The Chicago Massacre of 1812 With Illustrations and Historical Documents

History is not a snap-shot. Events happen, and the true record of them follows at a distance. Sometimes the early report is too voluminous, and it takes time to reduce it to truth by a winnowing process that divides chaff from grain. This has been the case regarding every great modern battle. Sometimes, on the other hand, the event was obscure and became important through the rise of other, later conditions; in which case, instead of winnowing, the historian sets himself to gleaning the field and making his grist out of scattered bits of its fruitage. This has been the case regarding the Chicago massacre of 1812.

It was only a skirmish and a slaughter, involving the loss of three-score lives. But those dead men, women and children were the fore-runners of all the dwellers in one of the greatest cities of Christendom, the renowned city of Chicago.

Up to less than twenty years ago it was thought—by the few who gave the matter any thought—that next to nothing could ever be found out concerning the events which took place in and about Fort Dearborn—now Chicago—on August 15, 1812, and the time immediately before and after that day. All that was then known was contained in the artless, non-historic narrative contained in Mrs. Kinzie's amusing and delightful story of her own adventures (1831-1833), into which she wove, as a mere episode, the scattered reminiscences of members of her family who had taken part in the tragedy of twenty years before.

But in 1881, ten years after the Great Fire had wiped out all old Chicago, and all records of older Chicago, the Historical Society happily took up the task of erecting a "massacre memorial tablet" on the ground where Fort Dearborn had stood. William M. Hoyt generously gave the necessary money, and the Hon. John Wentworth ably and devotedly set himself about gathering, from all over the land, every item which could be gleaned to throw light on the dark and dreadful event. How well he succeeded is shown by his book, "Fort Dearborn," published by the Fergus Printing Company as number 16 in its admirable Historical Series; a collection of pamphlets which should form part of every library in the city.

Exhaustive as was Mr. Wentworth's research, yet the last word had not been said. There was—and is—still living, the Hon. Darius Heald, son of the Captain (Nathan) Heald who commanded the whites on the fatal day, and who, with his wife, was sorely wounded in the fray. The son had heard, a hundred times, his parents' story of the massacre; and his repetition of that story taken down in short-hand from his own lips, forms the main part of the strictly new matter I offer in this book.

Much of the contents of the following pages, which has been published before, is not marked as quotation, for the reason that it is my own writing, having been included in my "Story of Chicago," published by the same house which publishes this book. (Many of the illustrations are also taken from this same source.) On the other hand, much that is marked in quotation is also my own work; but as it is part of my contribution to Munsell & Company's large "History of Chicago" which is still in press, credit is invariably given to the last-named work.

All I could find, on this fascinating theme, I have faithfully recorded. If a later gleaner shall find more, no one will be more glad than will I, to welcome it.

Joseph Kirkland.

Saturday, August Fifteenth, 1812.

Scene at dawn; page 19:—Mothers and children; Captain Wells and his Miamis; his niece, Rebekah Heald; why he blackened his face; the Dead March; the Fort cattle; Indian follies; 20:—Margaret Helm, the authority for Mrs. Kinzie's narrative in Wau-Bun; 21:—Ensign Ronan's insubordination; Rebekah Heald's version as reported by her son, Darius; 22:—Evacuation of the fort; Captain Heald's force; Kinzie family; they take boat; 23:—To-pee-nee-be's warning; line of march; 24:—Pottowatomie "escort;" 25:—Wau-Bun narrative begins; the attack; 27:—Surgeon Van Voorhees; 28:—Black Partridge rescues Mrs. Helm; scene portrayed in bronze group; 29:—John Kinzie reports safety of Lieutenant Helm; Captain Wells's scalp; Indians are kind to Mrs. Helm; she learns details of the struggle; a squaw tortures a wounded soldier; 30:—English blamed for Indian alliance; Mrs. Heald's narrative begins; similar to Mrs. Helm's; the sand-ridges; 31:—Captain Wells orders and leads the charges; the battle thus foolishly lost; signal for surrender; 32:—The twelve militia-men; Captain Heald's wound; 33:—Mrs. Heald's six wounds; particulars of Wells's death; Indians cut out his heart and eat it; 34:—"Epeconier!"; his noble self-sacrifice; relics in the Calumet Club; 35:—Mrs. Heald fights for her blanket; 36:—Stripped of her jewelry; what became of it; articles redeemed and still in existence; 37:—Chandonnais saves the Healds' lives; wounded prisoners tortured to death; 38:—Fatal blot on the Indian race; Mrs. Helm's report goes on at second hand; variance with Captain Heald's; 39:—The latter casts no slurs; 40:—One Indian kills twelve children in the baggage-wagon; Mrs. Helm's incredible account of Wells's death; 41:—True-seeming tale of the Kinzies' escape; doubtful statement about Mrs. Heald; 42:—Kinzies again in the old house; Indians burn the fort; they guard the Kinzies, Wabash hostiles come; 44:—Peril and panic; 45:—Saved by Billy Caldwell, the Sau-ga-nash; 46:—Sukey Corbin's fate, as told by Mrs. Jouett; 48:—Possibility that a narrative by Lieutenant Helm may exist, Indian traits; 49:—What is next to be shown; 50.

HOW THE FORT AND CITY WERE BEGUN AND WHO WERE THE BEGINNERS

Chapter I. The Dark Before the Dawn.—The French period reluctantly passed over; Chicago reappears in 1778, after 100 years of oblivion; J. B. Pointe de Saible; 53:—Various spellings of Chicago; meaning of the word; 54:—Treaty of 1795; building of the "Old Kinzie House" in 1778; 55:—Who was here then? Astor fortunes; 56:—50,000 square miles of solitude; Gurdon Hubbard's observations in 1816; Ouillemette, now Wilmette; Gen. Dearborn orders the fort built; 57:—John Whistler's company of the First Infantry comes in 1804 and builds it; John Whistler; 58:—The schooner Tracy arrives, the "big canoe with wings;" the account given, in 1875, by Mrs. Whistler; the pioneer, John Kinzie, arrives in 1804; 60:—State of things for the next eight years; 61:—Charles Jouett; 62:—Joe Battles and Alexander Robinson; the Indians and Indian traders; whisky; Munsell's History of Chicago; 63.

Chapter II. Building of the First Fort Dearborn.—William Wells is here in 1803; 65:—Signs an Indian trader's license as Governor Harrison's agent; Captain Anderson comes down from "Mill-wack-ie" in 1804; what the fort was like; 66:—Agency House; 67:—How the Chicagoans passed their time; War Department records of Fort Dearborn, furnished in 1881 by Secretary-of-War Lincoln to John Wentworth; 68:—In 1811 Captain Nathan Heald marries Rebekah Wells; wild wedding journey; 69: —Gay winter for the bride; John Kinzie kills John Lalime in self-defence; 70:—Double murder by Indians at Lee's place (Hardscrabble), on the South Branch; 71:—Graphic narrative in Wau-Bun; 72:—Man and boy escape and spread the alarm; 74:—Captain Heald tells the story; Indian traits; 75.

Chapter III. English and Indian Savages.—Capt. Heald is inclined to charge the Hardscrabble massacre to the Winnebagoes; British alliance with Indians characterized; 77:—Its unsoldierly results; ruin of brave General Hull; 78:—Shame to Lord Liverpool's government; "Suppose Russia should instigate a Sepoy rebellion;" wild alarm follows the Lee murders, 79:—Munsell's history of it; war declared; 80:—Hull sends Winnemeg with orders to Heald to evacuate Fort Dearborn and fall back on Detroit, Mackinaw had already been taken; wording of Hull's order differently given by Captain Heald and Mrs. Helm; 81:—The latter finds fault with the former; alleges want of harmony in the fort; 82: —Mrs. Heald denies this, alleging that Ronan thought highly of his captain; the stammering soldier; 83:—comparative authenticity of the two narratives; how the Heald story comes to be told now for the first time; 84.

Chapter IV. A Long Farewell.—Departure not favored by sub-officers; soldier suggests "jerked beef;" 85:—Heald's letter of Nov. 7, 1812, regarding the withdrawal; Wau-Bun to the contrary; alleged disorder; 86:—Captain Heald's traits; 87:—Heald and Kinzie have a pow-wow with the Indians; consult between themselves; agree to distribute goods, but destroy arms and whisky; Kinzie's liquors; plan carried out; 88:—William Wells to the rescue; scene of his arrival; 89:—Baseless hopes aroused; Black Partridge gives up his medal; 90:—This meant war; then what should have been done? 92:—Mrs. Heald's story of the preparations; 93: —Surroundings then and now; 94-96:—Saturday having been already described, the story skips from Friday to Sunday; 96.

Chapter V. Fate of the Fugitives.—Every word treasured; 97: —Heald's escape while wounded are being tortured; incidents of canoe-travel; omission of record of halt on the St. Joseph's; kindness of commandant at Mackinaw; 98;—Push on to Detroit, Buffalo, Pittsburg, and so on home, to Louisville, meeting with Mrs. Heald's father; unfortunate loss of her written story; 99: —Wau-Bun story; Sergeant Griffith and To-pee-nee-be; Kinzies are taken to Chief Robinson at St Joseph's, and later to Detroit; John Kinzie tries to save his property; 100:—Friendly Indians helped by Thomas Forsyth to rescue Lieut. Helm and send him to Detroit; sent on as prisoners to Fort George, Niagara; incivility atoned for by Col. Sheaffe; the Helms reach their home and friends; 102:—Mrs. Helm's remarks about Captain Heald; prisoners and citizens, scattered among the Indians, are alleged to be generally ransomed; 103:—Fate of Mrs. Burns and baby; child seen in after years by Mrs. Kinzie; fate of the Lee family; Black Partridge wants to marry the widow; the young raccoon; 104:—Madame du Pin; Nau-non-gee and Sergeant Hays kill each other; 106.

