Part 4

All this time Mrs. Bisson had kept her seat upon the side of the bed, calmly sorting and arranging the patchwork of the quilt on which she was engaged, and preserving an appearance of the utmost tranquillity, although she knew not but that the next moment she might receive a tomahawk in her brain. Her self-command unquestionably saved the lives of all who were present.

From Ouilmette's house the party of Indians proceeded to the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie. They entered the parlor in which the family were assembled with their faithful protectors, and seated themselves upon the floor, in silence.

Black Partridge perceived from their moody and revengeful looks what was passing in their minds, but he dared not remonstrate with them. He only observed in a low tone to Wau-ban-see, "We have endeavored to save our friends, but it is in vain--nothing will save them now."

At this moment a friendly whoop was heard from a party of newcomers on the opposite bank of the river. As the canoes in which they had hastily embarked touched the bank near the house, Black Partridge sprang to meet their leader.

"Who are you?" demanded he.

"A man. Who are you?"

"A man like yourself. But tell me who you are,"--meaning, Tell me your disposition, and which side you are for.

"I am a Sau-ga-nash!"

"Then make all speed to the house--your friend is in danger, and you alone can save him."

Billy Caldwell,[9] for it was he, entered the parlor with a calm step, and without a trace of agitation in his manner. He deliberately took off his accouterments and placed them with his rifle behind the door, then saluted the hostile savages.

"How now, my friends! A good day to you. I was told there were enemies here, but I am glad to find only friends. Why have you blackened your faces? Is it that you are mourning for the friends you have lost in battle?" purposely misunderstanding this token of evil designs. "Or is it that you are fasting? If so, ask our friend, here, and he will give you to eat. He is the Indian's friend, and never yet refused them what they had need of."

Thus taken by surprise, the savages were ashamed to acknowledge their bloody purpose. They, therefore, said modestly that they had come to beg of their friends some white cotton in which to wrap their dead before interring them. This was given to them, with some other presents, and they peaceably took their departure from the premises.

With Mr. Kinzie's party was a non-commissioned officer who had made his escape in a singular manner. As the troops had been about to leave the fort, it was found that the baggage horses of the surgeon had strayed off. The quartermaster sergeant, Griffith, was sent to find 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.

For a long time Griffith had been on the sick report and for this reason was given charge of the baggage, instead of being placed with the troops. His efforts to recover the horses proved unsuccessful, and, alarmed at certain appearances of disorder and hostile intention among the Indians, he was hastening to rejoin his party when he was met and made prisoner by To-pee-nee-bee.

Having taken his arms and accouterments from him, the chief put him into a canoe and paddled him across the river, bidding him make for the woods and secrete himself. This Griffith did; and in the afternoon of the following day, seeing from his lurking place that all appeared quiet, he ventured to steal cautiously into Ouilmette's garden, 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, entering just as the Wabash Indians had 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 _engagé_. His dark complexion and heavy black whiskers favored the disguise. The family were all ordered to address him in French, and, although utterly ignorant of this language, he continued to pass for a _Weem-tee-gosh_,[10] and as such remained with Mr. Kinzie and his family, undetected by his enemies, until they reached a place of safety.

On the third day after the battle, Mr. Kinzie and his family, 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, where they remained until the following November, under the protection of To-pee-nee-bee's band. With the exception of Mr. Kinzie they were then conducted to Detroit, under the escort of Chandonnai and their trusty Indian friend, Kee-po-tah, and delivered as prisoners of war to Colonel McKee, the British Indian Agent.

Mr. Kinzie himself was held at St. Joseph and did not succeed in rejoining his family until some months later. On his arrival at Detroit he was paroled by General Proctor.

Lieutenant Helm, who was likewise wounded, was carried by some friendly Indians to their village on the Au Sable and thence to Peoria, where he was liberated through the intervention of Mr. Thomas Forsyth, the half brother of Mr. Kinzie. Mrs. Helm accompanied her parents to St. Joseph, where they resided for several months in the family of Alexander Robinson,[11] receiving from them all possible kindness and hospitality.

Later Mrs. Helm was joined by her husband in Detroit, where they both were 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 had been no official appointed to receive them, and, notwithstanding their long and fatiguing journey in the coldest, most inclement weather, Mrs. Helm, a delicate woman of seventeen years, was permitted to sit waiting in her saddle, outside the gate, for more than an hour, before the refreshment of fire or food, or even the shelter of a roof, was offered her. When Colonel Sheaffe, who was 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 both her and Lieutenant Helm with the greatest consideration and kindness, until, by an exchange of prisoners, they were liberated and found means of reaching their friends in Steuben County, N. Y.

