WISCONSIN HEIGHTS
The object to which John Mason pointed was not very startling in itself.
It seemed entirely harmless and innocent as it lay on a tuft of grass
beside a large tree. It was an earthen pot like many that were used by
the Indians in their camps.
“You see they are beginning to throw away their own belongings,”
exclaimed Mason. “They must know we are close behind them and are trying
to make time.”
“There are some blankets too,” cried Robert. “They evidently don’t
intend to carry any more weight than necessary.”
The trail was soon littered with baggage and paraphernalia of all kinds.
Everything pointed to the fact that the Indians were now in dire
straits. The troops pushed on eagerly, every man spurred forward by the
knowledge that their opponents were weakened and must soon be overtaken.
Nature seemed to impose almost every difficulty imaginable in the way of
the pursuers, but nothing discouraged the men any more. Frequently it
became necessary to dismount and wade in mud and water shoulder deep. A
violent thunder storm and cloudburst struck the little army, but
undismayed they fought their way along.
“There’s an Indian!” exclaimed Joseph suddenly.
“Where?” cried Robert excitedly. The two boys were in advance of the
others, for their knowledge of woodcraft learned from Deerfoot had
enabled them slightly to outdistance the rest of the army.
“Just ahead there,” said Joseph quickly as he raised his gun to fire.
“Wait, Joe,” cried Robert. “He’s holding up his hands.”
The Indian was seated on a pony, and, as Robert had said, was holding up
his hands in token of surrender. Joseph quickly lowered his rifle.
“A Winnebago,” announced Joseph, when he had obtained a closer glimpse
of the red man.
“We’d better wait for the others,” advised Robert. “He probably can’t
speak English and we can’t find out what he wants.”
Several soldiers soon joined the brothers, among them a man who
understood the Winnebago tongue. He shouted to the Indian and learned
that he was a deserter from Black Hawk and wished to join the Whites.
The interpreter questioned him closely and upon relating what had been
said to General Henry, the Winnebago was given permission to attach
himself to the army.
“Who was he? What did he say?” Robert demanded of Deerfoot, who was now
riding with the two boys and John Mason.
“He Winnebago,” replied Deerfoot. “He say Black Hawk only two miles
away, and much weary.”
“Hooray!” cried Robert excitedly. “We’ll catch him soon.”
The news had spread throughout the army, spurring the men on to even
greater efforts than before.
“We won’t catch them tonight, I’m afraid,” remarked Mason. “It will be
dark before long.”
“It always gets dark just at the wrong time,” Robert complained.
“How are you going to prevent it, Red?” laughed Mason.
“I’m not going to prevent it,” replied Robert. “It is certainly tough
luck the way it always happens like this, though.”
“We’ll camp soon, I think,” said Mason. “We must be almost at the lakes
by this time, and it is nearly sunset.”
“What lakes?” inquired Joseph.
“The Four Lakes,” explained Mason. “You’ll see them yourself in a
minute.”
“I hope they’re better looking than the rest of this country,” exclaimed
Robert.
“Don’t worry about that,” Mason assured him. “You’ll never see anything
prettier than these lakes as long as you live.”
As he finished speaking they emerged from the swamp, passed through a
belt of heavy timber and came to the edge of a lake. The water was clear
as crystal and the bottom was covered with shining white pebbles.
“This is Third Lake,” announced Mason. “What do you think of it?”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Robert and Joseph in amazement as they looked out
across the beautiful sheet of water. The sun was sinking low in the
western sky and its rays cast a gleam of silver and gold over the quiet
waters. As the rest of the army came up, every man stood in silence and
looked out over the lake, almost too strongly impressed to speak.
“How big is this lake?” inquired Robert at last.
“About ten miles around, I should say. Fourth Lake is about twice the
size.”
War and strife were forgotten for a few moments under the spell of this
beautiful scene. The silence did not long continue, however, for the
order to camp here for the night was soon given and preparations were
made at once. Scouts came in and reported Indians but a few miles away,
but nothing happened to disturb the encampment during the night. The
next morning at daybreak the men were up and once more on the march.
Across the isthmus between Third and Fourth Lakes swept the army.
Joseph, Robert, Mason and Deerfoot rode in front with Ewing’s spy
battalion and soon picked up the trail. It was easy to follow and more
and more evidences of the desperation of the Sacs came into view.
Apparently the Indians were discarding everything but their firearms.
In desperate haste the army advanced. Several horses gave out, but the
troopers thus deprived of their mounts kept on on foot, not one whit
discouraged by their mishaps.
