A LONG FAREWELL.
[Illustration]
THE departure was not approved by all, if any, of the subordinate
officers. It was urged on Capt. Heald that the command would be
attacked; that the attack would have been made long before if it had
not been for the Indians' regard for the Kinzies; that the helplessness
of the women and children and the invalided and superannuated soldiers
was sure to make the march slow and perilous, and that the place could
well be defended. Captain Heald pleaded his orders, and alleged that
the place was not provisioned to stand a siege.
Upon one occasion, as Captain Heald was conversing with Mr. Kinzie on
the parade, he remarked: "I could not remain, even if I thought best,
for I have but a small store of provisions." "Why, captain," said a
soldier who stood near by, forgetting all etiquette, "you have cattle
enough to last the troops six months." "But I have no salt to preserve
it with." "Then jerk it," said the man, "as the Indians do their
venison."[AA] (Wau-Bun.)
[AA] This is done by cutting the meat in thin slices and placing it on
a scaffold over a fire, which dries the meat and smokes it at the same
time.
Captain Heald, in his letter of November 7th, 1812 (less than three
months after the massacre), says of the Indians: "The neighboring
Indians got the information as early as I did, and came in from all
quarters in order to receive the goods in the factory store, which they
understood were to be given them. The collection was unusually large
for that place, but they conducted with the strictest propriety until
after I left the fort." But Wau-Bun gives a different coloring to the
matter, and with such circumstantiality that there seems necessarily
to be some truth on the other side. Mrs. Kinzie says that there was
dissatisfaction in the garrison amounting to insubordination (as
instanced by the soldier's interference in the captain's talk with Mr.
Kinzie) and increasing insolence on the part of the Indians. The story
runs:
[Illustration: SQUAW.]
Entering the fort in defiance of the sentinels, they made their
way without ceremony to the officers' quarters. On one occasion an
Indian took up a rifle and fired it in the parlor of the commanding
officer, as an expression of defiance. Some were of the opinion that
this was intended among the young men as a signal for an attack. The
old chiefs passed backwards and forwards among the assembled groups
with the appearance of the most lively agitation, while the squaws
rushed to and fro in great excitement and evidently prepared for some
fearful scene. (Wau-Bun.)
(As might be expected, the squaws often showed themselves the most
bitter, cruel and relentless partisans.)
The feeling will intrude itself that Captain Heald was too truthful,
trustful, brave and good a man to be a perfect Indian-fighter. He had
none of the savage's traits except his courage. He was without guile,
or craft, or duplicity or cruelty. The soul of honor, he attributed
good faith to his foe. A temperate man, he could not conceive of the
insanity of maniacs to whom the transient delirium of drunkenness is
heaven on earth.
We must remember that there is always a hard feeling between the
military and the civil authority in every Indian post--East Indian or
American Indian--the soldier holding the sword and the civilian the
purse, each slightly envying the other what he possesses, and slightly
despising him for the lack of what he is deprived of.
At any rate. Captain Heald (by and with the advice of Mr. Kinzie)
concluded not to give the whisky and arms to the savages. He did what
any of us, common-sense, reasonable men, ignorant of the worst traits
of the most cruel of races, might have done. He doubtless reasoned thus:
"I will destroy the means of frenzy and the implements of murder; then
I will win the grateful allegiance of the Indian by magnificent gifts;
stores that will make him rich beyond his wildest dream of comfort and
abundance. Then I will throw myself and these defenceless ones on his
protection."
Alas, he did not know with whom he was dealing! What is food and
clothing to a devil demanding drink and gunpowder? He got only
insolence in return for what he gave them, and loud curses for what he
withheld. At the same time Mr. Kinzie could plainly see that if his
whisky was destroyed by the government he might be reimbursed for it,
while if it was left to the Indians the loss would be absolute and
total.
Captain Heald held a council with the Indians on the afternoon of
Wednesday, August 12, his juniors (according to Wau-Bun) declining his
request to accompany him on the ground that they had secret information
that the officers were to be massacred while in council; so he and
Mr. Kinzie (interpreter) went boldly forth alone. When the two had
walked out, the others opened the port-holes in the block-houses and
trained the guns so as to command the assembly. No attack took place,
and Captain Heald then promised the Indians a distribution of the
goods--whether with or without any express reservations we do not know.
