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]
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.
[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 onthe 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.)
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 onthe 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 ofHyde 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.
[AC]The treaty wherein the six miles square, which includes Chicago, was reserved to the whites.
From "Cyclopædia of United States History."
Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
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 haveit. Mr. Kinzie suggested that the government might make this loss good, but this Captain Heald could not vouch for. The spirits were destroyed.
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 haveit. 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?
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 Indianwigwams—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.
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 stretchinginland 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.
FATE OF THE FUGITIVES.
E
EVERY word bearing upon the adventures of the handful of Chicagoans left alive on Sunday, August 16th, 1812, has been carefully looked up and faithfully transcribed. Those words are few enough; the silence and darkness that enshroud their fate are more pathetically eloquent than speech could well be.
To begin with the Healds, who, as we have seen, were brought again together on the morning of August 16th, by the half-breed, Chandonnais. Darius Heald continues his report of his mother's narrative, as follows:
It is thought that the Indians went off down the lake to have "a general frolic;" in other words, to torture to death the wounded prisoners. On the night of the sixteenth, Captain and Mrs. Heald, accompanied by an Indian named Robinson [probably Chief Robinson, well known in Chicago for many years], embarked in a canoe and, unmolested, commenced their journey to Mackinaw. Chandonnais' friendship was no half-way matter. They traveled all that night and all next day, until late in the evening, when they saw a young deer coming down to the water in a little clump of bushes to get a drink. They drew as near the shore as possible, and the Indian lad stepped out and waded to the shore, skipped down the bank behind the deer and shot it. Then they pitched camp, dressed the deer, using the hide as a kneading-board, whereon Mrs. Heald stirred up some flour (they having brought alittle in a leather bag from the fort) into a stiff paste, which she wound around sticks and toasted over the fire; and this Captain Heald afterward declared to be the finest bread he ever ate.
It is thought that the Indians went off down the lake to have "a general frolic;" in other words, to torture to death the wounded prisoners. On the night of the sixteenth, Captain and Mrs. Heald, accompanied by an Indian named Robinson [probably Chief Robinson, well known in Chicago for many years], embarked in a canoe and, unmolested, commenced their journey to Mackinaw. Chandonnais' friendship was no half-way matter. They traveled all that night and all next day, until late in the evening, when they saw a young deer coming down to the water in a little clump of bushes to get a drink. They drew as near the shore as possible, and the Indian lad stepped out and waded to the shore, skipped down the bank behind the deer and shot it. Then they pitched camp, dressed the deer, using the hide as a kneading-board, whereon Mrs. Heald stirred up some flour (they having brought alittle in a leather bag from the fort) into a stiff paste, which she wound around sticks and toasted over the fire; and this Captain Heald afterward declared to be the finest bread he ever ate.
Here should come in, (according to Mrs. Helm's account in Wau-Bun) mention of a halt of some days at the mouth of the St. Joseph's river. It seems to me quite probable that the lapse of time had obliterated from Darius Heald's memory that part of his mother's narrative; or that he passed over, in talking to the stenographer, a matter which a timely question would have brought out. (See the Wau-Bun story, further on.)
They pushed on to Mackinaw, as Captain Heald said he had no chance of getting clear except by going to a British officer, and it was here that his parole was taken. It happened that Captain Heald and the officer in command at Mackinaw were both Free Masons, and Mrs. Heald says that they went off into a room by themselves, and that Captain Heald told his story and asked for help. He said that the Indians would pursue them, would not be more than twenty-four hours behind, and that a body would overtake them, and asked the British officer if he could protect them. The British officer said it would be a very hard matter in the fix they were in. If the Indians came down they might be overpowered; but that he would do this: He had a little "sailer" [a sailing-boat], and he would put Captain Heald and his wife in that and anchor it near the shore, and as soon as there were signs of Indians would signal them to start. He then took out his pocket-book and told Captain Heald to help himself "But," said Captain Heald, "we may never meet again." "That," said the officer, "makes no difference. You have a wife and I have no one on whom to spend money. I can do without it. You take it and use it, and if it is ever convenient to send it back you may do so." Mrs. Heald says she never knew why the officer should have been so kind to them, but laid it to the fact of their both being Masons; but said she "could never get anything out of him" (Captain Heald), although she tried more than once, and that she "never expected to get to know Masonic secrets."However, Captain Heald did not take the money of the noble and generous enemy, for he had at that moment some two hundred dollars, probably in gold, which his provident wife had sewn in the cuffs of his undershirt, a circumstance which would indicate that she, at least, foresaw possible tribulation before they left the fort.The Indians came in sight looking one hundred strong, and the British officer gave the sign for the little boat to move on. They went down to Detroit, and thence to Buffalo, whence they crossed to Pittsburg and went down the Ohio River, having procured, through an officer, some conveyance by which to go down the river, and they then drifted down, part of the way by boat and part of the way by raft, and in this way reached Kentucky soil. They reached Mrs. Heald's old home by night, past midnight, and rapped for admittance. Colonel Samuel Wells asked, "Who's there?" "A friend," said Captain Heald. "Well, who are you?" "Well, I am a friend." Mrs. Heald then spoke up and said, "Yes, two friends." Colonel Wells thought he recognized a woman's voice, and came to the door and opened it, and found himself face to face with his daughter, whom he had not seen for nearly two years, whom he had supposed to be dead, who left him as a bride and returned home as a wounded prisoner. They had been two months on the way from Fort Dearborn to Kentucky.Before her death, in 1856, Mrs. Heald had dictated to Mrs. Kerr, her niece, a large number of facts connected with her life. The manuscript was foolscap, and contained, Mr. Heald thinks, some hundreds of pages. It was in existence up to the time of the Union War, and he remembers seeing it wrapped up in a newspaper and tied with twine, at the Heald residence, in St. Charles County, Missouri, near the town of O'Fallon. During one of the incursions of Union soldiers the house was ransacked from top to bottom. Captain Heald's sword was taken away, and, greatest loss of all, that manuscript then disappeared, Mr. Heald thinks probably destroyed—burned among other papers supposed to be of no value.A negro boy, who had been raised by Mr. Heald, received word that that sword had been left somewhere not far from home, and was then being used as a corn-knife, and he obtained it and brought it back to Mr. Heald, who recognized it as what was left of his father's old sword; but alas! the manuscript has never been heard of—probably never will be. This is the nearest approach now possible to a reproduction of the facts it contained.
