CHAPTER XXXCONCLUSION
John Mason had wished for Black Hawk’s capture. His wish was fulfilled and as fortune would have it, he, Deerfoot and both Joseph and Robert were present when the great chief was delivered into the hands of his enemies.
After the battle of Bad Axe the volunteers were mustered out of service and the fighting came to an end. All resistance on the part of the Indians had been broken, and out of a thousand Sacs who had crossed the Mississippi and invaded the settlements in April, only a hundred and fifty now remained. Black Hawk had escaped, but Indians of hostile tribes were put on his trail and at length succeeded in capturing him.
On the twenty-seventh day of August, 1832,John Mason, Deerfoot, Joseph and Robert were at Prairie du Chien. This was not far from the scene of the last battle and the four friends were still in that vicinity, chiefly because they had no other place to which they might go. At least the two brothers had no home, and Deerfoot would leave them under no conditions. John Mason remained with his young friends, thinking he might still be of service to them, and could offer them advice as to starting life afresh.
They were all talking to the Indian Agent, a man named Street, and were seeking his knowledge of the country in the hope he might be able to help them in the selection of a new home. Suddenly a commotion started outside and everyone rushed to see what the cause of the excitement was. Into the streets of the town marched two Winnebagos, Chaetar and One-eyed Decorah by name. Between them and with head held high, walked Black Hawk.
“Black Hawk is captured!” cried Mason. “There he is now!”
Everyone in the crowd surged forward to obtain a glimpse of the famous redman and Joseph and Robert were in the very first row.Straight to the office of the Indian Agent the old warrior was led and then Agent Street came forward to meet him.
Black Hawk was indeed an imposing figure. He was clad in a suit of white doeskin. His hair was all plucked out with the exception of the scalp-lock and in that were fastened some eagle’s feathers. He was short in stature, as he was only about five feet four or five inches tall. His face was thin, with the high cheek bones characteristic of his race. His mouth was large and when in repose his lips remained slightly parted. He had a prominent nose of what is called the Roman type. His eyes were bright and piercing, but with a thoughtful expression in them. He had no eyebrows and his forehead was high and broad. His head he kept thrown back and his pose gave the impression of dignity and of one accustomed to command.
“He’s not very beautiful,” whispered Robert. “He looks smart, though.”
“He is smart,” exclaimed John Mason. “He certainly led us a dance.”
“You know I feel sort of sorry for him,” said Joseph. “I never had any pity for him whenwe were fighting him but he looks sort of pitiful now.”
“Not to me,” cried Robert. “I can’t forget what he did to us.”
Speeches were now made by the different men in the assembly. Black Hawk’s two captors related how they had captured the prisoner at the Wisconsin River Dells, and Agent Street congratulated, them on their good work. Finally Black Hawk’s turn came and he arose slowly and proudly from his seat. In a steady and clear voice he faced the crowd and spoke as follows:
“You have taken me prisoner with all my warriors. I am much grieved, for I expected if I did not defeat you, to hold out much longer, and give you more trouble before I surrendered. I tried hard to bring you into ambush, but your last general understands Indian fighting. The first one was not so wise. When I saw I could not beat you by Indian fighting I determined to rush on you, and fight you face to face. I fought hard. But your guns were well aimed. The bullets flew like birds in the air and whizzed by our ears like the wind through the trees in winter. My warriors fell around me; it beganto look dismal. I saw my evil day at hand. The sun rose dim on us in the morning and at night it sank in a dark cloud, and looked like a ball of fire. That was the last sun that shone on Black Hawk. His heart is dead, and no longer beats quick in his bosom. He is now a prisoner of the white men; they will do with him as they wish. But he can stand torture and is not afraid of death. He is no coward. Black Hawk is an Indian.
“He has done nothing for which an Indian ought to be ashamed. He has fought for his countrymen, the squaws and the papooses, against white men, who came year after year to cheat him and take away their lands. You know the cause of our making war. It is known to all white men. They ought to be ashamed of it. The white men despise the Indians, and drive them from their homes. But the Indians are not deceitful. The white men speak bad of the Indian, and look at him spitefully. But the Indian does not tell lies; Indians do not steal.
“An Indian who is as bad as the white men could not live in our nation; he would be put to death and eaten up by the wolves. The white men are bad schoolmasters; they carry falsebooks. They smile in the face of the poor Indian to cheat him; they shake him by the hand to gain his confidence, to make him drunk, to deceive and ruin him. We told them to let us alone and keep away from us, but they followed on and beset our paths, and they coiled themselves among us like the snake. They poisoned us by their touch. We were not safe. We lived in danger. We were becoming like them, hypocrites and liars, all talkers and no workers.
“We looked up to the Great Spirit. We went to our great father. We were encouraged. His great council gave us fair words and big promises; but we got no satisfaction. Things were growing worse. There were no deer in the forest. The opossum and beaver were fled; the springs were drying up, and our squaws and papooses were without victuals to keep them from starving. We called a great council and built a large fire. The spirit of our fathers arose and spoke to us to avenge our wrongs or die. We all spoke before the council fire. It was warm and pleasant. We set up the war whoop and dug up the tomahawk; our knives were ready and the heart of Black Hawk swelled high in his bosom when he led his warriors tobattle. He is satisfied. He will go to the world of spirits contented. He has done his duty. His father will meet him there and commend him.
“Black Hawk is a true Indian and disdains to cry like a woman. He feels for his wife, his children and friends. But he does not care for himself. He cares for his nation and the Indians. They will suffer. He laments their fate. The white men poison the heart. My countrymen will in a few years become like the white men, so that you cannot trust them, and there must be as in the white settlements, nearly as many officers as men to take care of them and keep them in order.
“Farewell, my nation. Black Hawk tried to save you, and avenge your wrongs. He drank the blood of some of the Whites. He has been taken prisoner and his plans are stopped. He can do no more. He is near his end. His sun is setting and he will rise no more. Farewell to Black Hawk.”
He finished speaking and a silence fell upon the crowd gathered to hear him. He had made a profound impression and his hearers were deeply affected.
“I certainly feel sorry for that man,” exclaimed Joseph at length.
“So do I,” agreed Mason. “He tried to do right as he saw it and now he is broken-hearted and discouraged.”
“His spirit is not broken, though,” said Robert warmly.
“I should think not,” exclaimed Joseph. “It never will be either. As he says himself, ‘he is an Indian’.”
“He doesn’t think much of the white men, does he?” said Robert.
“Not much,” agreed John Mason. “I don’t blame him, for they have given the Indians a pretty rough treatment as a rule.”
“There are bad Indians, just as there are bad white men,” said Joseph. “I guess the bad white men are more numerous, though.”
“Ugh,” grunted Deerfoot.
“Did you agree with that remark?” cried Robert, advancing toward Deerfoot with a threatening air. “You know what will happen to you if you did.”
Deerfoot smiled grimly at his young friend’s remarks. He was gradually becoming used to the teasing he was constantly subjected to andhe was learning how to take it in good spirits.
“Me no afraid,” he exclaimed and almost laughed as he spoke.
“You’re improving, Deerfoot. You’ll be all right soon,” laughed Robert as he slapped his Pottowattomie friend heartily on the back.
“Come on, Bob,” urged Joseph. “It’s time for us to be leaving. There goes Black Hawk.”
The four friends turned to look and saw Black Hawk being led away down the street. Two soldiers walked on each side of him, while with head still held proudly erect the aged warrior marched silently on and thus passed from the sight of John Mason, Deerfoot, Robert and Joseph forever.
THE END
THE END
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTESSilently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES