"Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day that cries--Retire,
when Warwick bids him stay."
--_Henry IV._
On the western bank of the south side of the Chicago River, and
opposite to Fort Dearborn, stood the only building which, with the
exception of the cottage of Mr. Heywood on the opposite shore, and
already alluded to, could at all come under the classification of
a dwelling-house. The owner of this mansion, as it was generally
called, which rose near the junction of the river with Lake Michigan,
was a gentleman who had been long a resident and trader in the
neighborhood, and between whom and the Pottowatomie Indians in
particular, a good understanding had always existed. Several
voyageurs, consisting of French Canadians and half-breeds, constituted
his establishment, and in the course of his speculations, chiefly
in furs, with the several tribes, he had amassed considerable
wealth. He was, in fact, the only person of any standing or education
outside the wall of the fort itself, and of course the only civilian,
besides Mr. Heywood--whom, however, they far less frequently
saw--the officers of the garrison could associate with. His house
was the abode of hospitality, and as, in his trading capacity, he
had opportunities of procuring many even of the luxuries of life
from Detroit and Buffalo, which were not within the reach of the
inmates of the fort, much of the monotony which would have attached
to a society purely military, however gifted or sufficient to their
mutual happiness, was thus avoided. His library was ample, and
there was scarcely an author of celebrity (the world was not overrun
with them in those days), either historian, essayist, or novelist,
whose works were not to be found on the shelves of his massive
black walnut bookcase, made by the hands of his own people from
the most gigantic trees of that genus that could be found in
Illinois. He had, moreover, for the amusement of the officers of
the little garrison, prepared a billiard room, where many a rainy
hour was passed, when the sports of the chase and of the prairie
were shut out to them, and for those who asked not for either of
these amusements, there was a tastefully, but not ostentatiously,
furnished drawing-room, with one of the best pianos made in those
days, which he had had imported at a great expense from the capital
of the western world, and at which his amiable and only daughter
generally presided.
Margaret McKenzie had been born at Chicago, but having lost her
mother at an early age, her father, profiting by one of his periodical
visits to New York, had taken her with him for the purpose of
receiving such an education as would enable her not only to grace
a drawing-room, and make her a companion to a man of sense and
refinement, but to fit her for those more domestic duties which
the uncertain character of so secluded a life might occasionally
render necessary, and where luxury and education alone were
insufficient to a trading husband's views of happiness. After five
years' absence, she had returned to Chicago, a girl of strong mind,
warm affection, without the slightest affectation, and altogether
so adapted in manner and education--for she eminently combined the
useful with the ornamental--that her father was delighted with
her, not less for the proficiency she had made in all that
gives value to society, but because of the utter absence of all
appearance of regret in abandoning the gay and enlivening scenes
of the fascinating capital, in which she had spent so many years,
for the still, dull monotony of the primeval forest in which her
childhood had been passed.
But here she was not doomed to "waste her sweetness on the desert
air." There were only two officers in the garrison, besides Captain
Headley, when Miss McKenzie returned to her native wilds--Doctor
Von Voltenberg and Lieut. Elmsley. The third who made up the number
of those attached to the company had a few days previously been
shot and scalped by a party of Indians near Hardscrabble, while on
his return to the fort from shooting the hen, or English grouse,
of the prairie. His place was supplied by Ensign Ronayne, who had
joined the garrison a few days after. Lieutenant Elmsley, captivated
by the accomplishments and amiability of the fascinating Margaret,
had offered her his heart and hand, and obtained her unreluctant
promise speedily to share his barrack room, some twenty feet by
twelve in dimensions. Meanwhile, in order to prove to him how well
she was fitted to be a soldier's wife, not an article of food was
ever placed before her father's almost constant visitors that did
not in some measure pass under her supervision. Poor would have
been the preparation of the grosser viands had not her directing
voice presided; and, as for the tarts, and puddings, and custards,
_et hoc genus omne_, no one who tasted could doubt that no hands
but her own had operated in the fabrication; and the currant, the