They pushed on to Mackinaw, as Captain Heald said he had no chance of getting clear except by going to a British officer, and it was here that his parole was taken. It happened that Captain Heald and the officer in command at Mackinaw were both Free Masons, and Mrs. Heald says that they went off into a room by themselves, and that Captain Heald told his story and asked for help. He said that the Indians would pursue them, would not be more than twenty-four hours behind, and that a body would overtake them, and asked the British officer if he could protect them. The British officer said it would be a very hard matter in the fix they were in. If the Indians came down they might be overpowered; but that he would do this: He had a little "sailer" [a sailing-boat], and he would put Captain Heald and his wife in that and anchor it near the shore, and as soon as there were signs of Indians would signal them to start. He then took out his pocket-book and told Captain Heald to help himself "But," said Captain Heald, "we may never meet again." "That," said the officer, "makes no difference. You have a wife and I have no one on whom to spend money. I can do without it. You take it and use it, and if it is ever convenient to send it back you may do so." Mrs. Heald says she never knew why the officer should have been so kind to them, but laid it to the fact of their both being Masons; but said she "could never get anything out of him" (Captain Heald), although she tried more than once, and that she "never expected to get to know Masonic secrets."
However, Captain Heald did not take the money of the noble and generous enemy, for he had at that moment some two hundred dollars, probably in gold, which his provident wife had sewn in the cuffs of his undershirt, a circumstance which would indicate that she, at least, foresaw possible tribulation before they left the fort.
The Indians came in sight looking one hundred strong, and the British officer gave the sign for the little boat to move on. They went down to Detroit, and thence to Buffalo, whence they crossed to Pittsburg and went down the Ohio River, having procured, through an officer, some conveyance by which to go down the river, and they then drifted down, part of the way by boat and part of the way by raft, and in this way reached Kentucky soil. They reached Mrs. Heald's old home by night, past midnight, and rapped for admittance. Colonel Samuel Wells asked, "Who's there?" "A friend," said Captain Heald. "Well, who are you?" "Well, I am a friend." Mrs. Heald then spoke up and said, "Yes, two friends." Colonel Wells thought he recognized a woman's voice, and came to the door and opened it, and found himself face to face with his daughter, whom he had not seen for nearly two years, whom he had supposed to be dead, who left him as a bride and returned home as a wounded prisoner. They had been two months on the way from Fort Dearborn to Kentucky.
Before her death, in 1856, Mrs. Heald had dictated to Mrs. Kerr, her niece, a large number of facts connected with her life. The manuscript was foolscap, and contained, Mr. Heald thinks, some hundreds of pages. It was in existence up to the time of the Union War, and he remembers seeing it wrapped up in a newspaper and tied with twine, at the Heald residence, in St. Charles County, Missouri, near the town of O'Fallon. During one of the incursions of Union soldiers the house was ransacked from top to bottom. Captain Heald's sword was taken away, and, greatest loss of all, that manuscript then disappeared, Mr. Heald thinks probably destroyed—burned among other papers supposed to be of no value.
A negro boy, who had been raised by Mr. Heald, received word that that sword had been left somewhere not far from home, and was then being used as a corn-knife, and he obtained it and brought it back to Mr. Heald, who recognized it as what was left of his father's old sword; but alas! the manuscript has never been heard of—probably never will be. This is the nearest approach now possible to a reproduction of the facts it contained.
The Wau-Bun narrative is more circumstantial, if not more trustworthy, and tends naturally in a different direction. It goes on:
Along with Mr. Kinzie's party was a non-commissioned officer who had made his escape in a singular manner. As the troops were about leaving the fort it was found that the baggage horses of thesurgeon had strayed off. The quartermaster-sergeant, Griffith, was sent to collect them and bring them on, it being absolutely necessary to recover them, since their packs contained part of the surgeon's apparatus and the medicines for the march.This man had been for a long time on the sick report, and for this reason was given the charge of the baggage instead of being placed with the troops. His efforts to recover the horses being unsuccessful, he was hastening to rejoin his party, alarmed at some appearances of disorder and hostile indications among the Indians, when he was met and made prisoner by To-pee-nee-be.Having taken from him his arms and accoutrements, the chief put him in a canoe and paddled him across the river, bidding him make for the woods and secrete himself. This he did, and the following day in the afternoon, seeing from his lurking-place that all appeared quiet, he ventured to steal cautiously into the garden of Ouilmette, where he concealed himself for a time behind some currant-bushes.At length he determined to enter the house, and accordingly climbed up through a small back window into the room where the family were. This was just as the Wabash Indians left the house of Ouilmette for that of Mr. Kinzie. The danger of the sergeant was now imminent. The family stripped him of his uniform and arrayed him in a suit of deerskin, with belt, moccasins and pipe, like a French engage. His dark complexion and large black whiskers favored the disguise. The family were all ordered to address him in French, and although utterly ignorant of the language, he continued to pass for a Weem-tee-gosh,[AD]and as such to accompany Mr. Kinzie and his family, undetected by his enemies, until they reached a place of safety.