Chapter VI. John Kinzie's Captivity.—America never a mititary nation; gloomy opening of 1813; early losses and later gains; 107:—Prisoners ransomed in Detroit; Kinzies try to help the helpless; 108:—John Kinzie suspected of spying; repeatedly arrested by the English and released by the Indians; ironed and imprisoned; 109:—Catches a glimpse of Perry's victory on Lake Erie; sent on to Quebec; 110:—Strange release; returns to Detroit, where, with Kee-po-tah, he welcomes Gen. Harrison; 112.

Chapter VII. Contemporaneous Reports.—Progress of the press since 1812; Niles' Weekly Register our main authority; 113: —First published statement of the massacre; the schooner Queen Charlotte; 114:—Absurd story regarding Mrs. Helm; 115: —Still more absurd story, signed Walter Jordan; 116:—Possible leaven of truth; 117:—Nine survivors reported arrived at Plattsburgh from Quebec; 118:—Familiar names; harrowing tales they told; 119:—Pitiable fate of Mrs. Neads and her child, Kinzie family return to Chicago, where the bones of the massacre victims are buried by the soldiers sent to build the new fort; 120:—Letter from Fernando Jones; 121:—Solution of the Indian problem treated; 122:—Present condition of the Pottowatomies; 123:—Wonderful progress in five generations; speculations concerning the renewed interest in these old tales; 124:—Sculptured mementoes of the past slowly being provided by public-spirited citizens; Lambert Tree, Martin Ryerson and EH Bates; George M. Pullman's splendid bronze group of the massacre; 126:—Eugene Hall's verses at the unveiling of the Block-house Tablet in 1881.

A. Pointe De Saible.—First settler, 100 years after Marquette etc.; 133:—Col. de Peyster mentions him in 1778 in his "Miscellanies," Burns's verses to De Peyster; 134:—De P. also mentions George Rogers Clark, 135:—De P's verses; 136:—His foot-notes, naming Chicago; what is known about De Saible; 137: —E. G. Mason's remarks about him and Shaubena; 138:—Perish Grignon (Wis. Hist. Soc. Collection) on the same subject; 139: —Guesses as to the character and fortunes of De Saible; 140: —"Point de Sable," no sand.

B. Fort Dearborn Records at Washington.—Probable reason why records are scanty; 143:—Letter from Gen. Dearborn, Secretary of War; statement compiled from the adjutant-general's records; memorandum of the destruction; order for rebuilding; successive commanders; evacuation of 1823; 144:—Re-occupation in 1828; Major Whistler ordered to Fort Dearborn; final evacuation in 1836; 145:—Demolition of fort in 1856; old paper found, dating from first fort; familiar names; 146:—One building survived until the great fire of 1871; the Waubansa stone; 147:—Daniel Webster speaks from its summit; its later vicissitudes; 148: —Who were the victims of Aug. 15, 1812? Oblivion the usual fate of martyrs; 149:—Muster and pay-roll of 1810, the last now existing; 150.

C. The Whistler Family.—Gardner's Military Dictionary gives items of old John Whistler, the Burgoyne soldier; suggestion that in Heald's place he might have avoided the disaster; his descendants; Mrs. William Whistler and her daughter, Gwenthlean Whistler Kinzie; Mrs. General Sheridan; 153:—Mrs. Whistler's visit to Chicago in 1875, 154:—Her reminiscences; 155:—Whistler descendants in the army; 156.

D. The Kinzie Family.—John Kinzie's origin and youth; 157: —The Forsyths, Blanchard's story of the McKenzie girls; 158: —Margaret, mother of some Kinzies and some Halls; Elizabeth, mother of some Clarks and some Clybourns; 160:—The bend sinister; John marries Eleanor (Lytle) McKillip and comes to Chicago; 161:—Extent of his trade; his continued relations with Detroit; 162;—His daughter-in-law, Juliette (Magill) Kinzie, writer of Wau-Bun, return after the massacre; 163:—His losses; pathetic letter to his son, John Harris Kinzie; 164:—His papers burned in 1871; 165:—Inestimable services as treaty-maker; their partial recognition in treaty of 1838; 165:—His hospitality; 166:—Visit of Gov. Cass; 167:—Winnebago scare; 168:—End of the old pioneer; Hubbard's narrative of his closing moments; 169:—Disappearance of the ancient mansion; 170:—Mrs. Nellie Kinzie Gordon; 171: —Heroic death in battle of John Harris Kinzie, Jr.; 172.

E. The Wells and the Heald Families.—William Wells's captivity among the Indians; Wa-nan-ga-peth, daughter of Me-che-kan-nah-quah, and her Wells descendants; 173:—William fighting on the Indians' side; Rebekah (Wells) Heald's story of her reclamation of her "Indian uncle;" 174:—His parting with his red father-in-law; later history of Me-che-kan-nah-quah, or Little Turtle; his presentation to Washington; 175:—Rebekah meets Nathan Heald at Fort Wayne; 176:—A. H. Edwards's anecdotes about Captain Wells; 177:—Family feeling of Wells's descendants; the Heald massacre relics shown; 179:—Masonic record of Nathan Heald; his letter of Oct. 13, 1813, reporting the massacre; 180: —Letter on official business, May 18, 1812; 181:—Remarks thereon; 182:—Death of his niece, Mrs. Edwards, while this book is printing; 183.

F. John Lalime.—Portents of the massacre; rivalry between government and civilian traders; 185:—Factions in the garrison; traits of John Lalime; 186:—His letters; retort of Main Poc; Miss Noke-no-qua; 187:—Lalime's attack on John Kinzie; Gurdon Hubbard's letter about it; Victoire (Mirandeau) Porthier's story; 189: —Garrison acquits Kinzie but buries Lalime in sight of the old house; 190:—Discovery of a skeleton in 1891; 191:—Reasons for thinking it that of Lalime; 193:—Facts learned from Fernando Jones, Judge Blodgett, Hon. John C. Haines and others; St. James' church-yard; 193:—Letters from Fernando Jones, Hon. John C. Haines and Doctors Hosmer and Freer; 194-195.

G. Reminiscences of A. H. Edwards.—Letter to John Wentworth; story of a girl who was one of the scalped children; bare spot on her head; 197:—She the daughter of John Cooper who is named in the muster-roll; 198:—Married a Detroiter named Farnum; 199.

H. Billy Caldwell, the Sauganash.—His traits, good and bad; 201:—He and Shabonee write a letter about General Harrison; 202.

I. Farewell War-Dance of the Indians.—Treaty of 1833; Latrobe's impressions of Chicago; 203:—Ex-Chief-Justice Caton describes the war dance; 205:—"Farewell Indians!" 206.

K. The Bronze Memorial Group.—Where the massacre occurred; cumulative testimony identifying the spot; letters from Mrs. Henry W. King, Isaac N. Arnold, A. J. Galloway, Mrs. Mary Clark Williams, and Robert G. Clarke; 207-210:—The design of the group, and the designer, Carl Rohl-Smith: lucky chance gives two savages, "Kicking Bear" and "Short Bull," to serve as models for the figures; characteristic bearing of the savage models; bas-reliefs for pedestal, the fort interior, the evacuation, the fight, death of Captain Wells; dedicatory inscription; 211:—Memorial fit to stand for centuries; 212.

List of Illustrations; 15.

Alphabetical Index; 213.

IN TWO PARTS AND AN APPENDIX.

PART I.

Saturday, August Fifteenth, 1812—Narratives of the Massacre.

PART II.

Historical and Biographical—How the Fort and City were Begun, and Who were the Beginners.

APPENDIX.

SATURDAY, AUGUST FIFTEENTH, 1812.

THE morning of Fort Dearborn's fatal day dawned bright and clear over Lake Michigan and the sandy flat. The "reveille" doubtless was sounded before sun-rise; and one can imagine the rattle of the drum and scream of the fife as they broke the dewy stillness and floated away, over the sand-spit and out on the lake; across the river to the Kinzie house and its outbuilding, the Ouillemette house; and up stream to the Indian encampments, large, dark and lowering. Quite possibly the tune then prescribed was the same as that now used for the drum-fife reveille, together with the words that have attached themselves to it of late years:

If this time-honored (and much hated) tune has come down to us from so long, the words had on that morning a significance even more perfect than that ordinarily belonging to them.

Early the company cooks must have been at work, boiling whole barrels of salt pork which had been in soak for days beforehand, and as much fresh beef as could possibly be used before spoiling. Bread had doubtless been baked and packed earlier in the week, and now all imaginable preparations for a march of nearly a month must be completed and the utensils packed and loaded into the company wagons. At each of the other, smaller households outside the fort similar toils and cares were going on. How were the lately weaned little ones to be cared for? Perhaps some parents hoped that they could drive their milch-cows with the caravan, seeing that grass was plenty and progress would be necessarily slow. What did the prospective mothers hope and fear? The wife of Phelim Corbin; how did she arm her soul for the month of rough travel, with the travail of child birth as one of its terrors?