Captain and Mrs. Heald were sent across the lake to St. Joseph the day after the battle. The Captain had received two wounds in the engagement, his wife seven.

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 Mrs. Heald's wounded and enfeebled state, released her husband that he might accompany her to St. Joseph. To the latter place they were accordingly carried by Chandonnai and his party. In the meantime, 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 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 Chandonnai, 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.

As an instance of Captain Heald's procrastinating spirit it may be mentioned that, even after he had received positive word that his Indian captor was on the way from the Kankakee to St. Joseph to retake him, he would still have delayed at that place another day, to make preparation for a more comfortable journey to Mackinac.

The soldiers from Fort Dearborn, with their wives and surviving children, were dispersed among the different villages of the Potowatomi upon the Illinois, Wabash, and Rock rivers, and at Milwaukee, until the following spring, when the greater number of them were carried to Detroit and ransomed.

Mrs. Burns, with her infant, became the prisoner 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 barely failed in her attempt to put it to death.[12] Mrs. Burns and her child were not left long in the power of the old squaw after this demonstration, but on the first opportunity were carried to a place of safety.

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 had run down with the discharged soldier to give the alarm of "Indians," at the fort, on the afternoon of April 7. The father, the son, and all the other members of the family except Mrs. Lee and her young infant had fallen victims to the Indians on August 15. The two survivors were claimed by Black Partridge, and carried by him to his village on the Au Sable. He had been particularly attached to a little twelve-year-old girl of Mrs. Lee's. This child had been placed on horseback for the march; and, as she was unaccustomed to riding, she was tied fast to the saddle, lest she should slip or be thrown off.

She was within reach of the balls at the commencement of the engagement, and was severely wounded. The horse, setting off at a full gallop, partly threw her; but held fast by the bands which confined her, she hung dangling as the animal ran wildly about. In this state she was met by Black Partridge, who caught the horse and disengaged the child from the saddle. Finding her so badly wounded that she could not recover, and seeing that she was in great agony, he at once put an end to her pain with his tomahawk. This, he afterwards said, was the hardest thing he had ever done, but he did it because he could not bear to see the child suffer.

Black Partridge soon became warmly attached to the mother--so much so, that he wished to marry her; and, though she very naturally objected, he continued to treat her with the greatest respect and consideration. He was in no hurry to release her, for he was still in hopes of prevailing upon her to become his wife. In the course of the winter her child fell ill. Finding that none of the remedies within their reach was effectual, Black Partridge proposed to take the little one to Chicago, to a French trader then living in the house of Mr. Kinzie, and procure medical aid from him. Wrapping up his charge with the greatest care, he set out on his journey.

Arriving at the residence of M. Du Pin, he entered the room where the Frenchman was, and carefully placed his burden on the floor.

"What have you there?" asked M. Du Pin.

"A young raccoon, which I have brought you as a present," was the reply; and, opening the pack, he showed the little sick infant.

When the trader had prescribed for the child, and Black Partridge was about to return to his home, he told his friend of the proposal he had made to Mrs. Lee to become his wife, and the manner in which it had been received.

M. Du Pin entertained some fear that the chief's honorable resolution to allow the lady herself to decide whether or not to accept his addresses might not hold out, and at once entered into a negotiation for her ransom. So effectually were the good feelings of Black Partridge wrought upon that he consented to bring his fair prisoner to Chicago immediately, that she might be restored to her friends.

Whether the kind trader had at the outset any other feeling in the matter than sympathy and brotherly kindness, we cannot say; we only know that in course of time Mrs. Lee became Madame Du Pin, and that the worthy couple lived together in great happiness for many years after.

The fate of Nau-non-gee, a chief of the Calumet village, deserves to be recorded.

During the battle of August 15, the principal object of his attack was one Sergeant Hays, a man from whom he had accepted many kindnesses.

After Hays had received a ball through the body, this Indian ran up to tomahawk him, when the sergeant, summoning his remaining strength, pierced him through the body with his bayonet. The two fell together. Other Indians running up soon dispatched Hays, and not until then was his bayonet extracted from the body of his adversary.

