THE TRAIL OF
BLACK HAWK
By EVERETT T. TOMLINSON
SCOUTING ON THE OLD FRONTIER
STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION
SCOUTING WITH MAD ANTHONY
THE MYSTERIOUS RIFLEMAN
SCOUTING ON THE BORDER
THE PURSUIT OF THE APACHE CHIEF
THE TRAIL OF THE MOHAWK CHIEF
YOUNG PEOPLE’S HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION
PLACES YOUNG AMERICANS WANT TO KNOW
FIGHTERS YOUNG AMERICANS WANT TO KNOW
THE STORY OF GENERAL PERSHING
[Illustration:
“‘The kind of a horse I’ve always wanted to own’ ... he thought.”
[PAGE 152]
]
GREAT INDIAN CHIEFS SERIES
THE TRAIL OF BLACK HAWK
BY
PAUL G. TOMLINSON
Author of “To the Land of the Caribou,” “In Camp on Bass Island,” etc.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1924
COPYRIGHT, 1915,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
PREFACE
The adventures and experiences of the hardy settlers on the continually
advancing frontier have provided a fascinating but comparatively unknown
chapter in the history of our country. Romance, bitter prejudice,
distorted tales, and traditions more or less trustworthy, have combined
to create a strong interest in the Indians. So much, however, has been
written of a sensational and improbable nature that the result has not
always been desirable. Just as there were “good” Indians and “bad”
Indians, so the stories of Indians have ofttimes created impressions
that were erroneous or even false.
The appeal of Indian life and of Indian wars, however, is perpetually
strong. Who these early inhabitants of America were, what they did, how
they lived and how they fought their battles, why they were engaged in
conflicts with the early settlers and our troops, are essential parts of
our history. The names of King Philip, Massasoit, Brandt, Tecumseh,
Pontiac, Red Jacket, Black Hawk, Keokuk, Ouray, Sitting Bull and others
are perhaps well known, but just what is behind the names is not so
commonly understood.
And yet all this is a legitimate part of our history, which every
American, and particularly every young American ought to know and wants
to know. Even if it is impossible for him properly to understand the
vanishing race he ought not to be ignorant of, nor forget, the struggle
of those early days.
Black Hawk’s War occurred in 1832. Against the encroachments of the
whites and their undeniable injustice, the Indians opposed their own
methods of making war. The extermination of families, the lack of mercy,
even the blood-thirstiness of the redmen were among their customary
methods of making war and were universally recognized as such by their
enemies of their own color. Black Hawk assuredly was a patriot,
courageously fighting the battles of his own people. This story is an
attempt to follow facts and events of that struggle as they occurred.
The author has followed the suggestions of many librarians and teachers
and has cast his narrative into the form of a story. In the main part
the story is true and the aim of its writer has been to present a
picture of the struggle of the settlers with the Indians, the work of
our army and the daring of Black Hawk and his braves. The justice or
injustice of the conflict will be understood by those who may follow the
fortunes of the courageous chieftain. At all events the young readers
ought to appreciate more fully the value and the cost of the land, the
privileges and the homes they now possess.
The character of Black Hawk is unique. He was a natural leader,
overcoming opposition in the tribes he led, as well as bravely facing
his foes.
The events incorporated in this tale are based upon facts. The license
of a storyteller has been freely used, but the basis of the book is
true. The final defeat of Black Hawk, his visit at the capital of the
nation and in some of the largest cites, the impression upon the old
warrior in his receptions by the whites of the East, all are elements in
his life which must be known in order to appreciate correctly the
character of this famous Indian chief.
To those who are interested the following bibliography may be
suggestive:
Armstrong, The Sauks and the Black Hawk War, 1887.
Beckwith, H. W., Illinois and Indiana Indians, 1884.
Blanchard, Rufus, History of Illinois.
Carpenter, R. V., The Indian Statue, near Oregon, Illinois.
Chetlain, A. L., The Black Hawk War of 1832.
Davison, Alexander & Stuve, B., Black Hawk War.
Goodrich, S. I., Lives of Celebrated American Indians.
McIntosh, John, Speech of Black Hawk when he surrendered himself to the
agent at Prairie Du Chien.