Certainly the happiest of the crowd were the unconscious little ones, sure of love and care, full of hope and curiosity—a round dozen of them in one wagon, beginning the first journey of their innocent lives—the first and last. Fancy the mothers tucking them in! The eager little faces upturned for good-bye kisses!

All the workers might have spared themselves their trouble. If they were thinking of their cows, the crack of the Indian rifles soon ended that care. The food was enough and to spare; not a morsel of it did they ever eat. The journey of a month dwindled to a tramp of an hour; and as to the precious children—

Captain William Wells had come, with thirty friendly Indians (Miamis) to guard and help them through their long, lonely tramp to Detroit. He was a white man, the uncle of the commandant's young wife (Rebekah Wells Heald), but had been stolen when a boy by the Indians and brought up by them; had married a chief's daughter and had fought on their side until, years ago, this same young niece had gone to him and persuaded him to come back to his own kith and kin. So any fears the helpless settlers might have felt at first could now surely be put aside—Wells was so strong, so brave, so well acquainted with the Indians! He could doubtless keep them in order, either by policy or by force.

But if all was well, why had Captain Wells blackened his face—that is, put on the Indian sign of war and death—before starting that morning? All accounts agree that he did so, and usually it is taken as having been a sign of consciousness of impending death. Mrs. Helm[A] seems to have regarded it in this light. The question can never be settled, but to me it seems to have been an act of policy; an effort to identify himself with his Miamis and other friendly Indians. Wau-Bun adds the gruesome and almost incredible story that the start out was made to the music of the dead march! As Mrs. Helm was on horseback with the column she must have known, and we can but take her word for it.

The large herd of beef-cattle was left to the savages. This was probably the most precious gift of all put in their hands by the abandonment of the post. The liquor, if it had been left, would have been their bane, and the fire-arms the mere instruments of mutual destruction. The clothes must wear out, the flour be eaten up, the tools and furniture useless, the paints and gew-gaws a fleeting joy; but the herd! This would be self-sustaining, self-perpetuating, a perennial fount of blessing and mine of wealth. Here were food, clothing, shoes for this year and all years to come. No tribe or nation of their race had ever possessed such a treasure. How did they avail themselves of it? Wau-Bun answers:

No more characteristic bit of Indian painting has ever been made than that given in these few words. Here was the native savage (not ignorant of wiser ways, for he had had the thrifty white man under his eyes for four generations) still showing himself in sense a child, in strength a man, and in cruelty a fiend incarnate.

Mrs. Helm continues:

Unconsciously Mrs. Helm, in this artless tale told to glorify the younger officer, awakens in our minds a feeling of dislike for him. That a youth, scarce two years out of West Point, should add an ill-timed insult to the heavy cares of his senior officer, a soldier of thirteen years service, must be shocking to every one. Seeing that within two hours he was to die in action, bravely doing his duty (in company with his senior similarly engaged and sorely wounded) we can readily forgive his error, but not without a protest against a foolish woman's foolish effort to make it out a noble and praiseworthy outburst.

Mrs. Heald's narrative[B] (though fortified by Captain Heald's letter, quoted later) seems less probable than the foregoing circumstantial account in Wau-Bun. She says:

Captain Heald's force consisted of fifty-four regular soldiers and twelve militia-men, and with them departed every white inhabitant of the little settlement, men, women and children—probably about thirty in all—ranging in social condition from the prosperous Kinzies to the humble discharged soldiers who had married and started to make a living by tilling the soil, etc.

The Kinzie family was to go by boat, skirting along the lake and keeping in touch with the land column as long as it should hug the shore; later ascending the St. Joseph's River to "Bertrand," or "Parc-aux-vaches," as it was called, in memory of its having been the cow-pasture of the old French-Canadian settlement and fort which had stood on the bank of that river a century or so ago. The boat-party consisted of Mrs. John Kinzie, her son, John H., born at Sandwich, Canada, July 7, 1803, and her other children—Ellen Marion (later Mrs. Alexander Wolcott), born in Chicago, December, 1805; Maria Indiana (later Mrs. General Hunter), born in Chicago, in 1807, and Robert A., born in Chicago in 1810. Her daughter by a previous marriage, Margaret McKillip, was, it will be remembered, now the wife of Lieutenant Helm, and she bravely elected to share the perils of the land-march with her husband. There was also in the boat the nurse, Josette (misprinted in Wau-Bun, "Grutte"[C]) Laframboise (afterward Mrs. Jean Baptiste Beaubien), a clerk of Mr. Kinzie's, two servants, the boatman, and two Indians as guard. This shows that the boat must have been neither a bark canoe nor a common "dug-out" or "pirogue," but a large bateau, capable of carrying these numerous passengers, with corresponding baggage and supplies.

To-pee-nee-be, a friendly Indian, chief of the St. Joseph's band, early in the morning of the fatal day, had warned John Kinzie that trouble was to come from the "escort" which Captain Heald had bargained for with the Pottowatomies in council, and had urged him to go in the boat with his family. But the old frontiers-man was built of too sturdy stuff to take such advice. If there was to be danger he must share it, and if help would avail he must give it; so he rode with the column.

First rode out Captain William Wells, hero-martyr, marching, probably consciously, to a doom self-inflicted under the impulse of human sympathy and soldierly honor. Following him were half of his mounted escort of Miami Indians, followed in their turn by the volunteers and such of the regulars as were able to bear arms. Next came the short train of wagons, with stores, supplies, camp-equippage, women, children, sick, wounded and disabled. This little caravan contained all there was to show for eight years of industry and privation. But what mattered it? Greater savings would only have meant greater loss, and more men, women and children would only have meant more suffering and death.

The rear-guard was composed of the remainder of Captain Wells's wretched Miamis, such reliance as is a broken reed. The Miamis were mounted, as were Captain Wells, Mr. Kinzie, Mrs. Heald and Mrs. Helm, but probably no others of the party.

The day continued bright and sunny, and the line must have stretched from the fort (about the south end of Rush Street bridge) perhaps to the present Madison Street, half way to the point where began the sand-dunes or low hills which, even within the memory of the present generation, skirted the shores down as far as the beginning of the oak woods of Hyde Park. The bateau followed in the rear of the column and had just reached the mouth of the river (where the foot of Madison street now is[D]) when a messenger from To-pe-nee-be brought the Kinzie party to a halt.

The column had marched parallel with the Pottowatomie "escort" until both bodies reached the sand-hills. Then the whites kept by the shore-road, while the Indians, veering slightly to their right, put the sand-hills between their crowd and the slim, weak line of troops and wagons.

The reports of the fight itself, given by the two witnesses on whom we must rely, do not differ materially from each other. Mrs. Helm's narrative naturally treats more fully of the Kinzie family's experiences; Mrs. Heald's more fully of her own adventures and the death of her uncle. Neither woman mentions the other; they were probably separated early. I will give the stories in turn, beginning with Mrs. Helm's.

MARGARET HELM'S STORY.

Mrs. Helm does not say that she heard these words when uttered, nor is it probable that she could have been within hearing distance of the very head of the column, or even could have understood the words unless (what most unlikely) they were uttered in English. The whole circumstance looks apocryphal—probably a later Indian fabrication.

This seems to be the moment where her narrative diverges from that of Mrs. Heald, who evidently followed the troops, as she was caught between a cross-fire of the Indians, whom the advance had left on its flanks and rear, and there received her wounds. Mrs. Helm's subsequent narrative shows that she was, when rescued, unwounded and near the Like.

When we read this remarkable dialogue—remarkable as occurring amid the rattle of musketry on a battle-field where the narrators' friends were perishing in a hopeless struggle with an overpowering force of savage foes—we remember that Mrs. Kinzie's book did not assume to be history; was not written as a grave and literal record of things as they were; a statement carefully scrutinized to see that no unjust slur is cast upon any character, even so unimportant a one as the poor wounded, dying surgeon. Mrs. Helm, on the dreadful day, was a mere girl-wife of seventeen years, and was a woman of thirty-seven when Mrs. Kinzie transcribed the artless tale into Wau-Bun, a book which reads like a romance, and was meant so to be read.

The utterance of these admirable sentiments while still in sight of Ensign Ronan, mortally wounded, yet fighting with desperation on one knee, again puts us in doubt as to Mrs. Helm's location on the field; but the next part of her story shows that she was not far from the water.

This picturesque narrative of the rescue of a young bride by a friendly Indian, has been justly regarded as the one romantic story connected with that dark and bloody day. It has been the chosen theme of the story-teller, the painter and the sculptor, and its portrayal in perennial bronze forms the theme of the magnificent group which has been designed and modeled by the sculptor, Carl Rohl-Smith, cast in bronze, and presented (June, 1893), with appropriate ceremonies, to the Chicago Historical Society, "in trust for the city and for posterity" as set forth by an inscription on its granite base.[E]

Mrs. Helm goes on:

The disgrace attaching to the British government in seeking alliance with such savages in a war against civilized beings of its own race, is elsewhere fully treated. One can only wish that those cries might have reached the women of all England, instead of falling fruitlessly on those of one poor, exhausted, helpless American girl, and of the red hell-spawn grinning and dancing with delight at the sound.

Such is the tale as first given to the world by Mrs. Kinzie in "Wau-Bun." I will now present the narrative of the same struggle, defeat, surrender and massacre as often told by Mrs. Captain Heald to her son, the Hon. Darius Heald, and by him to me. The two are not, in essentials, contradictory; each completes and rounds out the other.

After giving the account of the peaceable start from the fort (inconsistent with Mrs. Helm's story, already quoted, and less truth-seeming than the latter), she goes on to say:

REBEKAH HEALD'S STORY.

