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“We only keep one manservant, and he’s frightened of him, so Missis had to take him in hand,” explained the girl cheerfully.
The valiant brave made no second attempt to enter the inn, and stood meekly by his horse till the travellers were ready, and Head—with difficulty keeping a straight face—bade him lead on. They were soon riding at a good level pace along the forest track, which, by its narrowness and few signs of recent use, did not promise a meeting with many travelling companions. At first the Indian only answered curtly to the remarks addressed to him, but, little by little, he forgot the insult to his dignity and had become quite chatty by the time they stopped to rest the horses and eat the dinner which they had brought with them. He said they would pass no more inns—no more white habitations of any sort, in fact—till they came to the United States boundary, and but very few then; and no Indian camps that side of Presque Isle, which was still forty-five miles distant. From there the travellers could, if they chose, journey as far as the St. Lawrence with a party of Crees who would soon be starting away for the winter hunting, and who would show them where they could get a boat across the estuary.
They rode another twenty miles before sunset, and then halted for the night. While the Indian was making the fire he several times glanced round him to windward and sniffed the air suspiciously.
“There will be snow before morning,” he said; and indeed, during the past hour there had been well-nigh an Arctic chill in the air, though it still wanted a week or two of the beginning of winter. That snow88was coming was bad hearing; not that two men, who had often slept practically under water during the war in Spain, were likely to shirk one night in the snow; but because they had not troubled to bring many provisions, being unwilling to hamper themselves and relying on finding abundance of game in the forest.
If a heavy snow should come, the chances of killing anything fit to eat would be diminished tenfold, for hares, rabbits, and squirrels would stay at home; and further, the journey towards a district where they were safe to meet with plenty of animals (elk, caribou, etc., that had just migrated to the forest from farther north) would occupy thrice the time they had allowed for it.
“You and I must take watch and watch to-night,” said Head to his servant, not unmindful, in face of new dangers, of the likelihood of their guide’s playing them false. “We don’t want any of this good man’s ‘surprises’; if you turn in when you’ve had your supper, I’ll call you soon after midnight and we’ll change guard.”
Immediately after supper the Indian rolled himself in his blanket and Head was left to amuse himself. When his man roused him at six the next morning, he found the ground more than a foot deep in snow, and the Indian, who was just returning from filling the breakfast kettle from the stream hard by, greeted him with the news that the ice was several inches thick. But, he added, there would be no fear of famine; they would have sport enough before the day was out.
“What sport?”
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“Wolves!” The Cree smacked his lips as if he were speaking of a Mansion House banquet.
“Ah! Then that is what I heard just as I was falling asleep.”
“Most likely; their track lies all round our camp; not close, for they feared our fire.”
“Is there more snow to come, do you think?” None was falling now.
“Not unless the wind gets up again. But we ought soon to be moving; it will be bad going for thehorses.”
The hardy little mustangs seemed not a whit the worse for their snowy bed, and stepped out bravely as soon as they were mounted. But Head pulled a long face as he remembered how little corn he had brought with him; truly the cobbler’s wife was going the worst shod; he who had control of the entire military commissariat for that district had left the food for his men and horses to chance, on a journey of sixty miles, twenty-five of which had still to be covered! Of course, the pace they made was wretched, for the snow was fetlock-deep at the best; and, at the worst, it had risen to drifts of ten feet, which had to be dodged or skirted. Three miles an hour was the utmost that could be expected, making allowances for everything; and by the time the horses had gone twelve miles, it was clear that they must have a rest.
“So our next meal is to be wolf, eh?” said Head as he surveyed a lump of salt beef of which none would be left when three men with frost-sharpened appetites had eaten their fill. The Indian nodded.
“And they are not far away; I have heard them90for the last hour. The horses can smell them now; you will find that they will not touch their oats.” This was true; two of the tethered animals crouched shiveringly, disdaining their food, while the third strained at his halter as though he meditated flight.
“What does it matter?” said the Cree. “We have but thirteen miles to go; we shall be at our camp soon after dark, and my people will be as brothers to you. As for the wolves—” he laughed boastfully—“I will kill them by the dozen if need be.”
“Yes; we’ve seen something of your bravery before,” said the Major in English. He divided the one remaining loaf and the meat into three equal parts. “You two can do as you like; I shall only eat half my share now.”
The servant followed his example, but the Indian was resolved that the future should take care of itself. He had scarcely swallowed his last mouthful when he started up.
“Mount! Quick! They are coming!”
“Then what’s the good of mounting, you infernal coward?” said the Major, snatching up his gun. “We can’t race wolves.”
The guide made no answer; but, slipping his horse’s halter, vaulted to his back, and might have ridden away but that Head turned his gun-barrel on him.
“You stay where you are.... Now, Sanders, we must keep them off the horses if we can. Fire the moment they show their noses, and trust to their eating up their brothers while we——Look out!”