Moses, John, Black Hawk War.
Parrish, Randall, The Struggle with Black Hawk.
Paterson, J. B., Autobiography of Black Hawk.
Snyder, J. F., The Burial and Resurrection of Black Hawk.
Stevens, F. E., The Black Hawk War, including a Review of Black Hawk’s
Life.
Steward, J. F., Sac and Fox Trail.
Thwaites, R. G., The Black Hawk War.
If his young readers shall be sufficiently interested in this story of
Black Hawk to follow the struggles by which America was won as they are
recorded in our historical works, the writer will feel that his purpose
in part at least has been accomplished.
PAUL G. TOMLINSON.
Elizabeth, New Jersey.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BLACK HAWK TAKES THE TRAIL 1
II. PURSUED 13
III. A DEVASTATED HOME 24
IV. A HIDDEN RETREAT 36
V. A NEEDED REST 46
VI. A NEW DANGER 58
VII. A NARROW ESCAPE 69
VIII. AN INDIAN LEGEND 81
IX. IN CAMP 92
X. ON THE MARCH 104
XI. THE FLAG OF TRUCE 118
XII. THE ROUT 128
XIII. THE WHINNY OF A HORSE 138
XIV. THE SWALLOW 150
XV. AN INVITATION 163
XVI. A SCOUTING PARTY 173
XVII. A PERILOUS UNDERTAKING 185
XVIII. BETWEEN THE LINES 195
XIX. A LIVELY SKIRMISH 206
XX. A MIDNIGHT RIDE 216
XXI. THE FIGHT ON THE PEKATONIKA 227
XXII. APPLE RIVER FORT 239
XXIII. ACROSS COUNTRY 251
XXIV. KELLOGG’S GROVE 262
XXV. ON THE TRAIL 274
XXVI. THROUGH THE SWAMPS 285
XXVII. WISCONSIN HEIGHTS 297
XXVIII. THE TRAIL LEADS WESTWARD 308
XXIX. BAD AXE 320
XXX. CONCLUSION 333
THE TRAIL OF BLACK HAWK
CHAPTER I
BLACK HAWK TAKES THE TRAIL
“Black Hawk is on the trail again.”
Joseph Hall was the speaker. With his parents, two sisters and a brother
he lived on the American frontier in Illinois. In these days a reference
to that part of the country as “the frontier” would cause a smile to
appear on the faces of those who might hear such a statement, but in the
year 1832, when the scene of this story is laid, Illinois was very far
west. On Indian Creek, near its junction with Fox River, in a little
clearing in the forest, the Hall family dwelt and made a hard living
from the soil and from the game they might secure with the rifle.
Ten years before this time they had forced their way westward from
eastern Pennsylvania and had hewn a home for themselves out of the
wilderness. At that time Joseph and his younger brother Robert were only
nine and seven years old, respectively. Brought up in the woods and on
the prairies they had learned the wisdom of the forest, the secrets of
the trees, the flowers and the streams; they knew the habits of the wild
animals and the favorite pools of the fish. Thorough woodsmen they were
both of them, sound in mind and strong in body. Fatigue was almost
unknown to these boys, and to endure hardships was a part of their
everyday life.
It was now spring. The sun was warm and the trees were bursting with new
life as the days grew longer and summer approached. The time had come
when the crops must be planted and it was in this occupation that the
two boys were engaged when Joseph made his remark concerning Black Hawk.
A space several acres in extent, had been cleared in the heart of the
forest and here it was that the Hall family eked out a scanty existence.
At one end of the clearing stood their home. A rough log cabin was all
it was, but it was home and consequently was very dear to the Halls. In
the rear the clearing ran down to the edge of the woods and as much as
possible of this land was under cultivation. Year by year the clearing
had been enlarged until now it occupied a considerable extent. Joseph
and Robert were busy at the opposite end from the place where their home
stood.
“Black Hawk on the trail again!” exclaimed Robert in response to his
brother’s remark.
“Exactly.”
“Who told you?”
“Deerfoot. I saw him early this morning down by the river.”