Here to the eye of common-sense, whether soldierly or civilian, the battle is already gone—lost beyond salvation. The onus of blame appears to rest on poor Wells, the brave, devoted volunteer. He had learned war in a school that took no account of the supply-train; in the school of individual fighters, living on nothing, saving no wounded or non-combatants; dash, scurry, kill, scalp and run away, every man for himself—and the devil take the hindmost—in other words the Indian system. As to this band of whites, what had it to fight for but its train of wagons with all the helpless ones, all the stores, all the ammunition, all the means of progress and of caring for the wounded? To charge the centre of a brave, unformed rabble which outflanks you is only heroic suicide at best, and when the doing so leaves the train at the mercy of the spreading flanks of the foe, it is fatal madness.

To return to the Heald narrative:

By this time Wells, Ronan and Van Vorhees were killed, Heald had a bullet in his hip, Mrs. Heald had a half dozen wounds, half the regulars were killed or wounded, and so far as we now know for certain, all twelve militia-men. (A doubt about this last named unexplained mortality, and suggestion as to the probable manner of their death, will be noted later.) Darius Heald could only say:

In any circumstances, one cannot cast blame on a beaten commander, negotiating with his victorious foes, while bleeding from a bullet deep-bedded in his hip-joint. In this case, it is not likely that blame would be due, even if Captain Heald had been unhurt. But for his surrender, the Chicago Massacre would have been, on a small scale, the fore-runner of the great Custer slaughter, where not a white man lived to tell the tale. Every man, woman and child of white blood (except perhaps the Kinzies and Lieutenant Helm), would now be in oblivion almost as if they had never been born. Even the "massacre tree" that stands to-day (1893) in Eighteenth street near the lake, in gaunt, leafless old age, could only have been identified by the bleaching skulls, great and small, which surrounded it when General Cass passed the spot a few years afterward.

Here we take up again Mrs. Heald's personal story:

I have remarked that Mrs. Heald does not mention the presence of Mrs. Helm, nor does the latter that of the former. We judge from this, and from Mrs. Helm's account of her being saved by being plunged in the lake, that the latter remained nearer the shore than did the other.

DEATH OF CAPTAIN WELLS.

So nobly perished one of the best and bravest frontiers-men, fighting where he had been summoned by sympathy and affection, not by the orders of any superior officer. No knight ever set lance in rest under a more purely chivalric impulse than did this plain, pretending, half-educated pioneer. Two hundred and fifty miles away he had heard the warning note of peril, seen the fair young face of his brother's daughter (she who long before had sought him out among his savage captors and restored him to his kins-folk), and felt the impulse of manly self-devotion to save her and her friends from impending doom. He obeyed the noble impulse and—he died like a man, and somewhere beneath our thoughtless footsteps his bones lie buried.[F]

In the Calumet Club is preserved the identical hatchet worn by Captain Wells during the last fight, with authenticating documents furnished by James Madison Wolcott, of South Toledo, Ohio, his grandson by his wife Wa-nan-ga-peth (daughter of Me-che-kan-nah-quah or Little Turtle) through his daughter Ah-mah-qua-zah-quah ("A sweet breeze"), who married Judge James Wolcott. It is related that Wa-nan-ga-peth received the news of her husband's death from a stranger Indian who entered, told the message, laid down the hatchet in token of its truth, and departed, unknown as he came.

This narrative of the fight itself, as seen by Mrs. Heald and related to me by her son, is marked by a style of severe simplicity and good faith that seems to command confidence in the mind of the reader. There is no point in the artless story where one is compelled to pause and make a mental allowance for the bias of the narrator, for her excitement and the uncertainty such a state of mind might throw over her accuracy, or even for the errors (save those of omission) which the lapse of years might have caused. All seems natural, unforced and trustworthy. The story goes on:

Rebekah Wells Heald was evidently worthy of her name. Daughter of Captain Samuel Wells, niece of Captain William Wells, wife of Captain Nathan Heald, she was a woman whom the sight of blood could not daunt, the smart of wounds weaken, or the fear of bereavement subdue. (For many hours after the battle she supposed herself a widow.) Her son Darius (her mouthpiece in this narrative) was not born until nine years after that dreadful day; and now (1893), in his seventy-third year, he shows the family form and spirit. Tall, stalwart, erect and dignified, he is a typical southern-westerner, a mighty hunter in the past and a tower of patriarchal strength in his old age.

This horse was a thoroughbred, the same one that Mrs. Heald, as a bride, had ridden from Kentucky a year before. The Indians had always looked on it with envious eyes, and had employed all means, lawful and otherwise, to get it from the fort. Now it was theirs by conquest, and no later efforts availed to recover it. Doubtless among its new owners its fate was hard and its life short. One winter of starvation, exposure and abuse would "hang its hide on the fence," even while its wretched Indian-pony companions were living on in stubborn endurance.

Here arises before the mind's eye the dim and cloudy vision of horror, the acme of the tragedy, all the more appalling for its shrouding mystery. It makes the flesh creep and the hair stand on end. It sears the heart against the race whereof it was the inborn nature to feel in the eyes a love for the sight of mortal agony, in the ears an eagerness for the shriek of despairing anguish.

The wounded not included! The helpless picked out for torture! The inflamed hurts to be deepened with a pitchfork and perhaps further and mortally inflamed with a burning brand! Kindly Nature's passing lethargy to be quickened into conscious death in frantic anguish!

The twelve militia-men are never again mentioned. They are as if they had never been born, lived and toiled, never volunteered, never served, fought and fell. How is this to be accounted for? Why should their mortality be twice as great as that of the regulars? Darkness hides the answer; but it seems not unlikely that the same hellish ingenuity which held that "the wounded were not included," may also have held that men not wearing the uniform were not protected by the capitulation, and so they perished at the stake, surrounded by the "general frolic" which occupied the savages, good and bad, friendly and inimical, during the flight of the Healds and Kinzies.

There was no place on earth for a race which, through all its history, had found delight in the spectacle of pain, which inflicted torture, not as a means leading to some ulterior object, but as itself a source of joy and gladness. The race is still in existence, but the inhuman part of its characteristics are being refined away, leaving some of its best traits in the more advanced of its present representatives. Later on in this volume mention is made of its standing and its prospects at this time.

Now to take up again the Wau-Bun narrative. The torturing incident, already given, evidently ends the story of Mrs. Helm's personal experiences; all that follows being what others professed to have seen. Yet (possibly by typographical error) the quotation marks, which began with the narration, are continued much further on, including paragraphs wherein she is spoken of in the third person. (See later.) Mrs Helm says:

Lieutenant Helm made the terms of capitulation? How could that be while Captain Heald was present? And what is to be done with Captain Heald's statement of October 7, 1812, less than three months after the event? It reads as follows: "The Indians did not follow me but assembled in a body on the top of the bank, and, after some consultation among themselves, made signs for me to approach them. I advanced toward them alone and was met by one of the Pottowatomie chief called Black Bird, with an interpreter."

The reader will of course choose between the two statements according to his judgement of probabilities and internal evidence of truthfulness. Captain Heald certainly cast no slur on Lieutenant Helm, and appears not even to have entered into the bitterness of feeling against himself and his unhappy surgeon, which seems to have gone on rankling through all the twenty years that elapsed between the direful day and the telling of the story by Mrs. Helm to Mrs. Kinzie.

Mrs. Helm's expression, "Peresh Leclerc, a half-breed boy in the service of Mr. Kinzie who had accompanied the detachment and fought manfully on their side," leaves a possible ambiguity as to whether it is the boy or his master who fought manfully on the side of the whites.

Next follows one of the most noteworthy parts of all Mrs. Helm's narrative, the few words which depict the act of ferocity by which the occasion has been given much of its picturesque and terrible individuality:

This harrowing tale is strongly confirmed by Captain Heald's estimate of losses as given in his letter of Oct. seventh (already quoted), which he states as follows: "Our strength was about fifty-four regulars and twelve militia, out of which twenty-six regulars and twelve militia were killed in action, with two women and twelve children. Ensign George Ronan and Dr. Isaac V. Van Vorhees, of my company, with Captain Wells of Fort Wayne, to my great sorrow are numbered among the dead. Lieutenant Linai T. Helm, with twenty-five non-commissioned officers and privates, and eleven women and children, were prisoners when we separated."

The next part of Mrs. Helm's narrative is remarkably at variance with the stern, true-seeming and circumstantial account of Captain Wells' death given by Mrs. Heald. Mrs Helm says (following the statement of the slaughter of the innocents):

When we observe the incongruities of this tale (not to speak of its contradiction by Mrs. Heald's report) such as the witnessing by Captain Wells of the wagon slaughter (at a time when we know he was far away inland, fighting at the head of the troops); of his alleged dastardly flight from the field toward the Indian camp a mile-and-a-half away, with the avowed intention of killing the squaws and pappooses; his being overtaken on horseback by pursuing enemies on foot; his being held up by two Indians while a third stabbed him in the back, the third being the very one who helped Mrs. Helm to reach the fort; we are only glad to remember that the narrator did not mean to have us understand that she witnessed the occurrences she relates. Internal evidence leads us to suspect that the story came to her from the lips of lying Indians, eager to magnify to Mr. Kinzie their deeds of valor and of kindness, and perhaps justify their treatment of poor Wells, alive and dead. Pee-so-tum may have killed and scalped Wells, but it surely was not under such circumstances as those above set forth. Not even the best friends of the Indian claim for him any appreciation of the virtue of mere veracity. Personal faithfulness of the most touching character he often showed. Even the keeping of promises, often at the cost of great personal sacrifice, has been known as a striking and admirable trait. But "truth for truth's sake" is beyond him—as it is, indeed, beyond the great mass of mankind.