cranberry, the strawberry jelly, the peach, the plum, and the cherry
preserve, and the currant and gooseberry wine! What, in the name
of all that is delicate in gastronomy, could be more delicious or
exhibit greater perfection of taste! So thought Von Voltenberg. He
was in raptures. Such a wife, he thought, was all he wanted to his
comfort; he could have dispensed, if necessary, with the more
intellectual portions of the worth of Margaret McKenzie, but his
imagination could not picture to itself perfection superior to that
of an interesting and beautiful woman, manipulating among fruit,
and sugar, and dough, until she had produced results far sweeter
and much more prized by him than all the ornamental accomplishments
in the world. It was even whispered that the Doctor, deeply sensible
of the treasure he should obtain in the possession of so generally
useful a wife, had absolutely proposed for her, but that she,
without offending him, had rejected the honor. Whether it was so
or not, no one knew positively, for Margaret McKenzie was not a
woman to triumph in the humiliation of another, not because she
considered it in any way a humiliation to a man that he did not so
accord in sentiment with her as to render an union for life with
him desirable, but because she knew it would, however absurdly,
draw upon him the ill-natured comments of his companions. Be that
as it may, whether or not he did offer and was rejected, it made
no difference in his relations with the family. He ate her dinner,
luxuriated over her preserves, and sipped her wine as plentifully
as when first she had offered them to him; and they always were
the best friends in the world.
Soon after the first rumor of Von Voltenberg's offer--and if the
secret was betrayed, it must have been by himself, during one of
his moments of devotion to his favorite whiskey punch--it was
generally known throughout the fort and neighborhood that Lieutenant
Elmsley was to espouse Miss McKenzie, and that the ceremony was
only delayed until the arrival of his the officer so recently
killed and scalped, as has been stated, was now almost daily
expected. At length he came, and soon afterwards Captain Headley,
duly commissioned to perform the service, in the absence of a
clergyman, married them, Ronayne assisting as groomsman, and Mrs.
Ronayne--then Maria Heywood--as bridesmaid. This was two years
previous to the marriage of the Virginian himself, and the occasion
on which he first met her whom he subsequently so fervently adored.
It was no privation to Mrs. Elmsley to forsake the almost luxurious
ease of her father's house for the more sober accommodation of her
husband's barrack-rooms. True, these were comfortably furnished,
but still they had that primness which belongs ever to the quarters
of a soldier; but from the moment of casting her destiny, she had
determined in every sense to be a soldier's wife, and to inure
herself from the first to the plainness incident to the condition.
All she had transferred to the fort was her music and her books;
and if at any moment caprice or inclination led her to desire a
change, it was but to get up a little party, such as their limited
social circle would permit, and transfer the amusements of the day
to her father's more inviting mansion, where the servants had from
herself learned all the art of management. Lively in disposition
in the extreme, Mrs. Elmsley loved to promote the comfort of others;
and as her husband possessed an equally happy temperament, they
contributed not a little to enliven the circle of which, in point
of gaiety, they might be said to be the centre.
The owner of the establishment himself--Mr. McKenzie--was fond of
good living, and having arrived at an age when continued prosperity
permitted a relaxation from the toils of the earlier and cooler
portions of the day, loved to indulge after dinner in a large
arm-chair, placed in a veranda that overlooked the fort and country
around, and where the light air from the lake, waving through the
branches of the thin trees, swept with refreshing coolness along
the broad corridor. He generally smoked the fragrant herbs of the
Indians, mixed with tobacco, and sipped the delicious clarets with
which his cellar was stocked, and which he kept, not for sale or
barter, but for the exclusive use of himself and friends.
Immediately after Winnebeg had left Captain Headley, he made his
way to the mansion of Mr. McKenzie, whom he found, as usual, sitting
in his veranda, enjoying his pipe and wine after dinner. The greeting
was that of old friends long separated. They had known each other
from their youth; and, while the Indian entertained the highest
respect for the character and opinions of Mr. McKenzie, the latter
in turn reposed the most unbounded confidence in the sincerity and
integrity of the chief.
"Well, Winnebeg, my old friend, where do you come from? Where have
you been all this time? I thought you had deserted us altogether.