Along with Mr. Kinzie's party was a non-commissioned officer who had made his escape in a singular manner. As the troops were about leaving the fort it was found that the baggage horses of thesurgeon had strayed off. The quartermaster-sergeant, Griffith, was sent to collect them and bring them on, it being absolutely necessary to recover them, since their packs contained part of the surgeon's apparatus and the medicines for the march.
This man had been for a long time on the sick report, and for this reason was given the charge of the baggage instead of being placed with the troops. His efforts to recover the horses being unsuccessful, he was hastening to rejoin his party, alarmed at some appearances of disorder and hostile indications among the Indians, when he was met and made prisoner by To-pee-nee-be.
Having taken from him his arms and accoutrements, the chief put him in a canoe and paddled him across the river, bidding him make for the woods and secrete himself. This he did, and the following day in the afternoon, seeing from his lurking-place that all appeared quiet, he ventured to steal cautiously into the garden of Ouilmette, where he concealed himself for a time behind some currant-bushes.
At length he determined to enter the house, and accordingly climbed up through a small back window into the room where the family were. This was just as the Wabash Indians left the house of Ouilmette for that of Mr. Kinzie. The danger of the sergeant was now imminent. The family stripped him of his uniform and arrayed him in a suit of deerskin, with belt, moccasins and pipe, like a French engage. His dark complexion and large black whiskers favored the disguise. The family were all ordered to address him in French, and although utterly ignorant of the language, he continued to pass for a Weem-tee-gosh,[AD]and as such to accompany Mr. Kinzie and his family, undetected by his enemies, until they reached a place of safety.
[AD]Frenchman.
[AD]Frenchman.
On the third day after the battle, the family of Mr. Kinzie, with the clerks of the establishment, were put into a boat under the care of François, a half-breed interpreter, and conveyed to St. Joseph's, where they remained until the following November, under the protection of To-pe-nee-bee's band. They were then conducted to Detroit under the escort of Chandonnais and their trusty Indian friend, Kee-po-tah, and delivered up as prisoners of war to Colonel McKee, the British Indian Agent.Mr. Kinzie was not allowed to leave St. Joseph's with his family, his Indian friends insisting on his remaining and endeavoring to secure some remnant of his scattered property. During his excursions with them for that purpose he wore the costume and paint ofthe tribe, in order to escape capture and perhaps death at the hands of those who were still thirsting for blood. In time, however, his anxiety for his family induced him to follow them to Detroit, where in the month of January he was received and paroled by General Proctor.Captain and Mrs. Heald had been sent across the lake to St. Joseph's, the day after the battle. The former had received two wounds and the latter seven in the engagement.
On the third day after the battle, the family of Mr. Kinzie, with the clerks of the establishment, were put into a boat under the care of François, a half-breed interpreter, and conveyed to St. Joseph's, where they remained until the following November, under the protection of To-pe-nee-bee's band. They were then conducted to Detroit under the escort of Chandonnais and their trusty Indian friend, Kee-po-tah, and delivered up as prisoners of war to Colonel McKee, the British Indian Agent.
Mr. Kinzie was not allowed to leave St. Joseph's with his family, his Indian friends insisting on his remaining and endeavoring to secure some remnant of his scattered property. During his excursions with them for that purpose he wore the costume and paint ofthe tribe, in order to escape capture and perhaps death at the hands of those who were still thirsting for blood. In time, however, his anxiety for his family induced him to follow them to Detroit, where in the month of January he was received and paroled by General Proctor.
Captain and Mrs. Heald had been sent across the lake to St. Joseph's, the day after the battle. The former had received two wounds and the latter seven in the engagement.
ALEXANDER ROBINSON (in old age).Chief of the Pottowatomies, Chippewas, and others.
ALEXANDER ROBINSON (in old age).Chief of the Pottowatomies, Chippewas, and others.
Lieutenant Helm, who was likewise wounded, was carried by some friendly Indian to their village on the Au Sable, and thence to Peoria, where he was liberated by the intervention of Mr. Thomas Forsyth, the half-brother of Mr. Kinzie. Mrs. Helm had accompanied her parents to St. Joseph's, where they resided in the family of Alexander Robinson,[AE]receiving from them all possible kindness and hospitality for several months.
Lieutenant Helm, who was likewise wounded, was carried by some friendly Indian to their village on the Au Sable, and thence to Peoria, where he was liberated by the intervention of Mr. Thomas Forsyth, the half-brother of Mr. Kinzie. Mrs. Helm had accompanied her parents to St. Joseph's, where they resided in the family of Alexander Robinson,[AE]receiving from them all possible kindness and hospitality for several months.
[AE]This Pottowatomie chief, well known to many of the citizens of Chicago, was residing at Aux Plaines when Wau-Bun was written.