The Wau-Bun story of the experiences of the Kinzie family bears evidences of authenticity and reasonable accuracy, as might be expected from the fact that Mrs. John H. Kinzie probably got it directly from her husband's mother, Mrs. John Kinzie, who was alive at the time when it was first written.

In this narrative the Indian bargains that he shall have his booty whether the prisoners live or die. This stipulation indicates the savage's view of the value of a prisoner. If likely to live, and therefore exchangeable for ransom, then his life might be spared; if not, then he belonged to his captor and could be used for the keen delight of torture. This is probably the idea which inspired the hellish notion of the exclusion of the wounded from Captain Heald's capitulation. For the unhurt they could get ransom, therefore they would spare their lives. But the wounded! Why spare them? They are not merchantable. Nobody will give anything for a dead man. The dying are available for only one profit—torture.

The discrepancy observable between this account and that of Mrs. Heald herself, which says that on that night she was cared for by squaws in the Indian encampment, may be explained away by supposing that it was on the following day, after the Kinzies had got back to their home on the north bank, that Mrs. Kinzie caught sight of her friend and sent Chandonnais to her rescue in one of the boats they always used for passing and repassing the river, at about where Rush Street bridge now stands. The fact that no mule could well have been tied where the boat lay offshore, near the river's mouth, makes this seem the probable explanation of the incongruity.

At their own mansion the family of Mr. Kinzie were closely guarded by their Indian friends, whose intention it was to carry them to Detroit for security. The rest of the prisoners remained at the wigwams of their captors.

Mrs. Helm, Mr. Kinzie's step-daughter, must have been among those once more housed at the historic building of squared logs built about 1776, by Pointe de Saible. This house was still standing when the village had become, in name at least, a city, which it did in 1837. Mr. Kinzie had planted along its front four poplar trees, and they appear in the early pictures of Chicago. Doubtless, if one were to dig in the open space on the east side of Pine Street, at its junction with Kinzie street, the old roots would be found to this day (1893), and there are probably a hundred living Chicagoans who remember having seen the house itself.

The Wabash Indians must have been smarting with the terrible defeat inflicted on them only about one year before, when General Harrison, whose confidential agent poor Wells had been, fought them at Tippecanoe, on the banks of the Wabash River.

Billy Caldwell, the "Sau-ga-nash," or Englishman, was son of Colonel Caldwell, a British officer stationed at Detroit, his mother being a beautiful Pottowatomie girl. He was educated by his father, though serving his mother's race as a chief of the Pottowatomies. (There were always many "chiefs.") He fought under Tecumseh against the whites under Wayne—"Mad Anthony," as he was often called, "Old Tempest," as Caldwell himself calls him[J]—also at the Battle of the Thames, in 1813, when Harrison fought and defeated the combined forces of British and Indians, and the famous chief, Tecumseh, was killed. He took part in the treaty of Greenville, in 1796, and that of Chicago, in 1833; a long space of historic time, covering a racial struggle of many thrilling incidents, not a thousandth part of which can ever see the light. They are buried in blood, smoke, flame and darkness. At this time, it will be observed, Caldwell was an ally of the English.

The remainder of both the Wau-Bun and Heald narratives is devoted to the flight from Chicago and the later fate of the fugitives. Before closing this part of my story, I will give the following bit coming from another source.

Near the (present) north end of State Street bridge stood a log house known to history and tradition as "Cobweb Castle;" a name probably given to it after the rebuilding of the fort in 1816, and after it had become superannuated and superseded. Mrs. Callis, daughter of Mr. Jouett, who came here with him about 1817, says of it: "The house in which my father lived, was built before the massacre of 1812; I know this from the fact that 'White Elk,' an Indian chief, the tallest Indian I ever saw, was frequently pointed out to me as the savage who had dashed out the brains of the children of Sukey Corbin (a camp-follower and washerwoman) against the side of this very house. Mrs. Jouett told her daughter of a frantic mother (perhaps the same Mrs. Corbin), a former acquaintance of hers, who, on that occasion fought the monster all the while the butchery was going on, and who, in her turn, fell a victim herself."

This would indicate that some of the citizens (beside the Kinzies, Healds and Helms) got back to the settlement after the collision at the sand-hills, and that they found at their old homes no sanctuary, no rest, no mercy, no hope.

It is to be observed that, as the Jouetts were not on the spot at the time of the massacre, this part of the story has not the degree of authenticity attaching to the reports of the Healds and Helms. The treaty of 1817 gives, among the Pottowatomie signers, the Indian name of "the White Elk" as "Wa-bin-she-way."

Everything connected with the massacre itself, so far as existing testimony has come to light, has now been told. There is a possibility that one other document may be hidden away; an account written by Lieutenant Helm. But this, if ever found, will necessarily be identical, in all important particulars with the story told by his widow and printed in Wan Bun.[K]

The day which dawned so bright has dragged through its bloody hours and come to its dark and hideous close. The dead, men, women and children, are at peace. The wounded are suffering the torments of the pit, the rest are shuddering in the uncertainties that lie before them. The Indians are riotously happy; for have they not done harm? Have they not killed, scalped, destroyed, wasted, life and property? Have they not annihilated the source whence they had been getting arms, ammunition and blankets, and driven off the men who tried to keep whisky from them? Have they not made a solitude and called it war? The goods are scattered. The fort is burned. The cattle are dead or dying. The soldiers are defeated, slain or held as prisoners, for ransom if unhurt, for torture if disabled. The babes are brained and their mothers dead or desolate. What more "happy hunting ground" is possible to them this side of hades itself?

In "Wau-Bun," one seems to hear them telling of their individual good deeds and attributing all evil deeds to each other. For the Indian's hand was against every man, even all other Indians. Their bloodiest wars have been between themselves; wars of absolute extermination for the beaten party Every tribe held its lands by conquest and by force. Even if we had taken them by the sword, without compensation (which we never did), they would only have lost their holdings by the selfsame means by which they had gained them.

Well is it for the kindlier folk that the cruel did not stick together. If they had done so, we should be a hundred years in time and a thousand miles in space further back in our territorial progress. But they could not combine. "You might as well try to boil flints into a pudding."

It still remains to me to trace, so far as it is not shrouded in oblivion, the fate of the survivors. But as this leads some distance into the future, I have thought best to treat the matter separately; prefacing the story of what followed the tragedy by a short sketch of what preceded and led up to it. Why did those brave and hapless beings come here? How came they here? What brought their few and scattered footprints to the ground since then trodden by millions?

The following pages will try to answer these questions, beginning with the very earliest permanent settlement of what is now Chicago.

HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL

HOW CHICAGO BEGAN AND WHO WERE ITS BEGINNERS.

CHAPTER I.

THE DARK BEFORE THE DAWN.

EARLY JESUIT.

RESOLUTELY, though unwillingly, I pass over the romantic history of the first century of Chicago's annals, the French period beginning about 1678, embracing the thrilling story of La Salle, Marquette and their brave fellow Catholics. Let us take up the tale when, in 1778, during the Revolutionary war; just as the great George Rogers Clark was capturing Indiana, Illinois and in fact the whole Northwest, from the English; one Colonel Arent Schuyler de Peyster (a New York officer of the British army, in command of Fort Mackinac) wrote some doggerel verses which bring Chicago into modern history and literature.[L] In one of his poems he speaks of "Eschikagou" and of Jean Baptiste Pointe de Saible who lived there, and in a footnote he describes the place as "a river and fort at the head of Lake Michigan," and the man as "a handsome negro, well educated, but much in the French interest."

The fort spoken of by Colonel de Peyster, if it had any existence, must have been a mere stockaded trading-post, for neither by English nor by French forces had it been built, and as to American forces, there were none west of the Alleghanies except Clark with his few score of heroic frontiers-men. Fort Dearborn came twenty-six years later, as we shall see.

The word "Chicago" in some of its many forms of spelling[M] had been in recognized existence for a century, being found in the scanty and precious records left by Marquette, La Salle and their contemporaries, though they first call the stream the "Portage River."

Much discussion has arisen about the word and its meaning, but the preponderance of testimony seems to point to the conclusion that the river took its name from the wild onion, leek or garlick that grew in profusion along its banks in all this region, and is still to be found in many neglected spots of original soil. Bold Tonti, La Salle's faithful lieutenant, speaks of having been nourished during his long tramp from the Illinois River to Green Bay by a weed much like the leek of France, which they dug up with their fingers and ate as they walked—surely the chi-ca-gou.

LITTLE TURTLE—ME-CHE-KAN-NAH-QUAH.

The first official mention of the word "Chicago" was in the "Treaty of Greenville;" a compact made in 1795 between the Indians and "Mad Anthony" Wayne, who had lately whipped them into a treaty-making frame of mind. This treaty placed the boundary line between the whites and the Indians east of the entire state of Indiana, but excepted and retained for trading posts several isolated sections west of the line, among them "one piece of land six miles square at the mouth of Chicago River, emptying into the southwestern end of Lake Michigan, where a fort formerly stood."

"Me-che-kan-nah-quah" or "Little Turtle," who took a prominent part in the making of the treaty, was the father-in-law of William Wells, the hero-martyr of the massacre, as has been set forth in Part I.