After the battle the wounded chief was carried 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 out of respect to his memory to take the lives of none of them; for he himself fully deserved his fate at the hands of the man whose kindness he had so ill requited.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This narrative related by two of the survivors, Mrs. John Kinzie and Mrs. Helm, to Mrs. Juliette A. Kinzie, is taken from "Waubun." It was first published in pamphlet form in 1836; was transferred, with little variation, to Brown's "History of Illinois," and to a work called "Western Annals." Major Richardson likewise made it the basis of his two tales, "Hardscrabble," and "Wau-nan-gee."

[2] Burns' house stood near the spot where the Agency Building, or "Cobweb Castle," was afterwards erected, at the foot of North State Street.

[3] A trading-establishment--now Ypsilanti.

[4] Captain Wells, when a boy, was stolen by the Miami Indians from the family of Hon. Nathaniel Pope in Kentucky. Although recovered by them, he preferred to return and live among his new friends. He married a Miami woman, and became a chief of the nation. He was the father of Mrs. Judge Wolcott of Maumee, Ohio.

[5] The spot now called Bertrand, then known as _Parc aux Vaches_, from its having been a favorite "stamping-ground" of the buffalo which abounded in the country.

[6] Mrs. Helm is represented by the female figure in the bronze group erected by George M. Pullman, at the foot of 18th Street, to commemorate the massacre which took place at that spot.

[7] The exact spot of this encounter was about where 21st Street crosses Indiana Avenue.

[8] Along the present State Street.

[9] Billy Caldwell was a half-breed, and a chief of the nation. In his reply, "I am a Sau-ga-nash," or Englishman, he designed to convey, "I am a white man." Had he said, "I am a Potowatomi," it would have been interpreted to mean, "I belong to my nation, and am prepared to go all lengths with them."

[10] Frenchman.

[11] The Potowatomi chief, so well known to many of the early citizens of Chicago.

[12] Twenty-two years after this, as I [Mrs. Juliette A. Kinzie] was on a journey to Chicago in the steamer "Uncle Sam," a young woman, hearing my name, introduced herself to me, and, raising the hair from her forehead, showed me the mark of the tomahawk which had so nearly been fatal to her.

JOHN KINZIE

A SKETCH

John McKenzie, or, as he was afterwards called, John Kinzie, was the son of Surgeon John McKenzie of the 60th Royal American Regiment of Foot, and of Anne Haleyburton, the widow of Chaplain William Haleyburton of the First or Royal American Regiment of Foot.

Major Haleyburton died soon after their arrival in America, and two years later his widow married Surgeon John McKenzie. Their son John was born in Quebec, December 3, 1763.

In the old family Bible the "Mc" is dropped in recording the birth of "John Kinsey" (so spelled), thus indicating that he was known as John Kinsey, or, as he himself spelled it, "Kinzie," from early childhood.

Major McKenzie survived the birth of his son but a few months, and his widow took for her third husband Mr. William Forsyth, of New York City.

Young John grew up under the care and supervision of his stepfather, Mr. Forsyth, until at the age of ten he began his adventurous career by running away.

He and his two half brothers attended a school at Williamsburg, L. I., escorted there every Monday by a servant, who came to take them home every Friday. One fine afternoon when the servant came for the boys Master Johnny was missing. An immediate search was made, but not a trace of him could be found. His mother was almost frantic. The mysterious disappearance of her bright, handsome boy was a fearful blow.

Days passed without tidings of the lost one, and hope fled. The only solution suggested was, that he might have been accidentally drowned and his body swept out to sea.

Meantime Master John was very much alive.

He had determined to go to Quebec to try, as he afterwards explained, to discover some of his father's relatives.

He had managed to find a sloop which was just going up the Hudson, and with the confidence and audacity of a child, stepped gaily on board and set forth on his travels.

Most fortunately for him, he attracted the notice of a passenger who was going to Quebec, and who began to question the lonely little lad. He became so interested in the boy that he took him in charge, paid his fare, and landed him safely in his native city.

But here, alas, Master Johnny soon found himself stranded. Very cold, very hungry, and very miserable, he was wandering down one of the streets of Quebec when his attention was attracted by a glittering array of watches and silver in a shop window, where a man was sitting repairing a clock.

Johnny stood gazing wistfully in. His yellow curls, blue eyes, and pathetic little face appealed to the kind silversmith, who beckoned him into the shop and soon learned his story.

"And what are you going to do now?" asked the man.

"I am going to work," replied ten-year-old valiantly.

"Why, what could you do?" laughed the man.

"I could do anything you told me to do, if you just showed me how to do it," said John.

The result was that John got a job.

