OLD FORT DEARBORN
It makes my old head dizzy to recall the events of that hour across the
years that have intervened. Possibly I, as I write these words, am the
only person living who has looked upon that old stockade and taken part
in its tragic history. What a marvellous change has less than a century
witnessed! Once the outermost guard of our western frontier, it is now
the site of one of the great cities of two continents. To me, who have
seen these events and changes, it possesses more than the wonderment of
a dream.
That day, as I rode forward, I saw but little of the Fort's formation,
for my eyes and thoughts were so filled with those frenzied savages
that hemmed us about, and the cool deployment of the few troops
that guarded our passage-way, that everything else made but a dim
impression. Yet the glimpse I obtained, even at that exciting moment,
together with the sub sequent experiences that came to me, have
indelibly impressed each detail of the rude Fort upon my memory.
It stands before me now, clear-cut and prominent, its outlines distinct
against the background of blue water or green plains. In that early
day the Fort was a fairly typical outpost of the border, like scores
of others scattered at wide and irregular intervals from the Carolina
mountains upon the south to the joining of the great lakes at the
north, forming one link in the thin chain of frontier fortifications
against Indian treachery and outbreak. It bore the distinction, among
the others, of being the most advanced and exposed of all, and its
small garrison was utterly isolated and alone, a forlorn hope in the
heart of the great wilderness.
The Fort had been erected nine years before our arrival, upon the
southern bank of a dull and sluggish stream, emptying into the Great
Lake from the west, and known to the earlier French explorers as the
river Chicagou. The spot selected was nearly that where an old-time
French trading-post had stood, although the latter had been deserted
for so long that no remnant of it yet lingered when the Americans first
took possession, and its site remained only as a vague tradition of
those Indian tribes whose representatives often visited these waters.
The earliest force despatched by the government to this frontier post
erected here a simple stockade of logs. These were placed standing on
end, firmly planted in the ground and extending upward some fifteen
feet, their tops sharpened as an additional protection against savage
assailants. This log stockade was built quite solid, save for one main
entrance, facing to the south and secured by a heavy, iron-studded
gate, with a subterranean or sunken passage leading out beneath the
north wall to the river, protected by a door which could be raised
only from within. The enclosure thus formed was sufficiently large to
contain a somewhat restricted parade-ground, about which were grouped
the necessary buildings of the garrison, the quarters for the officers,
the soldiers' barracks, the commandant's office, the guard-house, and
the magazine. These rude structures were built in frontier style,
of cleaved logs, and with one exception were but a single story in
height, so that their roofs of rived shingles were well below the
protection of the palisade of logs. Besides these interior buildings,
two block-houses were built, each constructed so that the second
story overhung the first, one of them standing at the southeast and
one at the northwest corner of the palisaded walls. A narrow wooden
support, or walk, accessible only from one or the other of these
block-houses, enabled its defenders to stand within the enclosure and
look out over the row of sharpened logs. At the time of our arrival
the protective armament of this primitive Fort, besides the small-arms
of the garrison, consisted of three pieces of light artillery, brass
six-pounders of antique pattern, relics of the Revolution. Outside
the Fort enclosure, only a few yards to the west along the river
bank, stood the agency building, or, as it was often termed, "goods
factory," built for purposes of trading with the Indians, so that it
would not be necessary to open the Fort to them. This agency building
was a rather large two-story log house, not erected for any purposes of
defence. Along the southern side of the stream, in both directions, the
soldiers had excavated numerous root-houses, or cellars, in which to
store the products of their summer gardens,--these excavations fairly
honeycombing the bank.