[AE]This Pottowatomie chief, well known to many of the citizens of Chicago, was residing at Aux Plaines when Wau-Bun was written.
After their arrival in Detroit Mrs. Helm was joined by her husband, when they were both arrested, by order of the British commander, and sent on horseback, in the dead of winter, through Canada, to Fort George, on the Niagara frontier. When they arrived at that post there seemed no official appointed to receive them, and notwithstanding their long and fatiguing journey, in weather the most cold and inclement, Mrs. Helm, a delicate woman of seventeen years, was permitted to sit waiting in her saddle, without the gate, for more than an hour before the refreshment of fire or food, or even the shelter of a roof, was offered to her. When Colonel Sheaffe, who had been absent at the time, was informed of this brutal inhospitality, he expressed the greatest indignation. He waited on Mrs. Helm immediately, apologized in the most courteous manner, and treated her and Lieutenant H. with the most considerate kindness, until, by an exchange of prisoners, they were liberated and found means to reach their friends in Steuben County, New York.Captain Heald had been taken prisoner by an Indian from the Kankakee who had a strong personal regard for him, and who, when he saw the wounded and enfeebled state of Mrs. H., released her husband that he might accompany his wife to St. Joseph's. To the latter place they were accordingly carried, as has been related, by Chandonnais and his party. In the mean time, the Indian who had so nobly released his prisoner returned to his village on the Kankakee, where he had the mortification of finding that his conduct had excited great dissatisfaction among his band. So great was the displeasure manifested that he resolved to make a journey to St. Joseph's and reclaim his prisoner. News of his intention being brought to To-pee-nee-bee and Kee-po-tah, under whose care the prisoners were, they held a private council with Chandonnais, Mr. Kinzie and the principal men of the village, the result of which was, a determination to send Captain and Mrs. Heald to the island of Mackinac and deliver them up to the British. They were accordingly put in a bark canoe and paddled by Robinson and his wife a distance of three hundred miles along the coast of Michigan, and surrendered as prisoners of war to the commanding officer at Mackinac.
After their arrival in Detroit Mrs. Helm was joined by her husband, when they were both arrested, by order of the British commander, and sent on horseback, in the dead of winter, through Canada, to Fort George, on the Niagara frontier. When they arrived at that post there seemed no official appointed to receive them, and notwithstanding their long and fatiguing journey, in weather the most cold and inclement, Mrs. Helm, a delicate woman of seventeen years, was permitted to sit waiting in her saddle, without the gate, for more than an hour before the refreshment of fire or food, or even the shelter of a roof, was offered to her. When Colonel Sheaffe, who had been absent at the time, was informed of this brutal inhospitality, he expressed the greatest indignation. He waited on Mrs. Helm immediately, apologized in the most courteous manner, and treated her and Lieutenant H. with the most considerate kindness, until, by an exchange of prisoners, they were liberated and found means to reach their friends in Steuben County, New York.
Captain Heald had been taken prisoner by an Indian from the Kankakee who had a strong personal regard for him, and who, when he saw the wounded and enfeebled state of Mrs. H., released her husband that he might accompany his wife to St. Joseph's. To the latter place they were accordingly carried, as has been related, by Chandonnais and his party. In the mean time, the Indian who had so nobly released his prisoner returned to his village on the Kankakee, where he had the mortification of finding that his conduct had excited great dissatisfaction among his band. So great was the displeasure manifested that he resolved to make a journey to St. Joseph's and reclaim his prisoner. News of his intention being brought to To-pee-nee-bee and Kee-po-tah, under whose care the prisoners were, they held a private council with Chandonnais, Mr. Kinzie and the principal men of the village, the result of which was, a determination to send Captain and Mrs. Heald to the island of Mackinac and deliver them up to the British. They were accordingly put in a bark canoe and paddled by Robinson and his wife a distance of three hundred miles along the coast of Michigan, and surrendered as prisoners of war to the commanding officer at Mackinac.
This, though discordant with the shorter report received from the Healds, certainly seems to have sound basis of truth. I have no doubt that the Captain and his wife did halt at St. Joseph's and that John Kinzie had somethingto do with their further journey to Mackinac. Wau-Bun proceeds:
As an instance of the procrastinating spirit of Captain Heald it may be mentioned that even after he had received certain intelligence that his Indian captor was on his way from the Kankakee to St. Joseph's to retake him, he would still have delayed another day at that place to make preparation for a more comfortable journey to Mackinac.
As an instance of the procrastinating spirit of Captain Heald it may be mentioned that even after he had received certain intelligence that his Indian captor was on his way from the Kankakee to St. Joseph's to retake him, he would still have delayed another day at that place to make preparation for a more comfortable journey to Mackinac.
Mrs. Helm's acuteness in finding flaws in Captain Heald is quite interesting. But as this Kankakee information must have come entirely through Indian channels, and as the savage plan is ever to strike first and warn afterward, I am prone to suspect that he applied the "personal equation," and made light of the tale; and that there was in fact little in it to frighten a brave man and his heroic wife. (Per contra, see the Mackinaw incident.)
The soldiers, with their wives and surviving children, were dispersed among the different villages of the Pottowatomies, upon the Illinois, Wabash and Rock River, and at Milwaukee, until the following spring, when they were, for the most part, carried to Detroit and ransomed.
The soldiers, with their wives and surviving children, were dispersed among the different villages of the Pottowatomies, upon the Illinois, Wabash and Rock River, and at Milwaukee, until the following spring, when they were, for the most part, carried to Detroit and ransomed.
