AN INDIAN LEGEND
Two days later they reached their destination. The journey had been a
hard one and it was with a great feeling of relief that the three
wearied travelers entered the small settlement on Rock River at Dixon’s
Ferry. On their way they had endured many hardships. Driving rainstorms
on the prairies had drenched them to the skin and often they had been
forced to flounder their way through deep marshes and swamps.
They had crossed the old Sac trail to Canada on their journey. This
tribe, years before, had made its way into Illinois and Wisconsin
through the lower Michigan peninsula, its original home being north of
the Great Lakes. Deerfoot explained this fact to his young friends, who
evinced much interest at the sight of the old Indian highway. From Black
Hawk’s village on the Mississippi it ran east to the Illinois River
which it crossed several miles north of Hennepin where the river turns
almost at right angles. Thence it led along the river to the shores of
Lake Michigan and then continued northward into Canada.
At Dixon’s Ferry there was much bustle and excitement. Over three
hundred men were gathered there under the command of Majors Isaiah
Stillman and David Bailey. All volunteers they were and made a reckless,
dare-devil force. They had been resting several days and were all
impatient at the delay. They were equipped with an abundance of
ammunition and supplies, and could see no reason why they should not be
allowed to start at once in pursuit of Black Hawk and his band of
warriors.
The two brothers and their Pottowattomie ally were enthusiastically
received by these men, especially so when Joseph told of the massacre of
his family, and how eager they were to avenge it. Fresh clothes had been
at once provided for the new members of the battalion, for they had lost
no time in enlisting. A tent was assigned to them and a hearty meal
provided.
“I don’t like this delay,” exclaimed one of the volunteers, Walter Hood
by name, to Joseph and Robert. They were seated just outside of the tent
occupied by the two brothers and Deerfoot. The Indian had gone off
somewhere and Hood, an old trapper, had stopped to chat with the boys.
“No sir,” he repeated. “I don’t like this delay. I want to be on the
trail of them redskins and git the job over with.”
“What’s the reason for the delay?” inquired Joseph.
“We’re waiting for more soldiers, that’s what it is. There’s a whole lot
of them on their way here now, and they ought to reach here at almost
any minute. I wish we could go along without ’em.”
“How many soldiers are on their way here, Mr. Hood?” asked Robert.
“Sixteen hundred or so, but don’t you call me Mister Hood. My name is
‘Walt.’ That is what I’ve been called all my life and I don’t intend to
change now.”
“All right,” laughed Robert. “I’d be very glad to call you ‘Walt.’”
“And you, too,” exclaimed the old trapper turning to Joseph. “I don’t
want no funny business from you either.”
“I swear,” agreed Joseph solemnly, at the same time raising his right
hand. “Tell us about these troops though,” he added.
“Well,” said Walt, “there’s about sixteen hundred of them as I told you.
Of that number nearly thirteen hundred is on horseback. Governor
Reynolds is with the troops, who are commanded by Generals Atkinson and
Whiteside. All this news I got from a messenger who arrived here this
morning.”
“Where are they coming from?” asked Joseph.
“From Fort Armstrong. That’s down on the Mississippi you know, right
close to Black Hawk’s village and right near Rock Island, too.”
“We’ll have about two thousand men in a few days then, won’t we?”
exclaimed Joseph. “I don’t believe Black Hawk has half that many, do
you?”
“I don’t think so,” agreed Walt. “That’s why I want to get started now
and not wait for the others. We’ve got enough men here now to lick all
the Indians in North America as it is.”
“That’s the way my father used to talk,” remarked Robert quietly. “It is
a mistake to think that way in my opinion.”
“Please don’t ever say such a thing before Deerfoot, anyway,” urged
Joseph. “He is one of the finest men that ever lived and I wouldn’t
offend him for anything in the world.”
“I’ll remember that,” Walt promised. “All Indians aren’t bad anyway,” he
added so seriously that both boys laughed.
“Did you ever know any well?” asked Robert.
“Yes, indeed. I trapped all one winter with an Ojibway up in Canada. He
was a fine fellow and amusing, too. At night we used to sit around our
fire and smoke and once in a while I could get him to talk. He knew all
the Indian stories and legends from start to finish and they were mighty
interesting, too.”
“Tell us some of them,” urged Joseph eagerly.
“Well, now,” said Walt slowly. “I don’t know as I can remember them.
Certainly I can’t tell ’em the way he did.”
“That doesn’t make any difference,” exclaimed Joseph. “Tell them as best
you can and that will be good enough for us. Isn’t that so, Bob?”
“I should say so,” agreed Robert heartily. “I love those Indian
legends.”
“All right then,” said Walt. “I’ll try my best. Did you ever hear the
legend of ‘The Lone Lightning’?”
“Never,” cried both boys. “Tell us that one,” urged Joseph eagerly.
The old trapper filled his pipe deliberately. When it was lighted and he
had settled himself comfortably against the trunk of a tree and taken a
few big puffs, he began his story.