Such was Fort Dearborn in August of the fatal year 1812. It stood
ugly, rude, isolated, afar from any help in time of need. Its nearest
military neighbor lay directly across the waters of the Great Lake,
where a small detachment of troops, scarcely less isolated than itself,
garrisoned a similar stockade near the mouth of the river Saint
Joseph. To the westward, the vast plains, as yet scarce pressed by
the adventurous feet of white explorers, faded away into a mysterious
unknown country, roamed over by countless tribes of savages; to the
northward lay an unbroken wilderness for hundreds of leagues, save
for a few scattered traders at Green Bay, until the military outpost
at Mackinac was reached; to the eastward rolled the waters of the
Great Lake, storm-swept and unvexed by keel of ship, an almost
unsurpassable barrier, along whose shore adventurous voyagers crept
in log and bark canoes; while to the southward alternating prairie
and timber-land stretched away for unnumbered leagues the Indian
hunting-grounds,--broken only by a few scattered settlements of French
half-breeds.
From the walls of the Fort the eye ranged over a dull and monotonous
landscape, nowhere broken by signs of advancing civilization or even
of human presence. A few hundred yards to the east the waves of Lake
Michigan broke upon the wide, sandy beach, whence the tossing waters
stretched away in tumultuous loneliness to their blending with the
distant sky. Southward, along the shore of the lake, the nearly level
plain, brown and sun-parched, soon merged into rounded heaps of
wind-drifted sand, barely diversified by a few straggling groups of
cottonwoods. To the westward extended the boundless prairie, flat and
bare as a floor, except where the southern fork of the little river
cut its way through the soft loam, and gave rise to a scrubby growth
of cottonwood and willow; while northward, across the main body of the
river, the land appeared more rugged and broken, and somewhat heavily
wooded with oak and other forest trees, but equally devoid of evidences
of habitation.
In all this wide survey from the little knoll on which the Fort stood,
five houses only were visible. These were built roughly of logs in the
most primitive style of the frontier, and, with a single exception,
were now deserted by their occupants, who had retreated for safety to
the stockade of the Fort. The single exception was the larger and more
ambitious dwelling standing on the north bank of the river, occupied by
John Kinzie and his family, himself an old-time Indian trader, whose
honesty and long dealing with the savages had made him confident of
their friendship and fidelity. At one time, however, so threatening had
become the strange bands that flocked in toward Dearborn, as crows to a
feast, he also deserted his home, and, with those dependent upon him,
sought refuge within the Fort walls; but, influenced by the pledge of
the Pottawattomies, and believing that safety lay in trusting to their
friendship, they had returned to their own house. The other cabins were
scattered to the westward of the stockade, close to the river bank.
These dwellings had been occupied by the families of Ouilmette, Burns,
and Lee, respectively; while the last named owned a second cabin, built
some distance up the south branch of the river, and occupied by a
tenant named Liberty White.
The prospect was in truth depressing to one accustomed to other and
more civilized surroundings. A spirit of loneliness, of fearful
isolation, seemed to hover over the restless waters upon the one hand,
and those vast silent plains on the other; sea and sky, sky and sand,
met the wearied eye wherever it wandered. The scene was unspeakably
solemn in its immensity and loneliness; while irresistibly the thought
would wander over those fateful leagues of prairie and forest that
stretched unbrokenly between this far frontier and the few scattered
and remote settlements that were its nearest neighbors.
It was not until some time later that these sombre reflections pressed
upon me with all their force. After the excitement of our first
boisterous greeting was over, and I found opportunity to lean across
the top of the guarded stockade and gaze alone over the desolate
spectacle I have endeavored to describe, I could feel more acutely the
hopelessness of our situation and the danger threatening us from every
side. But at the moment of our entrance, all my interest and attention
had been centred upon the scenes and persons immediately about me.
It was my first experience within the stockaded walls of an armed
government post. The scene was new to my young senses, and, in spite of
the excitement that still heated my blood, I looked upon it with such
absorbing interest as to be forgetful for the moment even of the fair
girl who rode in at my side.