The Indians, on their part, promised to escort the train in safety.
(This would indicate that the promise was made to one tribe, the
Pottowatomies, and that opposition might be looked for from another,
probably the Winnebagoes.)
After the council, Mr. Kinzie had a long talk with Captain Heald,
whereat it was agreed that all surplus arms, ammunition and liquor
should not be distributed, but destroyed. This is Mrs. Kinzie's own
account, and seems to set at rest the charge of bad faith (in not
distributing all the goods) which has been made by Heald decryers and
Indian apologists.
On the thirteenth; the goods, consisting of blankets, broadcloths,
calicoes, paints, etc., were distributed as stipulated. The same
evening the ammunition and liquor were carried, part into the
sally-port, and thrown into a well which had been dug there; the
remainder was transported as secretly as possible through the
northern gate, the heads of the barrels knocked in and the contents
poured into the river. _The same fate was shared by a large quantity
of alcohol belonging to Mr. Kinzie, which has, been deposited in a
warehouse opposite the fort._[AB]
[AB] The italics are not used in the original. Mrs. Heald says that
there was only one barrel of spirits in the fort.
The Indians suspected what was going on, and crept, serpent-like,
as near the scene of action as possible, but a vigilant watch was
kept up and no one was suffered to approach but those engaged in
the affair. All the muskets not necessary for the command on the
march were broken up and thrown in the well, together with bags of
shot, flints, gun-screws and, in short, every weapon of offence. On
the afternoon of the same day a second council was held with the
Indians. They expressed great indignation at the destruction of the
ammunition and liquor. Notwithstanding the precautions taken to
preserve secrecy, the noise of knocking in the heads of the barrels
had betrayed the operations, and so great was the quantity of liquor
thrown into the river that the taste of the water next morning was,
as one expressed it, "strong grog." (Wau-Bun narrative.)
William Wells, with the courage and endurance of his red
foster-parents, and the faithful, loving heart of his own race, heard
in some way (at Fort Wayne, where he was stationed) of the proposed
evacuation of Fort Dearborn and the perilous flight to Detroit--nearly
three hundred miles through the lonely "oak openings" of Michigan. His
friends were here--his girl-friend, his own brother's daughter, Rebekah
Wells Heald, was here. The thought of their danger summoned him like
the sound of a trumpet to share it. He came at the head of a band of
thirty Miami Indians, to guide, guard, help in every way the forlorn
hope. It was too late to change the fatal plan, even if he would have
tried to do so. He was a soldier, and obedience to orders was a part of
his training. Besides, he knew the Indians, and they knew and respected
him, and an expedition which would be desperate without his presence,
might be changed by his help to a reasonable undertaking. If the whites
had any friends among the reds, he would be at the head of those
friends to lead them against the unfriendly.
How the hearts of the troubled little settlement must have bounded as
they saw the help approaching! Fancy the scene!
On Friday, August 14th, when the sun was sinking in the West, there
came along the lake-shore, stretched out beside the yellow sand-hills
that extended southward clear down to the oak woods now marking the
suburb of Hyde Park, the band of mounted Indians, headed by the good
and brave soldier who knew the Indians as well as they knew each other.
They had tramped all the way from Fort Wayne, one hundred and fifty
miles, charged with the kindly, dangerous task of escorting the entire
Chicago community back along the pathless forest they themselves had
just come through.
Captain Heald unquestionably felt greatly reinvigorated, for this was
an endorsement of his plan as well as help toward carrying it out.
There could be no doubt at headquarters as to his coming, for here was
an escorted officer arriving to bear him company. There was certainly a
warm hand-shaking between the officers as they came together, and--one
would like to have seen the meeting between uncle and niece! It was
well neither could look forward twenty-four hours.
Even now the die was cast, and those behind the scenes knew that
all was lost. Black Partridge, a chief friendly to the whites,
had received, for services rendered at the time of the treaty of
Greenville,[AC] a silver medal bearing on one side a portrait of
Madison, and on the other clasped hands, surmounted by tomahawk and
"calumet," or pipe of peace, with the words "Peace and Friendship."
Now he approached Captain Heald and delivered to him the significant
emblem. His words, rendered by an interpreter, were these:
"Father, I come to deliver to you the medal I wear. It was given to
me by the Americans, and I have long worn it in token of our mutual
friendship. But our young men are resolved to imbue their hands in the
blood of the whites. I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a
token of peace when I am compelled to act as an enemy." (Wau-Bun.)
[AC] The treaty wherein the six miles square, which includes Chicago,
was reserved to the whites.
[Illustration: From "Cyclopædia of United States History."
Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
BLACK PARTRIDGE MEDAL.]
This was equivalent to a declaration of hostilities, and a council of
war, with Captain Wells as the most trusted adviser, would now have
been most excellent. A plan of march should have been formed, including
plan of battle, if battle should befall. Many advantages would be with
the whites. For several days they would have the lake as their water
supply and as a protection on one side. They had wagons to carry food,
ammunition and the disabled, and to serve as a cover against musketry.
They had between fifty and sixty armed and drilled regulars, twelve
good militia-men and thirty Miamis, who could have been forced to
fight if they had been properly held in hand--in all about one hundred
men. They had a large supply of beef on the hoof, of which many, no
doubt, were draught-oxen. On the whole, it is safe to say that, had
they had a due sense of the condition of things, they might have made
themselves, if not secure from attack, at least safe from annihilation;
for, once massed behind the wagons, with the lake at their back, the
first onslaught would have met such a rebuff as would have daunted the
fickle Indian, who never perseveres against severe loss, no matter
how great the stake or how heavy the damage he is inflicting on his
enemy. One may now see how the defence should have been conducted when
the fatal onslaught did occur. The wagons massed along the shore, the
troops--regulars, militia and Miami escort, every man and woman who
could fire or load a gun--using these wagons as a breast-work and
defending them and the non-combatants crouching behind them; this would
have discouraged the assailants and given time for a parley, during
which the friendly Indians could have made their influence felt.
So easy it is to be wise after the event!
Mrs. Heald herself (through her son) gives us the following narrative:
General Hull had sent orders to Captain Heald to evacuate the fort
and come to Detroit, where he (Hull) was in command and preparing for
a battle. The messenger arrived at Fort Dearborn about August 10.
The evacuation took place August 15, 1812. The dispatch was brought
by an Indian, and the date of the order showed that the fellow was a
little too long in making the trip. He gave some excuse for this when
the captain read the dispatch. He had gotten lame, or his moccasins
had worn out, or something had occurred which made him a little late.
But after Wells arrived--he came on the 12th or 13th, accompanied by
thirty mounted Miamis--they talked the matter over and Wells said
to Captain Heald: "Captain, that red rascal somehow or other was a
longtime getting here. I fear he has notified the Indians along the
way that the things will probably be distributed here and there may
be considerable of a crowd. I don't fear anything serious, but I had
much rather the Indian had come right straight here. He had no right
to know, unless he was told, what the order was, but he got posted
somehow as to what his business was about."
At the time Wells arrived there were a few Indians there who had
found out that the fort was to be vacated, and by the time they left
there was a considerable party of them collected, all seemingly
friendly with Captain Heald. Wells had very little idea there was to
be a fight on the way, yet "smelt something in the air." But Captain
Heald's orders were to vacate, and he must obey them unless something
turned up that he could see was not right. They, however, discussed
the probabilities of a siege. They had but few provisions, but little
ammunition, and thought there was but little risk in going. Heald's
orders were to dispose of things as he thought best. There was but
little whisky. He thought what they had (one barrel) ought not to
go into the hands of the Indians, nor should the munitions of war;
and they took the whisky to a well that was inside the enclosure and
poured it in, and what little arms and ammunition was left, besides
what they took with them, was also thrown in.
John Kinzie, the trader at the post, objected to their going away,
saying that his business would be interfered with--perhaps ruined.
Captain Heald said he was sorry for that, but that he had to obey
orders unless there was something objectionable to keep him from it.
He advised Kinzie, however, not to allow the Indians to get to his
alcohol, of which he had a considerable quantity--to pour it on the
ground or in the river, or do something to dispose of it; that it
would be unsafe, under the circumstances, to let the Indians have
it. Mr. Kinzie suggested that the government might make this loss
good, but this Captain Heald could not vouch for. The spirits were
destroyed.
* * * * *
Suppose the veteran, Wells, tired with the tramping, the trifling and
the turmoil, mounted on the roof of the block-house at the northwest
corner of the stockade, and in the shadow of its motionless flag,
pausing, and looking about him--what does he see?
[Illustration: WILLIAM WELLS.]
A lonely, weedy streamlet flows eastward past the fort, then turns
sharp to the right and makes its weak way by a shallow, fordable
ripple, over a long sand-bar, into the lake, a half mile to the
southward. At his feet, on the river bank, stands the United States
Agency Storehouse. Across the river and a little to the eastward is
the Kinzie house, built of squared logs by Jean Baptiste Pointe de
Saible nearly forty years ago, now repaired, enlarged and improved by
its owner and occupant, John Kinzie. A canoe lies moored to the bank
in front of the house; when any of the numerous Kinzies wish to come
to the fort they can paddle across; when any one wishes to go over he
can halloo for the canoe. Just west of Kinzie's house is Ouillemette's
cabin, and still further that of John Burns. Opposite Burns's place
[near South State street] a swampy branch enters the river from the
south, and on the sides of this branch there is a straggling lot of
Indian wigwams--ominous sight! The north side of the river is all
wooded, except where little garden-patches are cleared around the human
habitations. The observer may see the forks of the stream a half-mile
to the westward, but he cannot trace its branches, either "River
Guarie," to the north, or "Portage River," to the south, for the trees
hide them. Near him, to the west and south, sandy flats, grassy marshes
and general desolation are all that he can see. (Will that barren waste
ever be worth a dollar an acre?) Beyond, out of sight, past the bend of
the South Branch, is Lee's place, with its fresh blood-stains and its
two grassless graves.
[Illustration: REBEKAH (WELLS) HEALD.]
And so his eye wanders on, across the sandy flat, across the Indian
trail, leading west of south, and the lake-shore trail which he himself
came over, and finally rests with relief on the lake itself, the
dancing blue water and the sky that covers it.
It is said that he who is about to die has some times a "second sight,"
a gift of looking forward to the days that are to follow his death.
Suppose the weary and anxious observer now to fall asleep, and in
dreams to be gifted with this prophetic foresight, and to discern the
change that four-score years are to bring.
It is 1892. Close at hand he sees the streamlet, now a mighty
channel--a fine, broad, deep water-way, running straight between long
piers out to the lake, and stretching inland indefinitely; bordered by
elephantine elevators, spanned by magnificent draw-bridges, each built
of steel and moved by steam; carrying on its floods great propellers
of 100,000 bushels of grain capacity. Looking north, west and south,
he sees serried ranks of enormous buildings towering for miles on
miles, each one so tall as to dwarf the fort and the block-house to
nothingness. He sees hundreds of miles of paved streets, thronged with
innumerable passengers and vehicles moving hither and thither, meeting
and impeding each other, so that sometimes so many try to pass that
none can pass; all must wait until the uniformed guardians of the
peace bring order out of chaos. Every acre of ground in sight is worth
millions of dollars.
His dreaming ears must be stunned by the thunder of commerce, his
nostrils shocked by the smell of the vast food-factories, his skin
smutched with the smoke of the burning fuel all about him, to keep
these wheels in motion. Bewildered and dumbfounded, even more wearied
than he had been by his waking view, he would fain turn his eyes to the
east and rest them on the shining calm of the great lake, the dancing
blue water and the sky that covers it.
* * * * *
And so we bid him good-bye. Whatever dream visited his tired soul that
Friday night was his last. The next day was the one whereon his heroic
death was to crown his brave, loving, faithful, fruitless effort to
shield the innocent and helpless from a relentless doom.
As the fatal Saturday has been fully treated in Part First of this
book, I now pass on to the dark days which followed it, and gather up
the details, meager and scanty, of the later life of the survivors, and
their death, so far known to the living world.