Baptiste Pointe de Saible, some time in the last century, built a log house on the north bank of the Chicago River, near Lake Michigan, just where Pine street now ends. This modest dwelling existed through vicissitudes many and terrible. When built, it stood in a vast solitude. North of it were thick woods which covered the whole of what is now Chicago's proud "North Side." In front of it lay the narrow, deep and sluggish creek which forms the main river; and, with its two long, straggling branches, gives the city its inestimable harbor,[N] with twenty-seven miles of dock frontage. Beyond it, stretching indefinitely southward, lay the grassy flat now the "South Side," the business centre and wealthiest residence portion. Westward, beyond the north and south branches of the river, stretched the illimitable prairie, including what at the present time is the "West Side," the home of manufacturing enterprise and of a population larger than that of the two other portions put together. And to the eastward lay the lake; the only thing in nature which Jean Baptiste could recognize if he should now return to the scene of his long, lonely, half savage, half civilized sojourn.

From "Cyclopædia of United States History."—Copyright 1881, by Harper & Brothers.

GENERAL ANTHONY WAYNE.

Suppose him to have built his log dwelling in 1778, the very year when Colonel de Peyster luckily makes a note of his existence; all about him must have been a waste place so far as human occupation is concerned. Bands of roaming Indians from time to time appeared and disappeared. French trappers and voyageurs doubtless made his house their halting-place. Fur-traders' canoes, manned by French "voyageurs," "engages" and "coureurs des bois," paddling the great lakes and unconsciously laying the foundation of the Astor fortunes, called, from time to time, to buy the stores of peltry which he had collected, and leave him the whisky of which he was so fond, but the rest of his time was spent in patriarchal isolation and the society of his Indian wives and their half-breed offspring. So far as we know, scarcely a civilized habitation stood nearer than Green Bay on the north, the Vermilion branch of the Wabash on the south and the Mississippi on the west; a tract of nearly fifty thousand square miles.

Pointe de Saible's occupation ended about with the century, when he sold the cabin to one Le Mai. Before this time, however, other settlements had been begun nearer than those above mentioned; and even in the very neighborhood there were a few neighbors. One Guarie had settled on the west side of the North Branch; and Gurdon Hubbard (who came here in 1818) says that that stream was still called "River Guarie" and that he himself saw the remains of corn-hills on what must have been Guarie's farm. (The South Branch was called "Portage River" because it led to the Mud Lake connection with the Des Plaines and so onward to the Mississippi). Pointe de Saible, Le Mai and Guarie have died and left no sign, but there was another pioneer of pioneers in the beginning of the present century who was more lucky. He was Antoine Ouillemette, a Frenchman who took to wife a Pottowatomie squaw and thus obtained a grant of land on part of which the pretty suburb of Wilmette now stands. He did not die till 1829, six years before the final departure of the Pottowatomies for the further West.

WILLIAM WHISTLER.

The far-seeing plans which inspired our forefathers in making the treaty of Greenville took shape in 1804, when General Henry Dearborn, Secretary of War under President Jefferson, ordered the building of a fort[O] and a company of soldiers arrived to build it, having marched overland from Detroit under Lieutenant (afterward Colonel) James S. Swearingen. Their Captain, John Whistler, had led an eventful life. Hurlbut in his delightful "Chicago Antiquities" says he was "an officer in the army of the Revolution," and adds: "We regret that we have so few facts concerning his history; nor have we a portrait or signature of the patriot." In fact he did serve during the Revolutionary war, but it was on the British side in the army of General Burgoyne, being taken prisoner with the rest, and paroled; joining the American army later in life.[P] With Captain John Whistler came his son, Lieutenant William Whistler, the latter accompanied by his young wife (of her and her daughter we shall hear more hereafter), all of whom came around the lakes on the schooner Tracy. The passengers left the Tracy on arriving at St. Joseph's, Michigan, and came across the lake by a row-boat. When the schooner arrived she anchored outside and her freight was discharged by bateaux, as the river (which made a sharp turn southward just below where Rush Street Bridge now stands and debouched over a shallow bar at about the present foot of Madison Street) was not navigable for lake vessels at that time, or for thirty-one years afterward. Mrs. William Whistler said that some two thousand Indians visited the locality, during the schooner's stay, to see the "big canoe with wings."

MRS. WILLIAM WHISTLER.

From a photograph taken during her visit to Chicago in 1875.

We further learn from Mrs. Whistler that there were then in the place but four rude huts or trader's cabins, occupied by white men, Canadian French with Indian wives. She adds:

"Captain Whistler, upon his arrival, at once set about erecting a stockade and shelter for his protection, followed by getting out the sticks for the heavier work. It is worth mentioning here that there was not at that time, within hundreds of miles, a team of horses or oxen, and as a consequence, the soldiers had to don the harness and, with the aid of ropes, drag home the needed timbers."

This would indicate that the soldiers had made their long march from Detroit (two hundred and eighty miles) without wagons or pack animals to carry tents and rations; or, what is more probable, that the transportation had been hired, and the outfit had returned to Detroit.

Next steps upon the scene the true pioneer of the Chicago of to-day; John Kinzie.[Q] This first of citizens had learned of the proposed establishment of the military post. Fort Dearborn, and, foreseeing with his usual boldness and sagacity the advantages to spring from it, had come over from his residence on the St. Joseph's river, and bought from Le Mai the old Pointe de Saible log-cabin. Shortly after the establishment of the fort he brought his family to the place wherein the name of Kinzie has been always most distinguished. The family consisted of his wife, Eleanor (Lytle), widow of a British officer named McKillip, her young daughter Margaret, who afterward became Mrs. Lieutenant Helm, and an infant son, John Harris Kinzie. They occupied the old North Side log-house up to 1827—about twenty-five years—(except from 1812 to 1816, the years of desolation) and it stood for more than ten years longer; a landmark remembered by scores if not hundreds of the Chicagoans of this time (1893).

For much of our scanty knowledge concerning the years following the building of the fort we are indebted to Mrs. Julia (Ferson) Whistler, wife of William and therefore daughter-in-law of John, the old Burgoyne British regular.[R]

From 1804 to 1811, the characteristic traits of this far away corner of the earth were its isolation; the garrison within the stockade and the ever present hovering clouds of savages outside, half seen, half trusted, half feared; its long summers, (sometimes hot and sometimes hotter); and its long winters, (sometimes cold and sometimes colder); its plenitude of the mere necessaries of life, meat and drink, shelter and fuel, with utter destitution of all luxuries; its leisurely industry and humble prosperity; Kinzie, the kindly link between the red man and the white, vying with the regular government agent in the purchase of pelts and the sale of rude Indian goods. In 1805 Charles Jouett was the United States Indian Agent here. He was a Virginian, son of one of the survivors of Braddock's defeat. How much of his time was spent here and how much elsewhere we do not know. In Mrs. John H. Kinzie's charming book "Wau-Bun" he is not even mentioned, which circumstance suggests that his relations with old John Kinzie were not cordial; a state of things to be expected, considering their relative positions. He was an educated man and must have enjoyed the friendship of Jefferson, Madison and Monroe, judging by his appointment as Government Agent, first at Detroit, later at Chicago (1804), which latter post he resigned in 1811, only to be reappointed in 1817.

CHARLES JOUETT.

It is probable that the United States agent was at a disadvantage in dealing with the Indians, as he would have to obey the law forbidding the supplying them with spirits; which law the other traders ignored. In Hurlbut's "Antiquities" a bit of "local color" gives with much vividness the condition of the prairie in those days.

"In the holidays of 1808-9 Mr. Jouett (then a widower) married Susan Randolph Allen of Kentucky, and they made their wedding journey on horseback in January, through the jungles, over the snow drifts, on the ice and across the prairies, in the face of driving storms and the frozen breath of the winds of the north. They had, on their journey, a negro servant named Joe Battles and an Indian guide whose name was Robinson; possibly the late chief Alexander Robinson. A team and wagon followed, conveying their baggage, and they marked their route for the benefit of any future travelers."

The government had tried to befriend the Indian in every way. It did not forbid private traders from dealing with him; but it appointed agents whose duty it was to sell him goods at prices barely sufficient to cover cost and expenses. At the same time it forbade, under penalty, the supplying him with liquor in any quantity, upon any pretext. Unhappily the last-named kindly effort thwarted the first. The miserable savage loved the venal white who would furnish him with the poison. For it he would give not only his furs, but his food and shelter, his wives and children, his body and his everlasting soul. As the grand old Baptist missionary Isaac McCoy says, regarding the treaty of 1821, at which he was present:

"At the treaty Topenebe, the principal chief of the Pottowatomies, a man nearly eighty years of age [a long and constant friend of the Kinzies], irritated by the continued refusal on the part of the commissioners to gratify his importunities for whisky, exclaimed in the presence of his tribe: 'We care not for the land, the money or the goods. It is whisky we want. Give us the whisky.' After the business of the treaty was concluded and before the Indians left the treaty grounds, seven barrels of whisky were given them, and within twenty-four hours afterward ten shocking murders were committed amongst them."

To quote from Munsell's History of Chicago:

The incidents of daily life went on in the lonely settlement, as elsewhere.

There was the occasional birth of a baby in the Kinzie house, the fort or somewhere about, as there were several women here, soldiers' wives, etc. Those born in the Kinzie mansion and the officers' families we know about. But these were not all. There were at least a dozen little ones who first saw the light in this locality, whose play-ground was the parade and the river bank, whose merry voices must have added a human sweetness to this savage place; whose entire identity, even to their names, is lost. The one thing we know about them is how they died, and that has been told in Part I.