The dull clang of the heavy iron-bound gate behind us was a welcome
sound after the fierce buffetings of our perilous passage; yet it only
partially shut off the savage howlings, while above the hideous uproar
came the sharp reports of several guns. But the instant bustle and
confusion within scarcely allowed opportunity to notice this disorder;
moreover, there had come to us a sense of safety and security,--we were
at last within the barriers we had struggled so long to gain. However
the savage hordes might rage without, we were now beyond their reach,
and might take breath again.
Our little party, closely bunched together, with Wells and the timorous
Miamis at its head, surged quickly through between the bars, and
came to a halt in an open space, evidently the parade-ground of the
garrison, the bare earth worn smooth and hard by the trampling of many
feet. A tall flag-pole rose near the centre, and the wavering shadow of
the banner at its top extended to the eastern edge of the enclosure.
Out from the log-houses which bordered this enclosure there came a
group of people to welcome us,--officers and soldiers, women neatly
dressed and with bright intelligent faces, women of rougher mould
attired in calico or deer-skin, hardy-looking men in rude hunter's
garb, picturesque French voyageurs wiry of limb and dark of skin, an
Indian or two, silent, grave, emotionless, a single negro, and trailing
behind them a number of dirty, delighted children, and dogs of every
breed and degree. It was a motley gathering, and appeared almost like a
multitude as it hurried forth into the open parade-ground, and surged
joyfully about us, all eager to welcome us to Dearborn, and hopeful
that we brought them encouragement and relief. We were of their own
race, a link between them and the far-distant East; and our coming told
them they were not forgotten.
The odd commingling of tongues, the constant crowding and scraps of
conversation, the volley of questioning from every side, was confusing
and unintelligible. I could gain only glimpses here and there of what
was going on; nor was I able to judge with any accuracy of the number
of those present. I looked down upon their appealing, anxious faces,
with a sad heart. In some way the sight of them brought back thoughts
of the savage, howling mob without, clamoring for blood, through which
we had won our passage by sheer good-fortune; of those leagues of
untracked forest amid whose glooms we had ploughed our way. I thought
of these things as I gazed upon the helpless women and children
thronging about me, and my heart sank as I realized how great indeed
was the burden resting upon us all, how frail the hope of safety.
Death, savage, relentless, inhuman death in its most frightful guise
with torture and agony unspeakable, lurked along every mile of our
possible retreat; nor could I conceive how its grim coming might long
be delayed by that palisade of logs. We were hopeless of rescue. We
were alone, deserted, the merest handful amid the unnumbered hordes of
the vast West. Swift and terrible as this conception was when it swept
upon me, it grew deeper as I learned more fully the details of our
situation.
Just in front of where I lingered in my saddle, the crush slightly
parted, and I noticed a tall man step forward, a fair man, having a
light beard slightly tinged with gray, and wearing the undress uniform
of a captain of infantry. A lady, several years his junior, stood at
his side, her eyes bright with expectancy. At sight of them, Captain
Wells instantly sprang from his horse and hastened forward, his dark
face lighted by one of his rare smiles.
"Captain," he exclaimed, clasping the officer's hand warmly, and
extending his other hand in greeting to the lady, "I am glad indeed
to have reached you in time to be of service; and you, my own dear
niece,--may we yet be permitted to bring you safely back to God's
country."
I was unable to catch the reply of either; but I noted that the lady
flung her arms about the speaker's neck and kissed his swarthy cheek.
Then Captain Wells spoke more loudly, so that his words reached my ears.
"But, Heald," he said, "what means all this litter of garrison
equipment lying scattered about? Surely you have no present intention
to leave the Fort, in face of that savage mob out yonder?"
"'Tis the orders of General Hull," was the low and somewhat hesitating
response, "and the Pottawattomie chiefs have pledged us escort around
the head of the lake. But this is no place to discuss the matter. As
soon as possible I would speak with you more fully in my office."
The look of undisguised amazement upon Wells's face startled me; and
as I glanced about me, wondering whom I might take counsel with, I was
astonished to note the horse that Toinette had ridden standing with
empty saddle. De Croix, negligently curling his mustache between his
slender fingers, gazed at me with a blank stare.