But I recollect now; Captain Headley sent you with despatches to
Detroit. What news do you bring back? But first try a glass of
claret. Harry!"--calling out to a son of one of his voyageurs,
who acted in his household in the capacity of his private
servant--"bring another chair and a wine-glass."
"Yes, come from Detroit, Missa Kenzie," replied the Indian gravely,
as he seated himself, took his tomahawk from his side, filled it,
and began to smoke; "bring him bad news for you--for all."
"How is this, Winnebeg?" exclaimed his listener, putting down the
glass which he had raised to his lips. "What bad news do you mean?"
"Leave him all dis," he observed, as he swept his hand towards the
fort and the outhouses and buildings containing Mr. McKenzie's
property--the profits of a long life passed in a region to which
he had become attached from very habit.
"Leave what! my property? I do not understand you, Winnebeg; speak
out! What are you driving at, man? What necessity is there for
all this?"
"English fight him Yankee now--big war begun. By by English come,
take him Chicago!"
"The war begun!" said Mr. McKenzie, rising in astonishment from
his seat; "do you mean to say, Winnebeg, that the English and
Americans are actually at war? that they have been fighting at
Detroit? How do you know it?"
"How him know it?" returned the chief; "look here, Winnebeg fight
him English," and baring his thigh, just below the left hip, he
showed the scar of a superficial flesh wound still encrusted with
blood.
"Where did you get that, Winnebeg, and how long since?"
"Two week," he replied, holding up as many fingers, "near Canard
Bridge, close, to Malden, Canada--General Hull angry--say Winnebeg
no business fight--carry him despatches."
"General Hull! How long has General Hull been there? Where, then,
is Colonel Miller, of the fourth regiment, who commanded the other
day?"
"Colonel Miller Detroit too; but Hull big officer--great chief--come
with plenty sogers--send Winnebeg with despatch to Gubbenor here."
"Indeed! This is important; I must hasten to see Captain Headley,
and learn from him the contents. Alas! my good friend Winnebeg,
this news may, and I fear will, be the cause of my utter ruin. Of
course, you have no idea of what the despatch contains?"
"Yes, Missa Kenzie, Winnebeg know. Winnebeg wish to speak to you
about despatch--say go directly to Fort Wayne."
"The troops ordered to Fort Wayne, and all we possess left wholly
unprotected. This is indeed a calamity," said the trader, raising
his hand to his now thoughtful brow.
"You no take him goods on pack-horses to Fort Wayne?" remarked the
Indian inquiringly.
"Impossible, Winnebeg! I might take a few packages of peltries,
but the great bulk must be left behind; yet it seems to me folly
to go to Fort Wayne. We shall be cut off before we get there."
"Just so," returned Winnebeg. "See him Gubbenor, Missa McKenzie;
tell him not go. Stay here--fort strong--plenty powder--plenty
guns--you tell him so."
"Most assuredly I will; and if he adopts the most prudent course,
he will remain. With your strong force without and ours within, we
may have a fair chance with any force that may be brought against
us, whereas heaven only knows what may not be the result if we
attempt so long a march through the wilderness, alive with Indians
in the interest of the British. Good by, Winnebeg; you will excuse
me, I am sure, for there must be no time lost in consulting
with Captain Headley. Make yourself at home, and call out to Harry
for anything you may want. That claret will not hurt you after your
long journey; it is pleasant to the taste, and not very strong."
"Tankee, Massa Kenzie; Winnebeg go to Pottowatomie camp--not been
dere yet. Gubbenor say no tell him Ingins war begun till hold
council to-morrow. Winnebeg sure him know it free, four days."
"Why, do you think that, Winnebeg, since there has been no
intelligence of the kind since your arrival?"
"See him plenty Pottowatomie here in Detroit while Winnebeg wait
for despatches."
"Indeed; but they may not have returned."
"Don't know--maybe no, maybe yes."
"Well, to-morrow the matter will be no secret, Winnebeg; and some
decision will no doubt be added. In the meantime, you will be able
to learn whether anything is known in the encampment of this
unwelcome news, and, if so, what your people think of it."
"Kenzie," said the chief, taking and warmly grasping the trader's
hand, "all Pottowatomies tink like Winnebeg--no go to Fort Wayne."