A pack of over forty wolves came yelping through91the trees, with a strange, bouncing motion which showed that even they were seriously impeded by the snow.
“Fire; and keep one eye on the redskin,” muttered Head.
A wolf went down before the servant’s first barrel and, from the break in their ranks, several of the others appeared to be falling on the carcase. A second and third and fourth fell to the guns; but the wolves had smelt horse-flesh, and neither noise nor gunpowder nor dead comrades could keep them from following up the scent. The two white men reloaded, fired, and loaded again with the coolness habitual with soldiers; but it was plain enough that the pack would not be kept off much longer.
“I’m afraid we shall have to give up the horses after all,” said Head, as the foremost wolves bounded contemptuously past or over the last of their number that had been shot.
“Why do you not mount?” bawled the Indian in his ear. Head had forgotten his existence for the moment. “That is the only way to save your horse. You have had your play; let me show you what the red man can do.” As he finished speaking he methodically pulled his quiver forward and began to pour arrows into the howling pack more swiftly than the eye could follow them, every one of them carrying death to a wolf.
“Up, Sanders, and use your pistols! By Jingo, that fellow was right!” shouted Head as he leapt into his saddle.
“You see? It is quite easy,” remarked the Indian92with as muchsang-froidas though he were at target-practice. “When I have emptied my quiver they will all be dead; if not, I have my lance. Don’t waste any more of your powder.” And all the while he went on shooting.
The soldiers could do little but stare at the man’s amazing coolness; he who had writhed and screamed when attacked by an irate Irishwoman, was now killing wolves at the rate of about twelve per minute, and the only time he broke off from his task was to draw his knife and stab that one of the wolves that was bold enough to venture a spring at his horse. It was plain enough that he had known what he was talking about when he counselled mounting the horses. Wolves that would tear an unridden horse to shreds would not dare touch one that was mounted, unless they were maddened by hunger; and so early in winter this could hardly be the case.
“Yah! Now run away, cowards, and tell your brethren to come,” shrieked the Cree, when, without waiting for his last few shots, the remaining dozen wolves turned tail and skulked away. Then Head stretched out his hand and patted the blanketed shoulder.
“Well done; I did wrong to call you coward. You shall have double payment when we reach your camp, and I will make you a present of these two horses.”
“We must have my arrows back, in case of further accident,” said the redskin, making neither much nor little of his achievement. In a few minutes he had cut all the barbs from the carcases, and proceeded93to skin the three primest wolves, cut away the fore and hind quarters, hung the three “saddles” on his horse’s withers, and remounted. The Cree Indians and the Eskimos will none of them refuse roast wolf, and the ribs are considered a special delicacy.
With a little coaxing from the guide the horses now ate their corn; and, not long after dark, that much misjudged individual led his employer proudly into the Indian camp. The chief, very much astonished at finding a white man able to speak his tongue with fluency, promised, in return for a ridiculously small sum of money, to allow the travellers to join his great hunting party which was to start northwards for elks, caribous, etc., in a few days’ time.
During those few days Major Head had an opportunity of noting various ceremonies peculiar to the northern Indians, which were quite new to him. One of these was a dance which signified a loving farewell between the hunters and the warriors who remained behind to guard the camp, and was precisely the same as that which Samuel Hearne saw farther north-west.[1]In this, the two parties formed into two single files, and, bow in the left hand and an arrow in the right, approached each other, walking backwards. When the lines were almost touching one another, both turned suddenly, each party starting back with feigned surprise at seeing the other; then, with astonishing quickness, transferred the bow to the right hand and the arrow to the left, in token that their intentions were strictly friendly.
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The other ceremony was also a dance, the celebrated snow-shoe dance, which took place when all was ready for the departure northwards; and in this Head was especially interested, because he was himself an expert on “shoes.” Two or three spears, elaborately decorated with feathers or other trophies of the chase, were stuck upright in the snow, and to one of them a pair of snow-shoes was hung; and, after prayers and incantations by the old chief, ten mighty men of the tribe, each carrying his weapons, formed themselves in a ring round the spears. Waddling, sliding, dancing, or jumping, these passed round and round the consecrated shoes till all were satisfied that the Great Spirit’s aid had been enlisted, and that the ghosts of the animals or birds that they might kill would never return to vex the slayers.
The Snow-shoe Dance of the Red IndiansA religious ceremony at the opening of the winter hunting season.
The Snow-shoe Dance of the Red IndiansA religious ceremony at the opening of the winter hunting season.
95CHAPTER VIIAMONG THE FUEGIAN INDIANS
Tierra Del Fuego—“The Land of Fire,” as Maghelhaens christened it, from the number of beacons exhibited along its coast—is the home of a family of Indians properly known as Pesherahs. Whence they came no one can tell us, though some think them to be of Chilean origin; but they are—and have been, during the last four centuries—among the most degraded savages that the earth holds. This is, no doubt, partly owing to the barrenness of the archipelago and the almost animal simplicity of their lives which is a consequence of it; for though their brain development is certainly not extraordinary, it is probably as high as that of many savages who have yielded with comparative readiness to European influence.
All sorts of efforts at civilising the Fuegians have been made by philanthropists, scientists, and missionaries, but it is to be feared that they have met with little success. Not the least practical of these was an experiment made by the late Admiral Fitzroy, inventor of the nautical barometer that bears his name, and better known to readers in general as Darwin’s friend and at one time commanding officer.
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From 1826 to 1830 this clever young sailor was in command of H.M.S.Beagle, which, with H.M.S.Adventure, was sent on a surveying expedition to the southern seas. During the early part of this cruise, while an exploring party was ashore in what is now called Beagle Channel, a number of Fuegians took advantage of the absence of the sailors to spring into their boat and row off with it.
Not wishing to lose the boat, and deeming it advisable to give the natives a lesson, Commander Fitzroy took another pinnace ashore and, with half a dozen bluejackets, made a descent on the nearest encampment, captured the first family he could lay hands on, and took them back to the brig to be held in pawn for the stolen boat. This move, of course, answered its purpose; the boat was restored and the hostages liberated. But of these there were three to whom the commander had taken a special fancy: a stalwart young fellow of nineteen whom (from the adjacent mountain which Cook had so named) he had dubbed “York Minster,” and a boy and girl of about fourteen. York and the girl, Fuegia, on being asked if they would like to come to England, joyfully accepted the offer; and the other boy was readily exchanged by his father for a pearl shirt-button.
The enthusiastic young commander brought these three home with him, endeavoured to teach them English, and dressed them respectably; and after he had been ashore for about two years, decided to take them back to their country as a pattern to their friends and relations. He engaged a missionary—a Mr. Matthews—and was on the point of chartering a97small vessel and taking the natives back at his own expense, when, to his joy, he heard that his old brig was to be sent a second time to the Horn and that he, now gazetted post-captain, was to have command of her. It was on this voyage that he took with him, as naturalist, Charles Darwin, a young fellow not long down from Cambridge.
In December, 1832, the brig anchored in the Bay of Good Success, and her arrival was hailed by a tatterdemalion group of Fuegians who piled their fires high and frantically waved their scanty garments as though to scare off the intruders. These people of the eastern side of the island were a far more robust set than the typical Fuegians of farther west; many of them were over six feet high, and all boasted some sort of clothing—usually a mantle of guanaco (llama) skin. Fitzroy and other officers went ashore, bearing presents, at sight of which the savages abandoned their distrustful and defensive bearing and showed every willingness to be friendly. Their chief had his hair confined by a rough head-dress of feathers, and his coppery face was painted with transverse bars, after the fashion of the Indians of the North.
The Englishmen distributed pieces of red cloth, which each recipient immediately tied round his neck. Thanks for these bounties were offered in a series of “clucks,” which a horse would assuredly have translated as “gee-up”; and further, by sundry pats on the breasts of the donors. After Captain Fitzroy had been thus patted three times by the chief, it occurred to him to return the compliment, a proceeding which highly delighted the whole tribe. But the most98exciting scene was when one of the sailors left in charge of the boat began to sing absently to himself. In an instant the Indians deserted the group of officers, rushed madly down the beach again, and almost grovelled before the singer, considerably to his amazement.
“All right; sing up, my man; let’em hear you,” cried Captain Fitzroy encouragingly; for the bashful performer had stopped somewhat abruptly on finding himself thus distinguished. “Bear a hand, you lads; he’s shy.”
Thus urged, the grinning bluejackets struck up a rousing sea-chorus, the effect whereof was to make even the important-looking chief stand open-mouthed and wave his hands in wonder and delight.
As the first meeting with the savages had been so successful, on his second landing the Captain was accompanied by York Minster and the other two natives, Jemmy Button, now a strapping fellow of eighteen, and Fuegia Basket, already a grown woman, and betrothed to York. The Indians’ attitude towards them was one of curiosity as intelligent as such people are capable of. They felt their English-made clothes and compared them half contemptuously with the bright-buttoned uniforms of the officers, and the chief, pointing to a few straggling hairs on York Minster’s chin, inquired why he did not shave them off after the Indian fashion. The colour of their visitors was the greatest mystery to them. Jemmy and York were dressed like white men, and had short hair, and yet were not white. York knew their language and Jemmy did not. This was very puzzling. Then—was Jemmy99the same colour “all over”? The chief made him strip his sleeve, but while this was being done something else happened to distract the savages’ attention. Mr. Bynoe, the ship’s surgeon, had been examining one or two bad sores on the face of a native, and now stepped back to a rock-pool to wash his hands.