"Where is Mademoiselle?" I questioned anxiously, as he remained silent.
"Surely she was with us as we came in!"
"Pish! of course," he returned carelessly; "if she chooses to dismount
and rejoin her friends, what has that to do with John Wayland? Cannot
the girl so much as move without your permission, Monsieur?"
The words were insolent, not less than the manner that accompanied
them. Instantly there flashed upon me the thought that this Frenchman
sought a quarrel with me; but I could conceive no reason there for, and
was not greatly disposed to accommodate him.
"'Twas no more than curiosity that urged my question," I answered,
assuming not to notice his bravado. "I was so deeply interested in
other things as to have forgotten her presence."
"Something no lady is ever likely to forgive," he interjected. "But
what think you they propose doing with us here?"
As if in direct answer to his question, the young officer who had met
us without now elbowed his way through the throng, until he stood at
our horses' heads.
"Gentlemen," he said, with a quick glance into our faces, "dismount and
come within. There is but little to offer you here at Dearborn, we have
been cut off from civilization so long; but such as we possess will be
shared with you most gladly."
De Croix chatted with him in his easy, familiar manner, as we slowly
crossed the parade; while I followed them in silence, my thoughts
upon the disappearance of Toinette and the Frenchman's sudden show
of animosity. My glance fell upon the groups of children scattered
along our path, and I wondered which among them might prove to be
Roger Matherson's little one. At the entrance of one of the log-houses
fronting the parade, a rather ambitious building of two stories, if I
remember rightly, with a narrow porch along its front, an officer was
standing upon the step, talking with a sweet-faced woman who appeared
scarce older than seventeen.
"Lieutenant Helm," said Ronan, politely, "this is Captain de Croix, of
the French army."
He presented De Croix to Mrs. Helm, and then turned inquiringly toward
me.
"I believe I have failed to learn your name?"
"I am simply John Wayland," I answered, and, with a glance at my face,
Lieutenant Helm cordially extended his hand.
"We are greatly pleased to welcome you both," he said earnestly, but
with a grave side-glance at his young wife, "though I fear we have
little to offer you except privation and danger."
"How many have you in the garrison?" I questioned, my eyes upon the
moving figures about us. "It looks a crowd, in that narrow space."
"They are all there who are able to crawl," he said, with a grave
smile. "But in this case our numbers are a weakness. In the
garrison proper we have four commissioned officers, with fifty-four
non-commissioned officers and privates. To these may be added twelve
settlers acting as militiamen, making a total defensive force of
seventy men. But fully twenty-five of these are upon the sick-list, and
totally unfit for active duty; while we are further burdened by having
under our protection twelve women and twenty children. It almost crazes
one to think of what their fate may be."
"Your defences look strong enough to keep off savages," broke in De
Croix, "and I am told there is a sufficiency of provisions. Saint
Guise! I have seen places where I had rather reside in my old age; yet
with plenty of wine, some good fellows, and as lovely women as have
already greeted me here, 'twill not prove so bad for a few weeks."
Helm glanced at him curiously; then his gaze, always gravely
thoughtful, wandered back to me.
"We are to evacuate the Fort," he said quietly.
"Evacuate?" echoed the Frenchman, as if the word were displeasing.
"'Tis a strange military act, in my judgment, and one filled with grave
peril. Does such decision come from a council?"
"There has been no council," broke in Ronan, hastily. "The commander
has not honored his officers by calling one. Such were the orders as
published on parade this morning."
He would have added more, but Helm warned him by a sudden look of
disapproval.
"I understand," he explained quietly, "that the instructions received
from General Hull at Detroit were imperative, and that Captain Heald
was left no discretion in the matter."
"I have not yet discovered the man who has seen the orders," exclaimed
the Ensign hotly, "and we all know it means death."
Helm faced him sternly.
"A soldier's first duty is obedience," he said shortly, "and we are
soldiers. Gentlemen, will you not come in?"