborhood of
Peoria who still point out the spot where "old Parker the squatter"
lived.
[Illustration: ATTACK ON CAPTAIN HUBBELL'S BOAT.]