BUILDING OF THE FIRST FORT DEARBORN.

A "red-coat" of 1812.

DELAYING our narrative for a moment, we here bring upon the scene another figure—the most distinguished and heroic of all who were to play a part in the terrific tragedy which formed its climax—William Wells.[S] This brave fellow, born of white parents, but early stolen by Indians, and only restored after arriving at manhood, was a friend and agent of General Harrison, who was at that time Governor of the Indian Territory. Captain Wells had come to Chicago in 1803 on official duty, as appears by a license (which the writer has had the privilege of inspecting) issued to Jean B. La Geuness, to trade with the Indians. This paper is still in existence, in the possession of Dr. H. B. Tanner of Kaukaunee, Wis., having come to him from among the papers of Judge John Lawe of Green Bay, who was for many years agent of the American (John Jacob Astor's) Fur Company. The license bears the name of "William Henry Harrison, Governor of the Indian Territory and Superintendent of Indian Affairs," and is signed "by order of the Governor. William Wells, Agent at Indian Affairs, Chicago, August the 30th, 1803."

This license must have been signed in the old De Saible house. No fort was here yet, nor any government office or officer, so far as we know. Indeed, this page records, for the first time in history, the fact that William Wells was in Chicago before 1812. Eight years later his niece was to appear on the scene, arriving as the bride of Captain Heald, then commanding Fort Dearborn.

But to return to Captain Whistler and the embryo fort.

A glimpse of early garrison-life appears in the personal narrative of Captain Thomas C. Anderson, published in Volume IX of the Wisconsin Historical Collection:

The fort consisted of a stockade large enough to contain a parade-ground and all the fort buildings, officers' quarters, barracks, offices, guard-house, magazine, etc., and also two block-houses, each built so that the second story overhung the lower, thus giving a vertical fire for musketry to guard against an enemy's setting fire to the house. One of these was at the southeast corner and the other at the northwest. There were entrances on the south side (Michigan Avenue), and on the north or water side, where a sunken road led down to the river. Mr. Blanchard, in his "Chicago and the Northwest," says that the armament consisted of the musket and bayonet, and three pieces of light artillery—probably the old six-pounder, which threw a round ball about double the size of a child's fist.

FORT DEARBORN, 1803-4. (Fergus' Series, No. 16)

Beside the fort, the government put up an "Agency House," which stood on the river bank just west of the sunken road that led from the fort to the water. Mrs. Kinzie describes this building as an old-fashioned log-house with a hall running through the middle, and one large room on each side. Piazzas extended the whole length of the building, in front and rear. It played a part in the final tragedy, and was destroyed with the fort on August 15, 1812.

Munsell's "History of Chicago" gives the following picture at and after the building of the first fort:

Mr. Wentworth's Fort Dearborn speech (Fergus' Historical Series No. 16, page 87) quotes a letter he had received from Hon. Robert Lincoln, Secretary of War under President Garfield. From it we learn that no muster-roll of the garrison at Fort Dearborn in 1811 or 1812 is on file at the War Department, but that the general returns of the army show that the fort was garrisoned from June 4, 1804, to June, 1812, by a company of the First Regiment of Infantry. In these returns the strength of the garrison, officers, musicians and privates, is given as follows: Under Captain John Whistler, June 4, 1804, 69; Dec. 31, 1806, 66; Sept. 30, 1809, 77. Under Captain Nathan Heald, Sept. 30, 1810, 67; Sept. 30, 1811, 51, and June —, 1812, 53.[U]

The deficiency of records in the archives of the War Department may perhaps be accounted for by the fact that the British, after the so-called "battle" of Bladensburgh, took Washington and burned all the government buildings.

In 1811 Captain Nathan Heald, then in command of Fort Dearborn, went down to Kentucky, where he married Rebekah Wells daughter of Captain Samuel Wells and niece of William.[V] The newly married pair came up overland (probably following the trail marked by Mr. Jouett), bringing the wedding treasures of the bride—silver, etc., and her own personal adornments, which interesting relics, after vicissitudes strange and terrible, are now in possession of her son, Darius Heald, and, with him, are depicted elsewhere in these pages.

Mrs. Heald's narrative of these events, as reported to me by her son, is as follows:

In 1812 the peaceful quiet was rudely startled, then assaulted, then destroyed. The first breach of the peace was the killing by Mr. Kinzie (in self-defense) of one John Lalime, Indian interpreter at Fort Dearborn.[W] This was early in 1812. It had, however, nothing to do with the friendliness or enmity of the red-men.

The second event was of a different kind. A man named Lee.[X] who lived on the lake-shore, near the fort, had enclosed and was farming a piece of land on the northwest side of the South Branch, within the present "Lumber District," about half way between Halsted Street and Ashland avenue. It was first known as "Lee's Place," afterwards as "Hardscrabble." It was occupied by one Liberty White, with two other men and a boy, the son of Mr. Lee.

CABIN IN THE WOODS.

This spot was not far from the place where Père Marquette passed the winter of 1674-75; perhaps the very same ground. (See Munsell's History of Chicago for a copy of the good Father's journal, with parallel translation.) Mrs. John Kinzie, first in a pamphlet dated in 1836, and published in 1844, and later in Wau-Bun, gives an extremely picturesque account of the alarm, evidently taken down from the lips of those who had been present; namely her husband (then a boy), his mother, Mrs. John Kinzie, and his half-sister, Mrs. Helm.

Mrs. Kinzie goes on to give the fullest account we have of this initial murder, fitting prelude to the bloody drama to follow a few months later. Here is a condensation of her narrative:

In the afternoon a party of ten or twelve Indians, dressed and painted, arrived at the Lee house, and according to their custom, entered and seated themselves without ceremony. Something in their appearance and manner excited the suspicions of one of the family, a Frenchman [Debou], who remarked: "I don't like the looks of those Indians; they are not Pottowatomies." Another of the family, a discharged soldier, said to a boy (a son of Lee): "If that is the case, we had better get away if we can. Say nothing, but do as you see me do." As the afternoon was far advanced, the soldier walked leisurely toward the two canoes tied near the bank. They asked where he was going. He pointed to the cattle which were standing among the hay-stacks on the opposite bank, and made signs that they must go and fodder them and then return and get their supper.

KINZIE MANSION—1812.

He got into one canoe and the boy into the other. When they gained the opposite side they pulled some hay for the cattle, and when they had gradually made a circuit so that their movements were concealed by the hay-stacks, they took to the woods and made for the fort. They had run a quarter of a mile when they heard the discharge of two guns successively. They stopped not nor stayed until they arrived opposite Burns's place (North State and Kinzie streets), where they called across to warn the Burns family of their danger, and then hastened to the fort.

A party of soldiers had that afternoon obtained leave to go up the river to fish. The commanding officer ordered a cannon to be fired to warn them of their danger. Hearing the signal they took the hint, put out their torches and dropped down the river as silently as possible. It will be remembered that the battle of Tippecanoe, the preceding November, had rendered every man vigilant, and the slightest alarm was an admonition to "beware of Indians."

When the fishing-party reached Lee's place, it was proposed to stop and warn the inmates. All was still as death around the house. They groped their way along, and as the corporal jumped over the small enclosure he placed his hand on the dead body of a man. By the sense of touch he soon ascertained that the head was without a scalp and was otherwise mutilated. The faithful dog of the murdered man stood guarding the remains of his master.

Captain Heald, writing from the fort, gives a shorter statement, adding some further particulars:

HUMAN SCALP.

Among all the tribes of savages met by various immigrations of Europeans, a thousand differences of arms, implements, manners, habits and customs were observed. Some were more barbarous, others less; but there was one trophy one weapon, one trait, invariable and universal—the bleeding scalp, the sharp scalping-knife, the rage for scalping. This proves much. It shows that killing was not a mere means to an end, but the end aimed at. It shows that sheer, unadulterated, unmitigated murder was the ideal grace of manhood. The brain-pan of man, woman or child yielded its covering, torn away warm and quivering, and the possessor was sure of the honor and favor of his fellows, men, women and children. No woman shed a tear over the locks of a sister woman; no child over the curls of a baby.

Savagery the world has ever known, and isolated instances of wholesale destruction of non-combatants in the drunkenness of victory; but there is no record of a whole race, consisting of many tribes, spread over many lands, enduring for many generations, where such diabolism was the general ethnic trait.

ENGLISH AND INDIAN SAVAGES.

INDIAN WARRIOR

THE WINNEBAGOES, we observe, are charged by Captain Heald with this outbreak of lawlessness.

The Pottowatomies always averred that they had nothing to do with the great massacre, and this may be true of the tribe as a whole, but it is well known that many of its members, as well as the Winnebagoes, had been engaged with the Ottawas and Shawnees at the battle of Tippecanoe, less than a year before. The English, ever since the Revolution, had been seeking their friendship—and our injury—by giving them yearly presents at Maiden (in Canada, near Detroit), and they placed much foolish reliance on the red-men's help in prosecuting the war of 1812. Foolish, because the unspeakable savage was only formidable in sneaking hostilities against women and children, and against men unwarned and overmatched; not in a fair fight on equal terms. In all that contest they were simply murderously hostile. Wau-Bun gives an incident which displays their animus. In the spring of 1812 two Indians of the Calamic (Calumet) band came to the fort to visit Captain Heald. One of them, Nau-non-gee, seeing Mrs. Heald and Mrs. Helm playing battle-door on the parade-ground, said to the interpreter (probably John Kinzie): "The white chief's wives are amusing themselves very much; it will not be long before they will be hoeing in our cornfields."