“Once upon a time there was a little orphan boy. He lived with his uncle
who treated him very badly and gave him but little to eat. As a result
the boy pined away and was thin and slight and never grew much. This
treatment went on for a long time and finally the uncle pretended to be
greatly ashamed of the way he had abused his nephew. He commenced to
feed the boy all he could eat in order to fatten him and to make up for
the hard usage he had received. The uncle’s real plan, however, was to
kill the boy by overfeeding him.
“He told his wife to give the boy plenty of bear’s meat, especially the
fat, as that was supposed to be the best part. They used to force food
on the boy and one day they nearly choked him to death by trying to cram
it down his throat. The boy finally escaped from the lodge, however, and
fled into the woods. He did not know his way about and soon got lost.
Night fell and the boy was afraid. He climbed high into the branches of
a tall pine tree so that the wild animals could not reach him and while
up there he fell asleep. While he was asleep he had a dream.
“A person appeared to him from the sky and said, ‘My poor little lad, I
pity you, and the bad usage you have received from your uncle has led me
to visit you; follow me, and step in my tracks.’ Immediately the boy
awoke and he rose up and followed his guide, mounting higher and higher
into the air until finally he reached the sky. Here he was given twelve
arrows and told to go to the northern skies where there was a great many
manitous or spirits whom he must try to ambush and kill.
“So the lad set out and finally came to that part of the sky. He shot
eleven of his twelve arrows in an attempt to kill the manitous, but he
was unsuccessful. Every time he shot an arrow there was a long and
solitary streak of lightning in the sky; then all became clear again and
not a cloud or spot could be seen. The boy now had but one arrow left
and he held this a long time while he searched all about to spy the
manitous he was after. This was not an easy task, however, for these
manitous were very cunning and could change their form instantly. They
feared the boy’s arrows, for they were magic, and had been given to him
by a good spirit. They had power to kill the manitous if only they were
aimed right.
“Finally the boy discovered the chief of the manitous. He drew his last
arrow, aimed it carefully and let it fly. He had directed his aim
straight at the heart of his enemy, but before the arrow could reach him
the manitou changed himself into a rock. Into this rock the last magic
arrow plunged deep and stuck fast.
“‘Now your gifts are all expended,’ cried the enraged manitou, ‘and I
will make an example of your audacity and pride of heart for lifting
your bow against me.’ So saying he suddenly changed the boy into the
‘Nazliek-a-wa-wa-sun,’ or Lone Lightning which anyone can see in the
northern sky even to this day.”
The old trapper ceased speaking and relighted his pipe which had gone
out during the course of his tale. Both boys remained silent for some
minutes.
“That was a strange legend,” remarked Joseph at last.
“I should say so,” echoed Robert. “I liked it though. I like all these
stories of Indians and what they believed.”
“So do I,” exclaimed Walt. “Indians are a simple-minded people in a
great many ways. Their legends mean a lot to them, too.”
“Tell me,” said Joseph. “What do they mean by ‘Lone Lightning’?”
“The northern lights, I suppose,” answered Walt. “At least that is what
I have always taken that story to mean. If you’ve ever seen them you
know how on clear, cold nights they flash out all over the heavens. You
see the boy’s last arrow remained stuck in the rock, so that the light
from it will always be there. The other eleven just vanished into space,
I suppose.”
“By manitou you mean a spirit, don’t you?” inquired Robert.
“Yes,” said Walt. “That’s just what I mean. You see there are good
spirits and evil spirits and those up in the north were evil. The Great
Manitou is the Great Spirit whom all the Indians worship. He is chief of
all the manitous.”
“You know lots more legends, don’t you?” asked Joseph eagerly.
“Why, yes,” replied Walt, “I do know a good many.”
“Well, we’re always willing to listen to them,” said Joseph.
“I could hear another right now,” suggested Robert hopefully. “Would you
mind very much telling us one, Walt?”
“Not at all, except for the fact that from the looks of things I think
perhaps our reinforcements are arriving.”
“Something is happening all right!” exclaimed Joseph excitedly.
All three immediately sprang to their feet and hurried to the western
side of the camp whither everyone else seemed to be bound. Everybody was
excitedly calling to everybody else and all were in high spirits at the
arrival of the troops.
“Perhaps we can get started now,” said Walt hopefully as he hurried
along beside the two boys. “Our waiting days are about over, I guess,
and within twenty-four hours I think we’ll be on on our way up the old
Rock River. Black Hawk had better move on before we get very far, too, I
can tell you.”
Everybody in the settlement was gathered together in one spot, the
center of attention being a mud-spattered messenger who was talking to
Major Stillman. The boys could not hear what he said but as they came
closer to the crowd the messenger turned and pointed. Over the crest of
a nearby hill suddenly appeared a man on horseback. Then another came
into view, then another, and still another until the whole hill was
covered by the band of approaching horsemen.