BAD AXE
Suddenly shots were heard. A bugle sounded and the men realized that the
deciding struggle of the war had commenced. Orders were at once given
for the army to form for the attack. An orderly came riding furiously
through the lines with orders from General Atkinson. Alexander and Posey
with their commands formed the right wing, Dodge with his regulars the
center, and General Henry the left.
The firing increased. Dense timber afforded a protection to the Sacs and
hindered the operations of the army. An advance was ordered, however,
and the Indians withdrew slowly. Their fire seemed to come from a wide
range of ground and it was confidently believed that now the main body
of Black Hawk’s force had been encountered. Upstream the Indians
retreated. A proof of John Mason’s remark as to the jealousy borne
General Henry was provided by the commands which next were issued. The
right wing and the center were ordered to pursue the savages. General
Henry, however, received no orders at all and so was apparently left out
of the fight entirely. This was evidently part of a plan to deprive him
of any share in the honor which everyone felt was to be won in this
fight.
“A mean shame!” protested John Mason hotly. “I knew they were going to
try something like this all the time.”
“I should say it is a shame!” cried Robert angrily. “Why should we stand
for it?”
“What can we do?” queried Joseph. “We are left here with no orders.
Certainly if they wanted us they would have asked us to come.”
“Well then, if we have no orders why can’t we go anywhere we please?”
Robert protested. “I’d follow along if I were General Henry.”
“We can’t do that,” said Mason. “I guess we’re left.”
Henry’s brigade was stationed on the top of a bluff, not far from the
river.
Sounds of firing came to the men left there and a feeling of intense
rage at the affront offered them possessed everyone present. For days
and weeks they had fought their way through countless difficulties and
had endured untold hardships. Now that the prize was almost in their
grasp they were denied any share in it.
Suddenly two men on horseback appeared, riding furiously from the
direction of the river.
“Two of Ewing’s spy battalion,” announced Joseph, as he recognized the
men. “I wonder what they want.”
The horsemen at once sought General Henry and excitedly began to talk
and gesticulate to him. They continually pointed toward the river in the
direction whence they had come. As they finished speaking, General Henry
drew his sword, waved it above his head and gave the order to advance.
“What is it? What’s going on?” demanded Robert.
Many more were asking the same questions and the answers were not long
in forthcoming. The spies had discovered that the main trail was farther
down the river than the course of the Indians pursued by the center and
right wing. Evidently the Sacs first encountered were merely decoys who
were purposely attempting to lead the army astray.
“What luck!” cried Robert joyously. “They tried to leave us out but we
stumbled into the main affair after all.”
Down the steep sides of the bluff General Henry led his troops. Arriving
at the base, the men found themselves on a wooded plateau which
stretched between the bluff and the shore. On the other side of the
timber, Black Hawk was stationed.
A bullet tore some leaves from a tree close to Joseph’s head. A second
bullet followed the first and soon a perfect hail of lead was cutting
its way through the forest. The trooper next to Deerfoot had his horse
shot from under him. The bugle sounded and with a shout the men dashed
forward. Over dead logs, under low hanging branches and through thick
clumps of bushes they forced their way. A galling fire raked their lines
from end to end but not a man faltered.
As yet no sight of the Indians appeared. That they were present was
testified to, however, by the energetic fusillade they kept up. Suddenly
the woods thinned and the brigade found itself in the midst of about
three hundred warriors. The numbers on each side consequently were even.
Savage yells and whoops rent the air. Mixed with these were the cheers
and shouts of the troops who urged one another forward. No man needed
much urging, however, for everyone was there to do his duty and it was
done with no thought of flinching.
“Dismount!” came the order from the bugle.
Instantly every man sprang from his horse’s back, and quickly tethering
his mount to some nearby tree, continued the attack on foot. Every tree
seemed to shelter a hostile Indian, and the Whites themselves took
advantage of every bit of cover that offered itself.
“Keep close together, boys!” urged John Mason, as, rifle in hand, he
started forward with Deerfoot and the two brothers. “Watch every tree
and don’t let yourselves be taken by surprise.”
“Look out!” warned Joseph suddenly. “There’s an Indian.” He pointed to a
large tree in front of them and as he spoke a shaved head appeared on
one side, a rifle was quickly raised and a bullet sang close above the
heads of the four troopers.
“Quick! Before he can reload!” cried Robert, and at full speed he darted
forward toward the tree which sheltered their enemy.
“Follow him! Follow him!” shouted Mason. “Two on each side.”
Robert was the first to reach the spot, but the Sac had fled. A movement
in the bushes close at hand warned him of the Indian’s presence,
however, and quickly raising his rifle he fired. He saw a body fall,
crashing to the ground and knew that his aim had been true.
“Bob!” shouted Joseph. “Look out! Behind you!”
Robert unconsciously dropped to the ground in response to his brother’s
warning. He was not a second too soon. A tomahawk whizzed over his head
and buried itself deep in the trunk of a nearby tree. Robert shuddered
as he realized how narrow an escape he had had. The brave who had made
this attempt on his life, however, did not long escape the attention of
his intended victim’s companions. Three rifles spoke almost at the same
instant and one more Sac was added to those already lost by Black Hawk.
“We’d better keep under cover more,” Mason advised when Robert had
rejoined his comrades. “It’s all right to dash out and chase Indians
from behind trees but it’s risky business.”
“We must do it if we are going to win,” protested Robert.