The silversmith had no children, and as the months rolled on he grew more and more fond of John. He taught him as much of his trade as the lad could acquire in the three years of his stay in Quebec. Later in his life this knowledge was of great value to him, for it enabled him to secure the friendship and assistance of the Indians by fashioning for them various ornaments and "tokens" from the silver money paid them as annuities by the United States Government. The Indians called him "Shaw-nee-aw-kee" or the Silver Man, and by that name he was known among all the tribes of the Northwest.

These happy and useful years drew to a close. As John was one day walking down the street, a gentleman from New York stopped him and said: "Are you not Johnny Kinzie?" John admitted that he was, and the gentleman, armed with the astonishing news and the boy's address, promptly communicated with Mr. Forsyth, who at once came to Quebec and took the runaway home.

His rejoicing mother doubtless saved him from the sound thrashing he richly deserved at the hands of his stepfather.

John had now had enough of running away, and was content to stay at home and buckle down to his books. The few letters of his which remain and are preserved in the Chicago Historical Society give evidence of an excellent education.

The roving spirit was still alive in him, however. Mr. Forsyth had moved West and settled in Detroit, and when John was about eighteen years old he persuaded his stepfather to fit him out as an Indian trader.

This venture proved a great success. Before he was one and twenty, young Kinzie had established two trading posts, one at Sandusky and one at Maumee, and was pushing towards the west, where he later started a depot at St. Joseph, Michigan.

John Kinzie's success as an Indian trader was almost phenomenal. He acquired the language of the Indians with great facility; he respected their customs, and they soon found that his "word was as good as his bond." He was a keen trader, not allowing himself to be cheated, nor attempting to cheat the Indians. He quickly gained the confidence and esteem of the various tribes with which he dealt, and the personal friendship of many of their most powerful chiefs, who showed themselves ready to shield him in danger, and to rescue him from harm at the risk of their lives.

When in the neighborhood of Detroit, he stayed with his half brother, William Forsyth, who had married a Miss Margaret Lytle, daughter of Colonel William Lytle of Virginia. In their home he was always a welcome guest; and here he met Mrs. Forsyth's younger sister, Eleanor. She was the widow of a British officer, Captain Daniel McKillip, who had been killed in a sortie from Ft. Defiance. Since her husband's death, she and her little daughter Margaret had made their home with the Forsyths.

John Kinzie fell desperately in love with the handsome young widow, and on January 23, 1798, they were married.

In all of his new and arduous career he had been greatly aided and protected by John Harris, the famous Indian scout and trader mentioned by Irving in his Life of Washington (Volume 1, Chapter XII). It was in grateful appreciation of these kindnesses that he named his son "John Harris," after this valued friend.

Mr. Kinzie continued to extend his business still farther west, until in October, 1803, when his son John Harris was but three months old, he moved with his family to Chicago, where he purchased the trading establishment of a Frenchman named Le Mai.

Here, cut off from the world at large, with no society but the garrison at Fort Dearborn, the Kinzies lived in contentment, and in the quiet enjoyment of all the comforts, together with many of the luxuries of life. The first white child born outside of Fort Dearborn was their little daughter Ellen Marion, on December 20, 1805. Next came Maria, born September 28, 1807. Then, last, Robert Allan, born February 8, 1810.

By degrees, Mr. Kinzie established still more remote posts, all contributing to the parent post at Chicago; at Milwaukee, with the Menominee; at Rock River with the Winnebago and the Potowatomi; on the Illinois River and the Kankakee with the Prairie Potowatomi; and with the Kickapoo in what was called "Le Large," the widely extended district afterwards converted into Sangamon County. He was appointed Sub-Indian Agent and Government Interpreter, and in these capacities rendered valuable service.

About the year 1810, a Frenchman named Lalime was killed by John Kinzie under the following circumstances: Lalime had become insanely jealous of Mr. Kinzie's success as a rival trader, and was unwise enough to threaten to take Kinzie's life. The latter only laughed at the reports, saying "Threatened men live long, and I am not worrying over Lalime's wild talk." Several of his stanchest Indian friends, however, continued to warn him, and he at last consented to carry some sort of weapon in case Lalime really had the folly to attack him. He accordingly took a carving knife from the house and began sharpening it on a grindstone in the woodshed.

Young John stood beside him, much interested in this novel proceeding.

"What are you doing, father?" he asked.

"Sharpening this knife, my son," was the reply.

"What for?" said John.

"Go into the house," replied his father, "and don't ask questions about things that don't concern you."

A few days passed. Nothing happened; but Mr. Kinzie carried the knife.