That a man should dream of washing at all was a mystery to the Fuegians (in fact, during the whole of the brig’s cruise in these islands the practice never failed to attract admiration, though it does not seem to have gained converts), but the doctor had thrown off his pilot-jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves for the performance. This more than staggered the beholders, so that Jemmy saw himself rudely neglected; for the Englishman’s arms were a different colour from that of his hands!
It was the white men’s turn to be inspected again. Everyone, from the Captain to the boat’s crew, was implored to show his arms, and this only led to further mystification, for while the hands of the officers were tanned and their arms white, the brown on the seamen extended to the elbows. A full parliament was at once held, but the debate had to be abandoned; the matter was too abstruse for the Fuegian brain.
Mr. Darwin created a diversion by attracting the Captain’s attention to a very tall fellow among the group; and to settle an argument between them as to his abnormal height, Fitzroy called to him the tallest of the boat’s crew, and told him to stand back to back with the rival giant. With the natural vanity of the savage, the Fuegian seemed to guess in a moment what was being said about him, and no sooner was he100placed back to back with the seaman than he endeavoured, first to edge himself on to higher ground, and, failing that, to stand a-tiptoe. When York Minster explained to him that he was the taller by two finger-joints, he began to swagger about as if he had bought the island.
The old chief was very anxious that the three natives should at once take up their abode with that portion of the tribe; but neither Jemmy nor Miss Fuegia could yet make themselves understood; the parents of all three lived on the other side of the island, and further, the Captain was not at all satisfied that the chief’s hospitality arose from any higher motive than that of plunder, if not murder.
With a favouring wind they ran through the Strait the next day, and once more went ashore. Here Fitzroy found that his former visit had presumably been forgotten; for when he led an exploring party of thirty men into the nearest camp, the natives armed themselves with slings, stones, and fish-spears, and assumed altogether a very threatening front. These folk were the most debased of the islanders; not one man had a stitch of clothing on him, and whereas the other natives had shown such terror of the bluejackets’ muskets that they would not even lay a finger on them, these were not even inquisitive as to the weapons of the white men, and certainly mistook the amiable demeanour of the strangers for timidity. They dropped their arms, however, on some offerings of red ribbon being made.
But possession only whetted greed; and taking up their arms again, they began one and all to bawl101“Yammerskooner,” which, York Minster said, meant “give me,” but which sounded a great deal more like “your money or your life!” The more the sailors gave, the more did the Indians pester, till, with the hope of scaring them away, Fitzroy drew his sword and flourished it round the head of the chief; but he and those with him laughed jeeringly, as though this were only child’s fooling. Then the Captain, who was an excellent shot, pointed a pistol at—or rather half an inch above—the head of the noisiest of the party, and fired.
Every man stared at his neighbour; every man clapped his hands to his ears and uttered an ejaculation; but nobody thought of moving. Poor wretches; they were as ignorant of danger as the wild beasts.
“No good, Captain Sir,” said York Minster. “But you kill one—then all run.”
“Tell them they’re likely to get hurt if they go too far,” said the Captain. The interpreter obeyed, but they showed no more feeling at his remark than fear of the pistol.
It was growing late; the Englishmen were hungry and had yet to find a comfortable ground for the night’s bivouac. Fitzroy quietly told his men to draw off; but at the first movement of retreat, the savages grew bolder and more menacing. Nothing could be much more galling to Englishmen than retreat under such circumstances as these. Here were thirty white men, all well armed, and the majority of them experienced fighting-men, turning their backs on less than a hundred miserable specimens of humanity with scarcely brains enough to know the use of their own weapons. The102faster the sailors moved, the faster the Indians followed. To kill one or two of their number would have been to put the rest to flight; but unless actual violence should be offered, neither Fitzroy nor any of his companions were the men to disgrace their flag by the sort of “fighting” which has made the Spaniards and Dutch hated in East and West.
Arrived at a good spot, the Captain called a halt, and ignoring his persecutors, ordered a large fire to be made, and posted sentries at various points round the camp; then told York to try his eloquence with the natives once more. Meanwhile the stores were unpacked, and at sight of the strangers eating, a new begging chorus arose which was fortunately satisfied by a small distribution of ship’s biscuit.
At dark the natives were ordered out of the camp and warned by York that they must not attempt to pass the sentries. That lesson was impressed on the more obstinate by the sailors’ throwing them “neck and crop” beyond the boundary line. This sort of argument they could understand; and though some of them loitered round the camp all night, or lit their own watch-fires close to it, there were no attempts at trespass.
Young Jemmy Button, on being rallied by the officers on his disreputable connections, stoutly disowned them; he belonged to another tribe, he said. But soon after sunrise several dozen strange men and women appeared, summoned by the remainder, and among them were Jemmy’s mother and brethren. Darwin, who witnessed the reunion, says, “the meeting was less interesting than between a horse turned out103into a field and an old companion.” But those women who recognised Fuegia showed themselves very interested in her toilette.
It was now that the value of Fitzroy’s experiment was to be tested. Matthews, the missionary, asked to be left behind with three natives while the sailors continued their coasting trip; and it was plain enough that York and his bride and Jemmy asked nothing better than to be allowed to settle among their own people, from whom they had now been absent four years. Already Jemmy was recalling his language—which was a great mercy for him, for, as Fitzroy had said earlier, “he had forgotten Fuegian and never more than half learned English, so that he was as ignorant as a rational being could well be.”
The Captain’s surveying expedition lasted for some days, and when it was finished he ordered the boats to call at the spot where the missionary had been left, before they returned to theBeagle.
Mr. Matthews was awaiting them in a terrible plight: scarcely a rag of clothes on him, hungry, bruised, and wounded, and with a wretched tale to unfold. Jemmy had been robbed of everything he possessed; even York, strong man though he was, had had much ado to protect himself and his wife, while the missionary, left to fend for himself, had not dared to sleep during the whole time. He had been robbed, stoned, threatened with all manner of violence, and only saved from death by doling out buttons, studs, or coins which he had contrived to secrete.
Fitzroy, who knew that these people were not only ruffians but occasionally cannibals as well, sent the104missionary on board again, and was half tempted to take Jemmy with him also, particularly as the young man was loud in abuse of his family; but on the whole he was likely to be safe enough under York’s patronage now that he had nothing left to steal.
The brig made sail farther south, and a month or so later returned to her old anchorage. Before long a canoe put off from the shore, and a thin, haggard savage came paddling out to the vessel—Jemmy! Jemmy, without a rag to cover him!
“I think, sir, you’ll have to take him aboard again,” pleaded young Darwin.
“It does look like it,” said Fitzroy. “I’m afraid we’ve made a fish out of water of him,” and the two went forward to greet their old friend.
But Jemmy electrified everyone by the statement that he was perfectly happy, and had only come out to bring a couple of otter-skins to Lieutenant Sulivan and Dr. Bynoe—his favourites among the officers—and some neatly-carved arrows for the Captain; and further, to invite the ship’s company ashore to visit the tribe.
Mr. Button was fed, and loaded with presents; and later in the day Fitzroy, Sulivan, and Darwin went ashore. The first thing that was apparent was that Jemmy had taught the tribe some English words; the second was that that youth had reasons for not wishing to rejoin theBeagle. For, pointing to a modest-looking girl who stood in the background, the old chief tapped the Captain on the shoulder and observed, “Jemmy’s wife; Jemmy’s wife,” and the whole tribe, parrot-like, took up the cry.
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Fitzroy never met his protégés again; but, in 1842, Captain Sulivan, who was cruising off the island, fell in with a British whaling skipper, and he told him that his men had seen a native woman who spoke excellent English. This could have been no other than Fuegia.
106CHAPTER VIIITHE END OF THE “BLACK HAWK” WAR
Some allowance ought surely to be made for a man who is condemned to go through life with such a name as Muckkertamesheckkerkerk; and, to do the United States Government justice, the gentleman so styled seems to have been treated with a good deal of patience and lenity.
“Black Hawk” (to give him at once the name by which he is better known in American history) was an Indian chief who contrived to be as much a thorn in the flesh of the white rulers of his country as—let us say—some of the Welsh princes were in that of our Plantagenet kings. He was born in 1767, and by the time he was fifteen had so distinguished himself in war and in hunting that he became a recognised brave of his tribe—the Sac and Fox. Up till the year 1804 the new republic could afford to ignore the deeds and misdeeds of this renowned patriot, for he confined most of his energies to warfare with the Cherokees and Osages—sub-tribes of the Iroquois; but, as white civilisation continued to push westward, it became necessary either to conciliate or to subdue those who stood in the way of its progress.
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At first conciliation did not appear difficult. General Harrison invited Black Hawk—now a man of four-and-thirty, and the recognised champion of all the Algonquin Indian tribes—to appear at St. Louis, in order to discuss the question of boundaries, and to enter into a treaty which would be of mutual benefit. Black Hawk came, and with him a host of tributary chiefs—Shawnees, Blackfeet, Sacs and Foxes, etc.
The American General’s proposals were fair and to the point. The redskins were to renounce all claim to about seven hundred miles of land east of the Mississippi, in return for an annual payment of a thousand dollars. A couple of hundred pounds as rental for a strip of land some eight hundred miles long sounds ridiculous enough to us, unless we bear in mind that the Indians were merely asked to keep to the other side of the river; they were not giving up towns or houses or cultivated lands; they were receiving what—to them—meant a very substantial income, in return for their migrating to far better hunting-grounds in Iowa and Minnesota. Black Hawk solemnly agreed to the contract, with—we must believe—every intention of keeping his word.