Deerfoot was a Pottowattomie Indian, friendly to the white settlers and
to the Halls in particular. He had taught Joseph and Robert much of what
they knew of woodcraft and that he was a skillful teacher was attested
by the prowess the two boys had acquired.
“Is it serious?” demanded Robert anxiously. He had been removing weeds
from the newly sprouted cornfield and he leaned on his hoe as he waited
for his brother’s reply.
“Deerfoot says it is,” replied Joseph. “He says that Black Hawk is very
angry and means business this time.”
“But what’s it all about?” Robert insisted.
“The same old trouble. Black Hawk doesn’t want to leave this side of the
Mississippi and doesn’t intend to either, if he can help it.”
“He signed a treaty nearly thirty years ago saying he would go, didn’t
he?”
“I know it,” said Joseph. “According to Deerfoot, though, Black Hawk
thinks he was deceived at that time and that the treaty doesn’t bind
him. I think that if he had been made to leave at the time he signed
that treaty down at St. Louis, everything would have been all right.
They told him, however, that he could stay on until this country was
thrown open for settlement and now that they want him to go he refuses.
At least that’s what father thinks.”
“Is he going to fight?” exclaimed Robert.
“Deerfoot says so. He told me we’d better get to some safe place, too.”
“Did you tell father that?”
“I did, but he laughed at me. You know how he is; he said he wasn’t
afraid of all the Indians in North America.”
“That’s foolish, I think.”
“So do I,” agreed Joseph. “Black Hawk and his warriors may be right
around here now as far as we know. They’ll start by making war on the
settlers, too; you know they always do that. They blame the settlers for
taking their land away from them.”
“How about Keokuk?” demanded Robert. “He is the head of the Sac tribe,
while Black Hawk is only a smaller chief. What is Keokuk going to do?”
“He is already across the Mississippi, I understand. He evidently was
willing to go, or at least he thought that would be the wisest thing to
do. He is not a fighter like Black Hawk.”
“I should say not,” exclaimed Robert. “Old Black Hawk has been fighting
nearly all his life, I guess.”
“Ever since he was fifteen years old, so Deerfoot told me this morning.
He is about sixty-five now, so you see he has been on the warpath off
and on for fifty years. He must be a great old warrior if all Deerfoot
told me is true.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Well,” continued Joseph, “he said that when Black Hawk was only fifteen
he started fighting and that before he was seventeen he led a war party
against an Osage camp and brought back several scalps. When he was
nineteen he led another fight against the Osages and killed six people
with his own hands. A few years later in another battle he killed nine
men single-handed. In the war of 1812 he sided with the British and was
a terror along the border settlements. He’s a real old warrior, from all
accounts.”
“He must be,” exclaimed Robert. “He doesn’t think for a minute that he
can whip the United States, though, does he? How many warriors has he,
anyway?”
“About five hundred or more, according to Deerfoot. He expects, however,
that the Winnebagos, Pottowattomies, and Kickapoos will go in with him,
and if they do they can make it pretty hot for a while around here.”
“Deerfoot won’t fight, will he?”
“No, indeed,” said Joseph. “At least he said he wouldn’t fight with
Black Hawk. He doesn’t think that those other three tribes will join
him, either. He thinks Black Hawk will find only his own men with him
when the time comes.”
“When is the time coming?”
“It has already come. Black Hawk is on the trail with a party now, and
is going to make war on the settlers. He expects it will take the Whites
some time to organize and by that time he himself will have large
reinforcements from the other tribes.”
“Well,” said Robert, “if he intends to make war on the settlers what is
there to prevent him from picking out the Hall family to start with?”
“Nothing in the world. That’s just what I said to father, but he told me
to pay no attention to such nonsense. I thought we ought to have guns
out in the field here, but he said not. Just the same, I sneaked both
yours and mine out of the house and hid them in that bush over there.
Maybe father isn’t worried, but I am.”
“Well, I’m worried, too,” agreed Robert. “I don’t think I’m a coward by
any means, but it seems to me it is a silly thing to do to stay right on
here as if there was no danger at all, when at any moment we may be
attacked by a band of hostile Indians.”
“Still,” said Joseph, “we have no special reason for thinking that we
are to be the first ones attacked. Perhaps if some other family is
murdered, father may realize that it is serious and move on to some safe
place for a while.”
“Yes, and he may wait too long.”
“You can’t tell father there is any danger, though.”
“I know it,” agreed Robert. “He holds all Indians in contempt and thinks
they’re all bad. Why, he hardly treats even Deerfoot like a human
being.”
“Deerfoot knows it, too. I don’t think he likes father, and if it wasn’t
for the rest of us he wouldn’t be half so friendly.”
“He likes us all right, and he’s been awfully good to you and me.”
“He certainly has,” exclaimed Joseph eagerly. “Personally, I think he’d
warn us if he knew that Black Hawk and his band were coming this way.”
“But he might not know it.”
“I know,” protested Robert, “but you must remember that in this case it
is Indian against Indian. The Sac tribe is just as clever as the
Pottowattomie, and old Black Hawk is no fool. You don’t suppose he’d go
around telling everybody just where he intended to strike first, do
you?”
“Perhaps not.”
“_Perhaps_ not,” exclaimed Robert. “You mean _certainly_ not, I guess.
If I intended to attack you, you don’t think for an instant that I’d go
around telling everybody, do you? If I did, some one would be sure to
tell you, and what chance then would I have of being successful?”
“You’d make a great chief, Bob,” said Joseph laughingly.
“Not at all,” protested Robert. “I’m just stating what seems to me to be
common-sense.”
“You’re right, of course,” agreed Joseph quickly, becoming serious once
more. “I think we’re in a dangerous position and I wish we were out of
it.”
“Does mother know?”
“Father wouldn’t let me tell her. He said it would only worry her and
the girls, and there was no use in it.”
“We’ll talk to him tonight, both of us.”
“It won’t do any good, I’m afraid. You know how stubborn he is. He
thinks there’s no danger, and no one can change his mind by talking to
him.”
“Well,” said Robert, “I hope he’s right. But if he’s wrong I hope he’ll
find it out and change his mind before it is too late.”
“Anyway,” exclaimed Joseph, “it won’t do us any good to stand here and
talk about it and it won’t help the corn to grow, either. Let’s forget
it, if we can.”
The two young pioneers lapsed into silence and soon the only sound heard
in the cornfield was the click of their hoes as they dug the weeds out
of the soil and cleared a space for the tender shoots to gain the light
and air. The thought uppermost in the mind of each boy, however, was of
Black Hawk and his band of marauding warriors.
It is hard for us to understand in these days what a peril and a menace
to frontier life these hostile Indians were. Every little while word
would come of some family wiped out by the uprising of a nearby tribe
and no one could tell at just what moment these onslaughts might come.
Everyone went armed, not only for the sake of the game which provided
much of the food on which the pioneers lived, but also as a guard
against any surprise attack of warlike redmen. It is needless to state
the country abounded in “crack shots,” as the most skillful in the use
of the rifle were termed. Ammunition was scarce and no one could afford
to waste powder or bullets. Consequently they made every shot count and
it was wonderful to see the skill some of our early settlers acquired
with the rifle. In this sport, or rather in this serious business, no
one in the region surpassed Joseph Hall and his brother Robert.
Through the warm spring afternoon the two brothers toiled on in the
cornfield. Their hands were busy with the hoe and their minds with
thoughts of Black Hawk and his warriors. The shadows grew longer, and
when at last dusk crept over the land they made ready to cease work for
the day. As they were preparing to stop, the call of a quail sounded
from the woods close to the place where the two boys were standing. Both
boys were immediately alert. A moment later the call was repeated.
“Deerfoot,” exclaimed Joseph in a low voice.
The two brothers hastened in the direction from which the call had been
heard and a moment later discovered their Indian friend hiding behind a
thick bush, waiting for them. He was nearly exhausted and had evidently
traveled far and fast.
“What is it, Deerfoot?” exclaimed Joseph eagerly. “What is the trouble?”
The Indian was panting and a brief time elapsed before he could speak.
Finally he regained his breath.
“Black Hawk, he come!” gasped Deerfoot, and he pointed toward the
opposite end of the clearing.
Hardly had he uttered these words when from the direction of the Hall’s
cabin came the blood-curdling sound of the Indian war whoop.