“Not at all,” retorted Mason. “We’ll drive them off all right without
having to expose ourselves as much as you did.”
The noise was terrific. The reports of the guns filled the air and the
constant whoops of the Indians added a weird note to the din. How often
the two brothers had heard the war whoop. This time, however, it was
tempered by the shouts and cheers of the troops and its effect
consequently was not as horrifying.
“Here comes Atkinson!” cried Joseph suddenly. The fight had been in
progress for half an hour and General Henry’s men were more than holding
their own.
“He heard the noise,” exclaimed Mason. “I’m sorry for it, too. After the
way he treated General Henry he doesn’t deserve to be in this at all.”
“It will finish it up quicker, that’s all,” said Robert, who was
feverishly engaged in reloading his rifle. He was intent upon doing his
full share in the battle and he was fearful that he might waste a
moment.
“They’ll be nearly surrounded now,” remarked Joseph. “This is the end of
Black Hawk, I guess.”
The battle now degenerated into a massacre. The Indians put up a
stubborn defense until the last, but their case was hopeless. They were
outnumbered and they were also weakened by lack of food. The nature of
the ground was to their advantage, however. Deep ravines, old logs,
swamp holes, high grass and weeds abounded, providing excellent
protection to the warriors. Knowing that they were doomed they fought
desperately, determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible.
“This is too much for me,” exclaimed Joseph at length.
“What’s the matter, Joe?” demanded Robert.
“I can fight, but I can’t slaughter people,” replied Joseph with a
shudder.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” remarked John Mason. “I saw one of
our men shoot a wounded Indian a few minutes ago. That settles me.”
“It’s awful,” cried Joseph. “This isn’t war. It is butchery.”
“They butchered us, though,” Robert maintained stoutly. “Why shouldn’t
we give them what they gave us?”
“They don’t know any better, Bob,” said Mason. “They are savages, but we
are supposed to be civilized, and we ought to know better, if we don’t.
A fair fight is one thing, but this is not fair.”
“Look there!” cried Joseph. “Did you see that?”
“No, what was it?” demanded Robert.
“An Indian girl held up her hands to surrender, and somebody shot her
down. Do you call that right?”
“I certainly do not,” admitted Robert. “Where’s Deerfoot?”
“In the thick of it, I suppose,” answered Joseph. “We can’t stop him,
for he wouldn’t understand, but we can at least keep out of it
ourselves.”
The three volunteers were now standing on a bluff overlooking the great
river. The Indians were hopelessly beaten and were making desperate
efforts to escape. Men, women and children were trying to swim across
the river, but many were drowned and others coolly picked off by
sharpshooters stationed on the bank. The sight was sickening. The ground
was littered with the corpses of Indians and many of the white men were
taking scalps as freely as their red enemies ever did.
“There are a whole lot of Indians on that island,” cried Robert pointing
to a small piece of ground covered with willows which lay not far from
the shore.
“Not for long, though,” said Mason grimly. “Here comes the _Warrior_.”
The _Warrior_ was a small steamer used to transport army supplies. On
board were a few regulars and volunteers and a small cannon. The boat
approached close to the island that Robert had indicated and fired round
after round of canister, raking it from end to end. As if this were not
enough a detachment of troops was landed on the island soon after the
bombardment and with bayonets completed the destruction of the few
remaining survivors.
“Do you suppose any one escaped?” asked Robert.
“From the island?” queried Mason. “Not a single soul, I’m sure.”
“Do you think any Indians escaped at all?”
“I think so. Some crossed the river before we got here.”
“Not many, I guess,” exclaimed Joseph. “Black Hawk hasn’t enough men
left to do any damage now. The war is ended.”
“Yes,” agreed Mason. “The war is ended. We can now go back to our homes
and lead peaceable lives once more. For my part I’m glad of it.”
“I’d be, too, if I had a home to go to,” remarked Joseph sadly.
“We’ve had our revenge, though, Joe,” exclaimed Robert.
“Yes, we’ve had that, all right. At least Black Hawk has been punished,
though we didn’t do so much of it.”
“You did your share,” said John Mason warmly. “You got one good thing
out of the war, too, Joe.”
“What was that?” asked Joseph.
“The Swallow.”
“I certainly did,” exclaimed Joseph warmly. “I think I’ll go see if he
is all right. I’d hate to have him stolen at this late date.”
“We’ll all go,” said Mason. “The fight is over and we might as well
leave. Where’s Deerfoot?”
“He here,” replied a familiar voice as Deerfoot appeared from behind a
large clump of willows. He had an expression of grim satisfaction on his
face and at his belt hung three new scalps. The boys could not repress a
feeling of disgust as they saw these bloody trophies. They had witnessed
a great deal of killing and seen much gore in the past few weeks, but
instead of becoming accustomed to it, they were thoroughly sick of it
all.
“Where’s Black Hawk?” demanded Robert of Deerfoot. “Did you capture or
kill him?”
“Black Hawk run away,” replied Deerfoot.
“If he is still at large we may have trouble yet,” remarked Mason
somewhat anxiously. “He is a very smart man and may be able to collect
more braves and come back for revenge some time.”
“Don’t you think he realizes that it is hopeless to resist?” asked
Joseph.
“I don’t know,” said Mason, shaking his head. “I have a feeling that we
are always going to have trouble until he is put out of the way. I wish
someone would capture him.”