Unluckily, General Harrison and his officers had rather lavish notions of hospitality; and when Black Hawk’s decision was made known to the other chiefs, most of them were a great deal too drunk to know what they were agreeing to. The money was paid regularly enough, and, for some few years, whatever breaches of the treaty there were, were so trifling that the Government could easily wink at them. Black Hawk went about his hunting and his civil warfare108and conducted himself as a respectable savage should.
Then he got into bad hands. As the troubles of our own armies in India and the Soudan have shown, it is no uncommon thing to find peaceable men stirred to fighting frenzy by some maniac who makes it his business to cause as much strife as possible in the name of religion. A great prophet had arisen among the Indians—a Shawnee, in whose hands poor Black Hawk was wax; and who gave the redskins no rest till they crossed the river in a body, and swept eastwards as far as Michigan, driving the handful of white settlers back and back to the towns from which they had come. This was in 1811. In the following year, now thoroughly persuaded that he and all the chiefs and all the white subscribers to the treaty were drunk when it was signed, and that it was no longer binding, Black Hawk pressed on into Michigan as far as Detroit. This was more than human patience could stand; the white citizens turned out, and drove away the Indians with such slaughter that their leader was only too glad to draw off. For four years he confined his attacks to petty farm raids, and, in 1816, signed another treaty, which was followed by fourteen years of comparative peace, though Black Hawk and a few of his supporters refused to retire across the river again.
By 1830 the States Government, realising its folly in having allowed any deviation from the strict terms of the agreement, obliged Black Hawk to sign another, by which every acre of land east of the river became white property. It was now that the real trouble began.109The Indian chief was growing old, losing his former promptness of action, and becoming more and more a slave to the Shawnee prophet’s counsels. During the fourteen years that he had been practically defying the Government, he and his immediate adherents had begun to farm a little; and just now their crops were ripening, and harvest-time was almost due. When the order came for him to leave the neighbourhood he lost his head or his temper, refused to stir, and threatened with death anyone who dared to interfere with him. A week later he returned from his hunting to find some white labourers calmly ploughing up his crops and parcelling out his land. There was a brief scuffle, and the whites were obliged to flee, and thus opened the last period of the war.
Knowing that vengeance would be taken, Black Hawk sent across the river for more warriors, and prepared to make a decided stand. But instead of the half-dozen shopkeepers and labourers he had been prepared to meet, he found himself attacked by a body of men several hundred strong, well armed, and many of them mounted. These were the Illinois militia under General Gaines—hardy trappers, farmers, and timber-rafters, whose fathers had fought with and defeated British regiments. The Indians’ nerve failed them, and, after a single deadly volley from the militia, they fled. But, instead of crossing the river, they went north, into Wisconsin, where they looked to find remnants of their tribe who would ally themselves with them.
During the whole of the next year, and until the summer of 1832, a very clever guerrilla warfare was110carried on by the savages; hundreds of white men were killed, and scarcely one Indian; nor was there much in the shape of a pitched battle. It was then that General Atkinson, an old and experienced fighter of Indians, was sent to put an end to the whole matter. Dispatching a small force of light cavalry, under General Scott, to search the woods, he marched the bulk of his little army towards the Wisconsin River, in the hope of eventually surrounding the Indians and capturing Black Hawk.
His march proved more tedious than he had bargained for. Nowadays tired New Yorkers and Chicagoites, with a taste for sport, devote their summer holidays to shooting over the beautiful Wisconsin highlands; but in 1832 there were no railways or palace-like hotels there. Even a farm was a rarity, and every hill or ravine might conceal a score of Indian sharpshooters. The whole aspect of the country was savage, dreary, and forbidding. It had been the duty of the advance guard to see that there were no redskins lying in ambush; but General Atkinson soon began to think that that duty had been very much neglected, for at almost every mile an arrow or a bullet came from nowhere, wounding some man or horse, and in one case killing a Sioux guide. This kind of thing continued for a couple of days or more; and Atkinson had begun to say somewhat hard things of his colleague when one of the scouts rode up to report a mound of earth which, he said, looked very much like a grave. Before the day was out, six more such mounds had been seen by the wayside, and as most of them were marked by a cross, hastily made with a111couple of sticks, it was all too probable that these were the graves of white men.
The old soldier’s mind was soon made up.
“We must get double work out of our horses, boys,” he said; “there’ll be no camping to-night; I’m going to overtake General Scott.”
