THE FLAG OF TRUCE
At the first sign of dawn the forces were once more on the march. The
men had a quieter and sterner air than they had manifested the preceding
day. The prevailing opinion was that before the sun set that night they
would come in contact with their foes, and in spite of the open
assertions of the men that it was all a “picnic,” this fact made them
more serious.
The country consisted of open, rolling prairies, frequent groves of
trees and occasional swamps. The men rode along in a careless manner,
chatting with one another and boasting of what they would do to the
hostile Sacs when they met them. Progress was slow on account of the
disorderly march of the volunteers and it was late afternoon before they
reached the vicinity of Sycamore Creek where they intended to camp. This
place was hardly more than thirty miles distant from Dixon’s Ferry.
“We’re going to pitch camp there,” said Walt to Joseph and Robert, at
the same time indicating a small clump of open timber some distance
ahead of them.
“That looks like a good place,” remarked Joseph approvingly.
“It is,” agreed Walt. “You see it is entirely surrounded by open prairie
and anyone who tries to attack us there will be completely exposed while
we will have the protection of the trees.”
“Do you think Black Hawk would dare attack us?” demanded Robert.
“I don’t know,” said Walt in reply. “It all depends on how many men he
has. I doubt if he’d try such a thing though.”
“Where is he now?” inquired Robert, somewhat alarmed by the prospect
Walt had intimated.
“Somewhere near here, I think,” replied Walt. “He is supposed to be on
the other side of Sycamore Creek with the Pottowattomies, trying to get
them to join him in his war. You’d better watch your friend Deerfoot,
too,” he added in a low voice.
Robert’s face flushed almost as red as his hair at this remark. “Don’t
you ever dare say a thing like that again!” he exclaimed hotly. “If you
do, I’ll refuse to be responsible for what happens to you.”
“And I’ll help you, Bob,” said his brother quietly. “Now look here,
Walt,” he continued. “Bob and I like you very much and all that. We
don’t mind your fooling, but we do mind your remarks about our friend.
We told you that once before and this time we mean it.”
Walt looked in surprise at the two brothers. That they were in deadly
earnest there could be no doubt. Robert was so angry that he could
scarcely talk; he merely puffed and gasped with rage. His face was red
and Joseph’s was white, but it was a question which one was more angry.
“Whew!” whistled Walt in astonishment at this outburst. He saw, however,
that if he continued his remarks he might be subjected to physical
violence and he wisely refrained from saying more. He quickly changed
the subject.
“Well, we’ll be making camp in a moment,” he said lightly.
“I’m glad of it,” remarked Joseph. “My horse is tired and so am I. He
hasn’t been used much lately, I guess, and is soft.” He was willing to
forget the recent unpleasantness and be friends again, but Robert was
not so easily pacified. His face was still flushed and he rode forward
in silence. Joseph glanced at him and smiled. He admired his brother’s
courage and he also knew that his anger would soon disappear. Robert was
one who never let the sun go down upon his wrath, simply because he
could not stay angry for that length of time.
Soon they arrived at their destination. The men quickly dismounted and
after tethering their horses, they busied themselves with preparations
for making camp. Meanwhile, guards were stationed all around the grove
to watch for possible signs of the enemy. The men’s good spirits had now
returned and they laughed and joked as they idled about or worked on
their shelters for the night.
“It looks like a great big picnic ground here,” remarked Joseph to
Robert and Deerfoot as they stood together and gazed about them.
“Too jolly,” said Deerfoot grimly and he shook his head. He held Black
Hawk in high esteem and was troubled by the evident carelessness of the
white men.
“That’s right, Deerfoot, they are too jolly,” agreed Robert solemnly.
“They forget that we started on the thirteenth.”
“Oh, Bob—” began Joseph, when he was suddenly interrupted. A great
hubbub and noise suddenly arose throughout the camp and the men rushed
wildly hither and thither. All was confusion, as every man strove to get
his horse and mount it.
“What is it? What is the trouble?” exclaimed Robert in alarm.
“Look there,” directed Joseph.
On the crest of a hill nearly a mile away appeared three horsemen. That
they were Indians was easily seen by their headdresses. One of them
carried a flag.
“Who are they, do you suppose?” exclaimed Robert excitedly. He and
Joseph and Deerfoot all ran for their horses, but they did not mount.