We should like to believe the hopeful views here given regarding the fate of the remaining prisoners. In truth, this account is as well authenticated as is that given in the Niles' Register, as copied from a Plattsburgh (N. Y.) newspaper, and given later in this work.
Mrs. Burns, with her infant, became the prisoners of a chief who carried her to his village and treated her with great kindness. His wife, from jealousy of the favor shown to the white woman and her child, always treated them with great hostility. On one occasion she struck the infant with a tomahawk, and narrowly missed her aim of putting an end to it altogether.[AF]They were not long left in the power of the old hag, after this demonstration, but on the first opportunity carried to a place of safety.
Mrs. Burns, with her infant, became the prisoners of a chief who carried her to his village and treated her with great kindness. His wife, from jealousy of the favor shown to the white woman and her child, always treated them with great hostility. On one occasion she struck the infant with a tomahawk, and narrowly missed her aim of putting an end to it altogether.[AF]They were not long left in the power of the old hag, after this demonstration, but on the first opportunity carried to a place of safety.
[AF]Twenty-two years after this, as I was on a journey to Chicago in the steamer Uncle Sam, a young woman, hearing my name, introduced herself to me, and raising her hair from her forehead, showed me the mark of the tomahawk which had so nearly been fatal to her. (Mrs. Kinzie, in Wau-Bun.)
[AF]Twenty-two years after this, as I was on a journey to Chicago in the steamer Uncle Sam, a young woman, hearing my name, introduced herself to me, and raising her hair from her forehead, showed me the mark of the tomahawk which had so nearly been fatal to her. (Mrs. Kinzie, in Wau-Bun.)
The family of Mr. Lee had resided in a house on the lake-shore, not far from the fort. Mr. Lee was the owner of Lee's Place, which he cultivated as a farm. It was his son who ran down with a discharged soldier to give the alarm of "Indians" at the fort on the afternoon of the 7th of April. The father, the son, and all the other members had fallen victims on the 15th of August, except Mrs. Lee and her young infant. These were claimed by Black Partridge and carried to his village on the Au Sable. He had been particularly attached to a little girl of Mrs. Lee's, about twelve years of age. This child had been placed on horseback for the march, and as she was unaccustomed to the exercise, she was tied fast to the saddle, lest by any accident she should slip off or be thrown.She was within reach of the balls at the commencement of the engagement, and was severely wounded. The horse set off on a full gallop, which partly threw her, but she was held fast by the bands which confined her, and hung dangling as the animal ran violently about. In this state she was met by Black Partridge, who caught the horse and disengaged her from the saddle. Finding her so much wounded that she could not recover, and that she was suffering great agony, he put the finishing stroke to her at once with his tomahawk. He afterwards said that this was the hardest thing he ever tried to do, but he did it because he could not bear to see her suffer.He took the mother and her infant to his village, where he became warmly attached to the former—so much so that he wished to marry her; but, as she very naturally objected, he treated her with the greatest respect and consideration. He was in no hurry to release her, for he was in hopes of prevailing on her to become his wife. In the course of the winter her child fell ill. Finding that none of the remedies within their reach were effectual, Black Partridge proposed to take the little one to Chicago, where there was now a French trader living in the mansion of Mr. Kinzie, and procure some medical aid from him. Wrapping up his charge with the greatest care he set out on his journey.When he arrived at the residence of M. du Pin, he entered the room where he was, and carefully placed his burden on the floor."What have you there?" asked M. du Pin."A young raccoon which I brought you as a present," was the reply, and opening the pack he showed the little sick infant.When the trader had prescribed for its complaint, and Black Partridge was about to return to his home, he told his friend his proposal to Mrs. Lee to become his wife, and the manner in which it had been received.M. du Pin entertained some fears that the chiefs resolution might not hold out, to leave it to the lady herself whether to receive his addresses or not, so he entered at once into a negotiation for her ransom, and so effectually wrought upon the good feelings of Black Partridge that he consented to bring his fair prisoner at once to Chicago, that she might be restored to her friends.Whether the kind trader had at the outset any other feeling than sympathy and brotherly kindness, we cannot say—we only know that in process of time, Mrs. Lee became Madame du Pin, and that they lived together in great happiness for many years after.
The family of Mr. Lee had resided in a house on the lake-shore, not far from the fort. Mr. Lee was the owner of Lee's Place, which he cultivated as a farm. It was his son who ran down with a discharged soldier to give the alarm of "Indians" at the fort on the afternoon of the 7th of April. The father, the son, and all the other members had fallen victims on the 15th of August, except Mrs. Lee and her young infant. These were claimed by Black Partridge and carried to his village on the Au Sable. He had been particularly attached to a little girl of Mrs. Lee's, about twelve years of age. This child had been placed on horseback for the march, and as she was unaccustomed to the exercise, she was tied fast to the saddle, lest by any accident she should slip off or be thrown.
She was within reach of the balls at the commencement of the engagement, and was severely wounded. The horse set off on a full gallop, which partly threw her, but she was held fast by the bands which confined her, and hung dangling as the animal ran violently about. In this state she was met by Black Partridge, who caught the horse and disengaged her from the saddle. Finding her so much wounded that she could not recover, and that she was suffering great agony, he put the finishing stroke to her at once with his tomahawk. He afterwards said that this was the hardest thing he ever tried to do, but he did it because he could not bear to see her suffer.