All sorts of possibilities suggested themselves, the most prominent of which was that they were coming to a district more thickly populated by Indians, who had been picking off Scott’s men with increasing rapidity; for the last four graves were ominously close together. Scouts were doubled and, so far from making any pretence of a stealthy march, lanterns and torches were lit, and every hiding-place hurriedly examined. The night passed without any sign of Indians; but, soon after daybreak, three or four columns of smoke were seen rising from behind a hill that lay in the line of march. Half a dozen scouts galloped forward and soon disappeared. Atkinson’s men closed up, baggage-waggons were dragged to the centre, and in a moment everyone was prepared either to charge or to repel a charge.
In less than five minutes a single horseman appeared on the top of the hill and clattered down the slope. Atkinson spurred his horse and hurried to meet the messenger—one of the six scouts.
“Well?” he shouted when he was within earshot.
“General Scott—cholera—had to give up!” was the cheering intelligence.
“Forward!” shouted Atkinson, and the company hastened over the hill, at the foot of which a pitiable state of things awaited them. Soon after the start of112Scott’s troops, cholera, in its most malignant form, had broken out among the party. In less than two days seven men were dead, and now the remainder had been obliged to abandon their march, for there was scarcely a trooper of them who was not more or less afflicted by the horrible malady. As some little consolation for these tidings, General Scott reported that he had dislodged a party of Sac and Fox Indians from a ravine, and that these had fled collectively towards Bad Axe River.
Leaving behind the few men that he could spare to guard and nurse the sick, Atkinson hastily drew his force to a safe distance from the cholera camp, and, after a few hours’ rest, marched for the nearest reach of the river, and along the bank, northwards.
Indian chasing does not permit of lengthy rest; the cavalry did not stop again till long after nightfall, and were off again before dawn. That afternoon, as they came to a wider strip of river, the General realised—and not for the first time—that it is the unexpected that usually happens. Barely a mile ahead, a schooner, towed by three cutters, was moving slowly northward. Atkinson galloped ahead, but before he had overtaken the vessel the men in the boats had long ceased rowing, and she was heading more towards the opposite bank.
“Who areyou?” was suddenly shouted from her after-deck.
“General Atkinson. Who are you, and what are you about here? Seen any Injuns?”
“TheWarrior—Captain Throckmorton.—All right, sir; I’m sending a boat ashore for you.”
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This was the first that Atkinson had heard of a river expedition having been sent. He knew Captain Throckmorton as a very distinguished young officer, and a clever linguist, master of several native dialects. While he was speculating as to what had brought the schooner here, and, further, as to the meaning of a white, flag-like object which—as he looked past the vessel’s stern—he could see waving on the opposite bank, one of the cutters had pulled ashore and was waiting for him. A lieutenant met him at the gangway.
“Cap’n’s talking to the redskins. Come aft, sir, please.”
Then the waving white thing was explained; there were Indians on the far bank, seeking, under cover of the white flag, to parley with the Captain. Atkinson joined him and, as well as he was able, followed the dialogue.
“If you want to speak to me, you must send at least ten of your men aboard.”
“I have not so many with me.”
“Liar. I saw over a hundred of you a few minutes ago. Where’s your hopeful leader? Where’s Black Hawk?”
“They were but women and children whom you saw.”
“Where’s Black Hawk?”
“Are those General Atkinson’s warriors on the other bank?”
“Yes,” interrupted the old soldier explosively; “and I reckon you’ll find that out purty soon.”
“Where is Black Hawk?” once more demanded the Captain.
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“He is—he is—oh, across the river.”
“Will you come aboard if I send you a boat?”
“No.”
“Then I give you fifteen minutes in which to send away your women. You know what that—Heads oh!”
A flight of arrows had greeted the Captain’s last remark. Happily no one was struck, and the schooner immediately put into mid-stream again.
Through the thick foliage on the bank, a redskin or a white feather could be seen every now and then; the muffled sound of voices could also be heard. Then another volley of arrows came; and another, and exclamations from the direction of the boats showed that two men were wounded. The captain motioned to the crews to shelter behind the vessel, but still he gave no order. He had promised a quarter of an hour’s grace, and only five minutes of that time had gone by.
“Hear that?” said Atkinson suddenly; and Throckmorton nodded. Every man on deck had heard the click-click of a score or more of gun-hammers being pulled back.
The crew looked questioningly, but not impatiently, at their captain; they knew that he would not go back from his word. There were still seven minutes to wait.
“Lie low, all hands,” said Throckmorton very quietly; and as he spoke twenty or more sparks and flashes showed through the leaves and a shower of lead flew over their heads. The man at the wheel was shot in the shoulder; but the Captain sprang back and had taken the spokes almost before the sailor fell.
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“Let them go on,” he said, looking at his watch again. “Your turn will come, my lads.”
Perhaps no other men on the face of the earth, save those of British extraction, would have stood by uncomplainingly during those next five minutes without returning a shot. Every man had a loaded musket in his hand, except the two or three who were in attendance on the howitzer, ready at a second’s notice to fire. Another flight of arrows came; then one more, and the schooner’s spars and bulwarks were bristling with them.