They were waiting for orders, but the other men were apparently mad with
excitement, or at least many of them. Shouting and cursing, a large body
of them dashed off across the prairie in the direction of the three
Indians. Major Stillman and the other officers did their utmost to
restrain their followers, but their efforts were useless. The rangers
were not accustomed to discipline and obeying orders, and now they paid
slight attention to the commands.
“We’ll stay here,” said Joseph. “We’ll show Major Stillman that a few of
us know enough to do as we’re told, anyway.”
“Who are those Indians, I want to know?” cried Robert.
“Black Hawk men,” said Deerfoot.
“But what is that flag?” Robert persisted.
“White flag,” explained the Indian, whose eyesight was far better than
that of either of his young friends.
“Sure enough,” exclaimed Joseph. “They’re probably messengers from Black
Hawk. They’ve got a flag of truce anyway.”
“It doesn’t look as if it was going to be respected though,” said
Robert. “Just see the way those men are rushing at the messengers.”
“Walt was about the first to start, too. Did you notice that?”
“He’ll get into trouble, I’m afraid.”
“He didn’t even have a saddle on his horse,” said Joseph. “I noticed
lots of the others that way, too. I never saw men in such a hurry.”
As they stood and watched their companions bear down upon the
messengers, grave fears arose in the hearts of the two brothers. They
did not care for their Indian foes any more than did the other men, but
they believed in playing the game fairly. They knew how high an Indian’s
sense of honor was and they feared for the result if these hot-headed
rangers should do violence to Black Hawk’s messengers. Long association
with Deerfoot had taught them that an Indian never forgets an injury
done him any more than he does a kindness.
Meanwhile, the mob of riders had swooped down upon the astonished
messengers. Surrounding the three Indians they shouted and waved their
arms and urged the braves on until they came into camp. Here more of the
volunteers swarmed around the envoys, and yells and imprecations sounded
on all sides. Major Stillman did his utmost to put an end to the
confusion and to quiet the hubbub. Standing in the center of the howling
mob of men he tried to speak. The three Indians sat on their ponies at a
loss to account for this demonstration and evidently were worried as to
their own safety.
“My men,” began Major Stillman, “these three messengers have come to us
under a flag of truce. It is one of the rules of warfare that any bearer
of a white flag is to be treated with respect. So far——”
The report of a rifle suddenly rang out, cutting short the words of the
speaker. One of the Indians pitched forward on his horse. He clutched
convulsively at the bridle in an effort to save himself, but his attempt
was of no avail. The horse plunged and reared, and the rider, slipping
from his place, fell to the ground, dead. Some one of the volunteers had
treacherously murdered one of the messengers.
Immediately pandemonium broke loose. Confusion reigned before, but it
was nothing compared to the din that now arose. Men shouted and ran in
all directions, horses reared and kicked, orders were given, but no one
paid any attention to them. The men were stunned by what had happened
and by the time some semblance of order had been restored the two
remaining messengers were seen galloping at full speed across the
prairie in the direction from which they had come.
“There they go!” shouted Walt, who had been in the thick of things all
this time. He quickly jumped for his horse, and, followed by several
score of the rangers, immediately started in hot pursuit of the two
fleeing Indians.
“Come on, Joe, we might as well go too,” called Robert excitedly and a
moment later the two brothers, closely followed by Deerfoot, were also
speeding across the prairie after the excited horsemen.
Suddenly about twenty men disengaged themselves from the main body, and,
urged on by the calls and shouts of several of their band, dashed off in
another direction. Joseph and Robert were at a loss to understand this
move until they gained the summit of a nearby knoll and spied five more
Indians. Evidently they had been sent forward by Black Hawk to spy on
the encampment and to see what treatment the messengers had received.
One look had been enough for them and they were now fleeing for their
lives.
Close behind them sped their pursuers, shouting and firing their guns as
fast as they were able. Even as the two young brothers caught sight of
them, one of the spies threw up his hands and pitched headlong to the
ground. The riderless horse followed its companions for a short distance
and then stopped and began to crop the grass on the prairie.
A moment later another one of the Indians was brought down, while the
three who were still left, kept on, and, thanks to the fleetness of
their ponies, gradually outdistanced their pursuers.
“We’d better stick to the main body,” exclaimed Joseph, and at his word
they turned and followed the men who were still chasing the two
remaining messengers. The Indians on fresh horses had left their
pursuers far behind, but they still could be seen in the distance.
Across the prairie in hot pursuit rushed Major Stillman’s entire force,
a motley, disorganized and very much excited throng.