He took the mother and her infant to his village, where he became warmly attached to the former—so much so that he wished to marry her; but, as she very naturally objected, he treated her with the greatest respect and consideration. He was in no hurry to release her, for he was in hopes of prevailing on her to become his wife. In the course of the winter her child fell ill. Finding that none of the remedies within their reach were effectual, Black Partridge proposed to take the little one to Chicago, where there was now a French trader living in the mansion of Mr. Kinzie, and procure some medical aid from him. Wrapping up his charge with the greatest care he set out on his journey.
When he arrived at the residence of M. du Pin, he entered the room where he was, and carefully placed his burden on the floor.
"What have you there?" asked M. du Pin.
"A young raccoon which I brought you as a present," was the reply, and opening the pack he showed the little sick infant.
When the trader had prescribed for its complaint, and Black Partridge was about to return to his home, he told his friend his proposal to Mrs. Lee to become his wife, and the manner in which it had been received.
M. du Pin entertained some fears that the chiefs resolution might not hold out, to leave it to the lady herself whether to receive his addresses or not, so he entered at once into a negotiation for her ransom, and so effectually wrought upon the good feelings of Black Partridge that he consented to bring his fair prisoner at once to Chicago, that she might be restored to her friends.
Whether the kind trader had at the outset any other feeling than sympathy and brotherly kindness, we cannot say—we only know that in process of time, Mrs. Lee became Madame du Pin, and that they lived together in great happiness for many years after.
So disappears, from earliest Chicago annals, the name of Lee. The father had been a householder, living somewhere about where the new Public Library is now building, and his farm was (after Père Marquette's "cabinage") the very first settlement on the West Side of the South Branch or "Portage River." His son escaped from the murderers at "Hardscrabble" in spring, only to perish, with his father, during the massacre, or perhaps in the "general frolic" that followed. Then the widow becomes Mrs. du Pin and we hear no more of the Lees. There is a grim completeness about the domestic drama. On Friday it has father, mother, son, daughter and baby, on Saturday, father and son are killed in battle (or by torture) and daughter mangled by a horse's feet and finished by a tomahawk; a few months later the puny baby is brought in to be "doctored" and then the widow marries again and lives on "in great happiness."
The fate of Nau-non-gee, one of the chiefs of the Calumet village, and who is mentioned in the early part of the narrative, deserves to be recorded.During the battle of the 15th of August, the chief object of his attack was one Sergeant Hays, a man from whom he had received many acts of kindness.After Hays had received a ball through the body, this Indian ran up to tomahawk him, when the Sergeant, collecting his remaining strength, pierced him through the body with his bayonet. They fell together. Other Indians running up soon dispatched Hays, and it was not until then that his bayonet was extracted from the body of his adversary.The wounded chief was carried after the battle to his village on the Calumet, where he survived for several days. Finding his end approaching; he called together his young men, and enjoined them in the most solemn manner to regard the safety of their prisoners after his death, and to take the lives of none of them, from respect to his memory, as he deserved his fate from the hands of those whose kindness he had so ill-requited.
The fate of Nau-non-gee, one of the chiefs of the Calumet village, and who is mentioned in the early part of the narrative, deserves to be recorded.
During the battle of the 15th of August, the chief object of his attack was one Sergeant Hays, a man from whom he had received many acts of kindness.
After Hays had received a ball through the body, this Indian ran up to tomahawk him, when the Sergeant, collecting his remaining strength, pierced him through the body with his bayonet. They fell together. Other Indians running up soon dispatched Hays, and it was not until then that his bayonet was extracted from the body of his adversary.
The wounded chief was carried after the battle to his village on the Calumet, where he survived for several days. Finding his end approaching; he called together his young men, and enjoined them in the most solemn manner to regard the safety of their prisoners after his death, and to take the lives of none of them, from respect to his memory, as he deserved his fate from the hands of those whose kindness he had so ill-requited.
From "Cyclopædia of United States History."—Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
W
JOHN KINZIE'S CAPTIVITY.
We are, and always were (and I hope always will be), anything but a "military nation." 1813 opened very gloomily for the United States; but, as our quiet country has shown in several times of trial, it takes some disaster to wake up Americans to the claims of the land they love and the government they themselves have made. Bunker Hill was a defeat, in form, but the patriots only fell back a little way; then halted and quietly remarked: "We have several more hills to sell at the same price," the price being such a loss as the British army had rarely met. The war of 1812 began with the loss of Mackinaw and Detroit on land and the frigate Chesapeake at sea; but Scott at Chippewa and Lundy's Lane, Harrison at the Thames and Jackson at New Orleans caused all land reverses to be forgotten; while Perry's victory on Lake Erie, together with a splendid cluster of triumphs on the ocean, gave our navy a lustre which it has never lost or suffered to become tarnished.
Curiously enough, Mr. Kinzie, our own Chicago pioneer, was a witness to the finish of the glorious day at Put-in-bay, in announcing which Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry added to our war-cries the immortal words, "We have met the enemy and they are ours."
Here is Mrs. Kinzie's narrative of the captivity of her father-in-law, embodying his experiences at that time:
CAPTIVITY OF JOHN KINZIE.