“Two more minutes!” said Throckmorton. “Look out; they’re firing again.”
The volley came. One man fell dead, and another had his hat carried away; but still no one spoke. Captain Throckmorton beckoned a sailor to him and bade him take the wheel; and again expectant eyes were turned on him. Suddenly he returned his watch to his pocket, and everyone gave a little gasp of relief. The Captain nodded to the men at the howitzer, and instantly a shell flew among the trees; and, before the echo of the report had died away, the sailors’ muskets began an incessant fire. Indians appeared from everywhere—from tree-branches, grass, sedge, in many cases only to fall before the steady rain of bullets. Some ran north, others south, and these latter suddenly found their retreat cut off by a heavy fire from the other bank; for Colonel Dodge, whom Atkinson had left in charge, had only waited for the men on the schooner to begin firing to get his own carabineers to work.
“Where can my waggons ford it?” asked Atkinson significantly.
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Captain Throckmorton soon produced a soundings-chart and showed that, at about a mile higher up, the waggons could easily cross, now that the tide was running down.
“Put me ashore, then.”
In a very few minutes the old fighting-man was in the saddle again; and, while the baggage was moved on to the ford, he and a hundred light-armed cowboys were swimming their horses across the river. The shelter from which the Indians had fired proved to be a narrow, copse-like strip which separated the river from an undulating prairie.
“There they go, General!” cried a young fellow, Captain Dixon, who rode behind the leader.
“Ay; making for the hills.Iknow; the same old plant. We must pretend to be taken in.—Go on, Dixon; after ’em with twenty men.”
The General knew well enough, from bygone experience, that the spot from which the score or so of redskins were fleeing was probably that at which the bulk of their army layperdu, and that they were merely trying their old trick of getting a pursuing force between the two halves of their own. He rode steadily on, and, before he reached the hills, saw that he had not been mistaken. The fleeing Indians had suddenly wheeled and were bearing down furiously on Captain Dixon’s few men.
“Forward!” shouted Atkinson. “He can take good care of himself. We want Black Hawk.... And here he is, by the living Jingo!”
As he spoke, sixty or seventy Indians appeared at the top of the hill, four of them beautifully mounted;117the rest on wrecks of animals that could scarcely be matched in a Belfast job-yard.
“Fire! A hundred dollars to the man who gets Black Hawk—alive or dead,” shouted Atkinson as he drew his horse to one side.
Without drawing bridle, the troop fired and reloaded, as only men born, reared, and nourished in the saddle as these were could have done. Three of the well-mounted Indians, ignoring the volley, rode straight at the white men, and were followed more hesitatingly by the rest, with the exception of those killed, and of the fourth man, evidently—from his fantastic garb—the aged Shawnee prophet.
“Black Hawk! Black Hawk! Over with him!” roared the excited Yankees, as a splendid-looking old man, six feet four inches in height, rode fearlessly at them. Pistol-bullets whizzed round his head, but he appeared to ignore them and, swinging his war-hatchet, began to cut a way through the cowboys. His two well-horsed companions—his sons—followed closely, and in a couple of minutes six of Atkinson’s men were dead. But one glance behind him showed the chief that he was playing a losing game. General Atkinson seemed to have surrounded all the rest of the Indians with his troop, who were hewing them down right and left. Captain Dixon’s men, too, had put to flight or killed those who had turned on them, and were now coming to reinforce their comrades.
With a passionate yell of disappointment and hatred, the chief turned his horse’s head in the direction whither the prophet was already fleeing; and, with his sons, rode for some distant bluffs. It was all very118well for Atkinson to spur in pursuit, shouting, “After him!” The white men’s horses had been almost dead-beat before the flight began, and now could scarcely move at all; and the General was obliged to await his baggage-vans for the pitching of his camp, for at least a few hours.
But, before those few hours were ended, another party of Indians came riding into view, and, as the men sprang to their arms, one of Atkinson’s Sioux guides cried jubilantly: “They are our brothers! They are the white chief’s brothers also.”
The strangers galloped up and showed a goodly supply of fresh scalps. They had pursued and slaughtered those of Black Hawk’s warriors who could not escape with him.
“Why didn’t you catch Black Hawk?” asked Atkinson disgustedly.
“We know where he has gone to hide. What will the white chief give us for Black Hawk and his sons?”
The old man named a price, and the troop rode off again. Soon after sunrise they returned, and in their midst were Black Hawk and his sons. The old chief was sullenly silent—a broken man, in fact—and one is glad to know that these rough cowboys had it in them to treat the poor old fellow with the courtesy becoming his standing among the natives.
With his two sons and seven other braves he was taken to Fort Monroe and there imprisoned for a short time; but when the country was once more quieted, the Government appointed a fresh chief in his place and he was set at liberty. He died among his own people six years later.