Several Indians were shot. They were all old men who were exhausted by
hunger and unable to keep pace with the rest of their band. The morning
passed and noon came. With undiminished speed the army pressed forward.
At about half-past four in the afternoon the Indians were sighted. They
had taken up their position on the bluffs about a mile and a half from
the Wisconsin River.
“Halt!” came the sharp command. “Dismount!” A moment later the army was
on foot, awaiting the next order. This soon came, and the men were
instructed to form in line and prepare to charge. One man out of every
four was delegated to hold the horses.
Scarcely had the army time to do as they were commanded when the Sacs
themselves charged. Yelling like madmen they rushed down upon the
Whites. A heavy volley from their guns failed to break the lines of the
troops, however, and the fire was returned spiritedly.
“Let ’em have it! Give it to them!” cried Robert enthusiastically.
“Charge!” came the order.
With a cheer the men advanced. They returned the galling fire of the
Indians with deadly effect, but their foes were not lacking in valor.
“Keep low and close to me, Bob,” warned Joseph as they hurried forward.
“I’m all right, Joe,” cried Robert. “Forget me and give all your
attention to those red demons over there.”
The fire of the Whites was most effective and the Indians appeared to be
giving way.
“They’re running,” shouted Robert. “Keep right after them.”
Apparently what Robert had said was true. The Indians did seem to be
leaving their positions, but they certainly were not retreating, as
subsequent events soon proved.
“We’ve got ’em!” cried Robert, who was almost beside himself with
excitement. “We’ve got ’em now, and now’s the time to finish them up.”
“Don’t expose yourself too much, Red,” cautioned Mason, who kept close
beside the two young brothers. Robert was absolutely regardless of
danger and ran forward fearlessly, with no thought other than to load
and fire his rifle as many times as possible.
“They can’t——”
“Look out!” cried Mason, breaking in on what Robert had started to say.
“What is it?” shouted Joseph in response to Mason’s warning.
“They’re trying to flank us.”
“Where are they?”
As he spoke the sharp bark of several rifles sounded from some very tall
grass on one side of the battlefield. The Indians who had apparently
retreated, as a matter of fact had stolen around and into the grass
where they opened a heavy fire on the Whites. For a moment the army was
taken by surprise, but it did not last long. Quick action was needed and
quick action was taken, and luckily too. Had the Indians succeeded in
getting behind the Whites they could have caused enormous damage.
“Charge them!” shouted General Henry.
The command was instantly obeyed. With bayonets bared and with cheers
and shouts the white men bravely dashed forward. The troops may have
displayed cowardice in some of the previous engagements of the war, but
they were redeeming themselves now. Fearlessly and gallantly they rushed
at top speed to dislodge the enemy from his position.
“There is no load in my gun, Bob,” shouted Joseph.
“Nor in mine,” echoed John Mason.
“You don’t need it,” cried Robert. “We’ll chase ’em out of there with
our fists if we haven’t anything else. My gun is loaded, but I don’t
need it.”
A galling fire greeted their advance and several of the men dropped. The
volley was returned but feebly, for most of the men were in the
condition of Joseph and John Mason; that is, their guns were empty. No
one halted for a second, however; all increased their pace.
“I’ll save my load,” thought Robert to himself. “I may need it more in a
few minutes than I do now.”
At this moment a man on a gray horse dashed madly past him. Robert
recognized the rider as Colonel Jones, one of the officers. As he
glanced up at the fearless rider a bullet struck the horse, killing it
instantly. Colonel Jones was pitched headlong to the ground and Robert
rushed to see if he was hurt.
“Were you hit, Colonel?” he demanded anxiously.
“Never touched me,” came the quick reply, and instantly jumping to his
feet the gallant officer continued the advance. “Follow me!” he shouted,
and with a cheer the men closed in behind him.
Absolutely regardless of consequences, fearlessly the men charged. The
grass which the Indians occupied was at least six feet tall, a fact
which rendered it very difficult for the Whites to see their opponents.
Not one man faltered, however.
Soon they came to the edge of the grass and a desperate hand to hand
encounter took place. Stabbing with their bayonets and using the butt
ends of their guns the white soldiers slowly but surely forced their
redskinned foes to fall back. Every inch of ground was contested
stubbornly and desperately. The men became separated from one another
and individual combats took place everywhere.
Robert had forced his way clear through to the opposite side of the high
grass and emerged into the open. As he came out he saw a white man
suddenly trip and fall headlong to the ground. With a howl of rage a
painted warrior sprang at the fallen soldier with upraised tomahawk.
Robert’s heart almost stopped beating when he suddenly recognized the
prostrate man as his brother Joseph.