It had been a stipulation of General Hull at the surrender of Detroit that the inhabitants of that place should remain undisturbed in their homes. Accordingly the family of Mr. Kinzie took up their quarters with their friends in the old mansion which many will still recall as standing on the northeast corner of Jefferson Avenue and Wayne Street.The feelings of indignation and sympathy were constantly aroused in the hearts of the citizens during the winter that ensued. They were almost daily called upon to witness the cruelties practiced upon American prisoners brought in by their Indian captors. Those who could scarcely drag their wounded, bleeding feet over the frozen ground, were compelled to dance for the amusement of the savages, and these exhibitions sometimes took place before the government house, the residence of Colonel McKee. Some of the British officers looked down from their windows at these heart-rending performances; for the honor of humanity we will hope such instances were rare.Everything that could be made available among the effects of the citizens were offered, to ransom their countrymen from the hands of these inhuman beings. The prisoners brought in from the River Raisin—those unfortunate men who were permitted, after their surrender to General Proctor, to be tortured and murdered by inches by his savage allies, excited the sympathies and called for the action of the whole community. Private houses were turned into hospitals, and every one was forward to get possession of as many as possible of the survivors. To effect this even the articles of their apparel were bartered by the ladies of Detroit, as they watched from their doors or windows the miserable victims being carried about for sale.In the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie, one large room was devoted to the reception of these sufferers. Few of them survived. Among those spoken of as the objects of deepest interest, were two young gentlemen of Kentucky, both severely wounded, and their wounds aggravated to a mortal degree by subsequent ill-usage and hardships. Their solicitude for each other and their exhibition in various ways of the most tender fraternal affection created an impression never to be forgotten.The last bargain made was by Black Jim, and one of the children,who had permission to redeem a negro servant of the gallant Colonel Allen, with an old white horse, the only available article that remained among their possessions.A brother of Colonel Allen afterward came to Detroit, and the negro preferred returning to servitude rather than remaining a stranger in a strange land.Mr. Kinzie, as has been related, joined his family at Detroit in the month of January. A short time after, suspicions arose that he was in correspondence with General Harrison, who was now at Fort Meigs, and who was believed to be meditating an advance upon Detroit. Lieutenant Watson of the British army waited upon Mr. Kinzie one day with an invitation to the quarters of General Proctor on the opposite side of the river, saying he wished to speak with him on business. Quite unsuspicious, he complied with the invitation, when to his surprise he was ordered into confinement, and strictly guarded in the house of his former partner, Mr. Patterson of Sandwich. Finding he did not return to his home, Mrs. Kinzie informed some of the Indian chiefs, his particular friends, who immediately repaired to the headquarters of the commanding officer, demanded their "friend's" release and brought him back to his home. After awaiting a time until a favorable opportunity presented itself, the General sent a detachment of dragoons to arrest him. They had succeeded in carrying him away and crossing the river with him. Just at this moment a party of friendly Indians made their appearance."Where is Shaw-nee-aw-kee?" was the first question."There," replied his wife, pointing across the river, "in the hands of the red-coats who are taking him away again."The Indians ran to the river, seized some canoes that they found there, and crossing over to Sandwich compelled General Proctor a second time to forego his intentions.A third time this officer was more successful, and succeeded in arresting Mr. Kinzie and conveying him, heavily ironed, to Fort Maiden in Canada, at the mouth of the Detroit river. Here he was at first treated with great severity, but after a time the rigor of his confinement was somewhat relaxed, and he was permitted to walk on the bank of the river for air and exercise.On the 10th of September, as he was taking his promenade under the close supervision of a guard of soldiers, the whole party were startled by the sound of guns on Lake Erie at no great distance below. What could it mean? It must be Commodore Barclay firing into some of the Yankees. The firing continued. The time allottedthe prisoner for his daily walk expired, but neither he nor his guard observed the lapse of time, so anxiously were they listening to what they now felt sure was an engagement between ships of war. At length Mr. Kinzie was reminded that the hour for his return to confinement had arrived. He petitioned for another half hour."Let me stay," said he, "until we can learn how the battle has gone."Very soon a sloop appeared under press of sail, rounding the point, and, presently, two gun-boats in chase of her."She is running—she bears the British colors," cried he—"yes, yes, they are lowering. She is striking her flag! Now," turning to the soldiers, "I will go back to prison contented, I know how the battle has gone."The sloop was the Little Belt, the last of the squadron captured by the gallant Perry, on that memorable occasion, which he announced in the immortal words: "We have met the enemy and they are ours!"Matters were growing critical, and it was necessary to transfer all prisoners to a place of greater security than the frontier was now likely to be. It was resolved therefore to send Mr. Kinzie to the mother country. Nothing has ever appeared which would explain this course of General Proctor in regard to this gentleman. He had been taken from the bosom of his family, where he was living quietly under the parole which he had received, and was protected by the stipulations of the surrender. He was kept for months in confinement. Now he was placed on horseback under a strong guard, who announced that they had orders to shoot him through the head if he offered to speak to a person on the road. He was tied upon the saddle in a way to prevent his escape, and thus they set out for Quebec. A little incident occurred which will help to illustrate the course invariably pursued toward our citizens at this period, by the British army on the northwestern frontier.The saddle upon which Mr. Kinzie rode had not been properly fastened, and owing to the rough motion of the animal on which it was, it turned so as to bring the rider into a most awkward and painful position. His limbs being fastened he could not disengage himself, and in this manner he was compelled by those who had charge of him, to ride until he was nearly exhausted, before they had the humanity to release him.
It had been a stipulation of General Hull at the surrender of Detroit that the inhabitants of that place should remain undisturbed in their homes. Accordingly the family of Mr. Kinzie took up their quarters with their friends in the old mansion which many will still recall as standing on the northeast corner of Jefferson Avenue and Wayne Street.
The feelings of indignation and sympathy were constantly aroused in the hearts of the citizens during the winter that ensued. They were almost daily called upon to witness the cruelties practiced upon American prisoners brought in by their Indian captors. Those who could scarcely drag their wounded, bleeding feet over the frozen ground, were compelled to dance for the amusement of the savages, and these exhibitions sometimes took place before the government house, the residence of Colonel McKee. Some of the British officers looked down from their windows at these heart-rending performances; for the honor of humanity we will hope such instances were rare.
Everything that could be made available among the effects of the citizens were offered, to ransom their countrymen from the hands of these inhuman beings. The prisoners brought in from the River Raisin—those unfortunate men who were permitted, after their surrender to General Proctor, to be tortured and murdered by inches by his savage allies, excited the sympathies and called for the action of the whole community. Private houses were turned into hospitals, and every one was forward to get possession of as many as possible of the survivors. To effect this even the articles of their apparel were bartered by the ladies of Detroit, as they watched from their doors or windows the miserable victims being carried about for sale.
In the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie, one large room was devoted to the reception of these sufferers. Few of them survived. Among those spoken of as the objects of deepest interest, were two young gentlemen of Kentucky, both severely wounded, and their wounds aggravated to a mortal degree by subsequent ill-usage and hardships. Their solicitude for each other and their exhibition in various ways of the most tender fraternal affection created an impression never to be forgotten.
The last bargain made was by Black Jim, and one of the children,who had permission to redeem a negro servant of the gallant Colonel Allen, with an old white horse, the only available article that remained among their possessions.
A brother of Colonel Allen afterward came to Detroit, and the negro preferred returning to servitude rather than remaining a stranger in a strange land.
Mr. Kinzie, as has been related, joined his family at Detroit in the month of January. A short time after, suspicions arose that he was in correspondence with General Harrison, who was now at Fort Meigs, and who was believed to be meditating an advance upon Detroit. Lieutenant Watson of the British army waited upon Mr. Kinzie one day with an invitation to the quarters of General Proctor on the opposite side of the river, saying he wished to speak with him on business. Quite unsuspicious, he complied with the invitation, when to his surprise he was ordered into confinement, and strictly guarded in the house of his former partner, Mr. Patterson of Sandwich. Finding he did not return to his home, Mrs. Kinzie informed some of the Indian chiefs, his particular friends, who immediately repaired to the headquarters of the commanding officer, demanded their "friend's" release and brought him back to his home. After awaiting a time until a favorable opportunity presented itself, the General sent a detachment of dragoons to arrest him. They had succeeded in carrying him away and crossing the river with him. Just at this moment a party of friendly Indians made their appearance.
"Where is Shaw-nee-aw-kee?" was the first question.
"There," replied his wife, pointing across the river, "in the hands of the red-coats who are taking him away again."
The Indians ran to the river, seized some canoes that they found there, and crossing over to Sandwich compelled General Proctor a second time to forego his intentions.
A third time this officer was more successful, and succeeded in arresting Mr. Kinzie and conveying him, heavily ironed, to Fort Maiden in Canada, at the mouth of the Detroit river. Here he was at first treated with great severity, but after a time the rigor of his confinement was somewhat relaxed, and he was permitted to walk on the bank of the river for air and exercise.
On the 10th of September, as he was taking his promenade under the close supervision of a guard of soldiers, the whole party were startled by the sound of guns on Lake Erie at no great distance below. What could it mean? It must be Commodore Barclay firing into some of the Yankees. The firing continued. The time allottedthe prisoner for his daily walk expired, but neither he nor his guard observed the lapse of time, so anxiously were they listening to what they now felt sure was an engagement between ships of war. At length Mr. Kinzie was reminded that the hour for his return to confinement had arrived. He petitioned for another half hour.
"Let me stay," said he, "until we can learn how the battle has gone."
Very soon a sloop appeared under press of sail, rounding the point, and, presently, two gun-boats in chase of her.
"She is running—she bears the British colors," cried he—"yes, yes, they are lowering. She is striking her flag! Now," turning to the soldiers, "I will go back to prison contented, I know how the battle has gone."
The sloop was the Little Belt, the last of the squadron captured by the gallant Perry, on that memorable occasion, which he announced in the immortal words: "We have met the enemy and they are ours!"
Matters were growing critical, and it was necessary to transfer all prisoners to a place of greater security than the frontier was now likely to be. It was resolved therefore to send Mr. Kinzie to the mother country. Nothing has ever appeared which would explain this course of General Proctor in regard to this gentleman. He had been taken from the bosom of his family, where he was living quietly under the parole which he had received, and was protected by the stipulations of the surrender. He was kept for months in confinement. Now he was placed on horseback under a strong guard, who announced that they had orders to shoot him through the head if he offered to speak to a person on the road. He was tied upon the saddle in a way to prevent his escape, and thus they set out for Quebec. A little incident occurred which will help to illustrate the course invariably pursued toward our citizens at this period, by the British army on the northwestern frontier.
The saddle upon which Mr. Kinzie rode had not been properly fastened, and owing to the rough motion of the animal on which it was, it turned so as to bring the rider into a most awkward and painful position. His limbs being fastened he could not disengage himself, and in this manner he was compelled by those who had charge of him, to ride until he was nearly exhausted, before they had the humanity to release him.