The service they rendered England is such as England should blush to receive. It was the service of inspiring terror in the hearts of the helpless. Two days after the massacre at Chicago, the unfortunate and execrated General Hull surrendered Detroit to the British and Indians. Why did he do so? He had suffered no defeat. He could have crossed the river and fought them with every prospect of victory. But could he leave that town at the mercy of fiends who knew no mercy? He could have given battle at Detroit itself, but the British General (Proctor) kindly told him that if he should be compelled to assault he would not be able to control his Indian allies. Now, in case of defeat, Hull's army could take care of themselves, either as prisoners or fugitives; but what might become of a thousand helpless, hapless women and children, and the wounded men he would have on his hands? What would have become of them? Read further on in this narrative and see!

So, in an evil hour for himself. General Hull took the merciful course, and innocent blood was spared. The fall of Detroit was directly due to non-military caution, a mercifulness that had nothing to do with the hazard of civilized war and the fate of the army. The unfortunate commander, a man of undoubted courage, a man who had served his country through the Revolution, was tried by court-martial and condemned to death. The sentence was not carried out in form, but in substance it was, for he lived in obscurity, if not obloquy, and died with a stained name which is slowly recovering its proper place.

Vain is it for apologists to try to shift on to local subordinates the blame for the shameful course of Lord Liverpool's government. The same king was (nominally) reigning who had employed these same allies only thirty years before, George Third was on the throne through both wars; that of the Revolution and that of 1812. English ears—such as were sensitive to just and bitter denunciation—must still, in 1812, have been ringing with the public outcry against the infamy of 1775-82. Even England's own servants protested against it. Doubtless they felt, as any gentleman must feel, that he who stays at home in personal safety and employs base minions to do his murdering, is more contemptible than are the minions themselves, for they at least take their lives in their hands when they set out.

Where stand the guilty in this business? Lower than where we should stand if we had, during our Civil War, incited the negroes to the destruction of their masters' families, for the negro cannot be as cruel as the Indian could not helping being. Lower than Russia would stand if, in a war along the Afghan frontier, she should scheme for a new Sepoy rebellion, with its ravishing and maiming of well born English women. Such women were treated worse than even Dante's fancy could portray, and yet not worse than were the survivors of the Chicago Massacre.

In the little settlement a wild season of alarm followed the double murder at Hardscrabble. The surviving civilians, consisting of a few discharged soldiers and some families of half-breeds, organized themselves for defense. They took for their stronghold the Agency House already-mentioned as standing on the river-bank just west of the fort. The house (as has been said) was built of logs and had porches on both its long sides. They planked up the porches, leaving loopholes for firing through, and set guards in proper military fashion. To quote once more from Munsell.

War was declared by the United States against England on June 12, 1812. Mackinaw was taken by the British on July 16. Having Detroit to protect and a force of British and Indians to oppose, General Hull naturally aimed to mass his forces and abandon all indefensible outlying posts, such as Fort Dearborn evidently was. Therefore, about August 1st, he sent by Winnemeg, a friendly Indian, a dispatch to Captain Heald, ordering him to evacuate the fort and to proceed to Detroit by land with his command, leaving it to his discretion to dispose of the public property as he might think proper.[Z] Mrs. Kinzie, in Wau-Bun, says that the messenger arrived on August 7th, instead of the 9th which Captain Heald names as the date of his receipt of the order, and adds that the same letter brought news of the declaration of war (which had taken place about two months earlier) and of the loss of the post at Mackinaw. She also gives us a new reading of the dispatch, quite different from that given by Captain Heald. She says the orders to Captain Heald were "to vacate the fort if practicable, and in that event to distribute all the United States property contained in the fort and in the United States factory, or agency, among the Indians in the neighborhood." This discrepancy between our two sources of information becomes important in judging of the blame, if any, attributable to Captain Heald for the disaster toward which all were hastening. Guided by the ordinary rules of evidence, we must take Captain Heald's version as the true one, and believe that the order was peremptory, only to be disobeyed if the subordinate officer felt sure that it would not have been given if his superior had been on the spot; and also that the distribution of goods was, on Captain Heald's part, a voluntary concession intended to win the favor of the Indian—the incurable savage.

It should here be stated that there is a broad divergence—one might say a contradiction—between the Kinzie account and the Heald account of the occurrences of that troubled, appalling, disastrous time. Mrs. Kinzie says that Winnemeg privately told Mr. Kinzie that the fort ought not to be evacuated, seeing that it was well supplied with provisions and ammunition, and advised waiting for reinforcements. Also that if Captain Heald was to go at all, he should start at once, to get out of the way of the hostiles by a forced march while the Indians were dividing the spoil. (How many "forced marches" would it have taken to make that lumbering caravan safe from pursuit by the red runners of the wilds?) She says:

A "council of war" between the captain and his two lieutenants and (perhaps) the surgeon, to debate an unconditional order received from the general commanding the division, does not strike the average reader as an "usual form," nor does any disaffection on the part of the junior among the officers seem likely to enter into the question, one way or the other. But the suggestion throws a side-light on the unhappy state of things at Fort Dearborn. It seems unquestionable that this young ensign was not in accord with his captain, and that the Kinzies, especially the young story-teller, Mrs. Helm (who was Mrs. Kinzie's authority), sided with the junior—as was perhaps natural. To quote from Munsell:

Here is what Mrs. Heald says about these matters:

In writing the story of the events of that eventful time, there being but two sources of information—to some extent divergent, even contradictory—one is tempted to print them in parallel columns and let the reader take his choice. Each has the same degree of authenticity, seeing that Mrs. Helm, an actor in the tragedy, told Mrs. Kinzie the story, who gives it to us; while Mrs. Heald, also an actor (and besides, a badly wounded sufferer), told it often to her son, the Hon. Darius Heald, who gives it to us. But as the parallel columns might prove more controversial than interesting, the plan I have pursued is the presenting of undisputed facts, and, in case of controversy, the account which seems most probable, with the adverse side when necessary.

NOTE.

GEORGE THIRD.

A LONG FAREWELL.

THE departure was not approved by all, if any, of the subordinate officers. It was urged on Capt. Heald that the command would be attacked; that the attack would have been made long before if it had not been for the Indians' regard for the Kinzies; that the helplessness of the women and children and the invalided and superannuated soldiers was sure to make the march slow and perilous, and that the place could well be defended. Captain Heald pleaded his orders, and alleged that the place was not provisioned to stand a siege.

Upon one occasion, as Captain Heald was conversing with Mr. Kinzie on the parade, he remarked: "I could not remain, even if I thought best, for I have but a small store of provisions." "Why, captain," said a soldier who stood near by, forgetting all etiquette, "you have cattle enough to last the troops six months." "But I have no salt to preserve it with." "Then jerk it," said the man, "as the Indians do their venison."[AA] (Wau-Bun.)

Captain Heald, in his letter of November 7th, 1812 (less than three months after the massacre), says of the Indians: "The neighboring Indians got the information as early as I did, and came in from all quarters in order to receive the goods in the factory store, which they understood were to be given them. The collection was unusually large for that place, but they conducted with the strictest propriety until after I left the fort." But Wau-Bun gives a different coloring to the matter, and with such circumstantiality that there seems necessarily to be some truth on the other side. Mrs. Kinzie says that there was dissatisfaction in the garrison amounting to insubordination (as instanced by the soldier's interference in the captain's talk with Mr. Kinzie) and increasing insolence on the part of the Indians. The story runs:

SQUAW.

(As might be expected, the squaws often showed themselves the most bitter, cruel and relentless partisans.)

The feeling will intrude itself that Captain Heald was too truthful, trustful, brave and good a man to be a perfect Indian-fighter. He had none of the savage's traits except his courage. He was without guile, or craft, or duplicity or cruelty. The soul of honor, he attributed good faith to his foe. A temperate man, he could not conceive of the insanity of maniacs to whom the transient delirium of drunkenness is heaven on earth.

We must remember that there is always a hard feeling between the military and the civil authority in every Indian post—East Indian or American Indian—the soldier holding the sword and the civilian the purse, each slightly envying the other what he possesses, and slightly despising him for the lack of what he is deprived of.

At any rate. Captain Heald (by and with the advice of Mr. Kinzie) concluded not to give the whisky and arms to the savages. He did what any of us, common-sense, reasonable men, ignorant of the worst traits of the most cruel of races, might have done. He doubtless reasoned thus:

"I will destroy the means of frenzy and the implements of murder; then I will win the grateful allegiance of the Indian by magnificent gifts; stores that will make him rich beyond his wildest dream of comfort and abundance. Then I will throw myself and these defenceless ones on his protection."

Alas, he did not know with whom he was dealing! What is food and clothing to a devil demanding drink and gunpowder? He got only insolence in return for what he gave them, and loud curses for what he withheld. At the same time Mr. Kinzie could plainly see that if his whisky was destroyed by the government he might be reimbursed for it, while if it was left to the Indians the loss would be absolute and total.

Captain Heald held a council with the Indians on the afternoon of Wednesday, August 12, his juniors (according to Wau-Bun) declining his request to accompany him on the ground that they had secret information that the officers were to be massacred while in council; so he and Mr. Kinzie (interpreter) went boldly forth alone. When the two had walked out, the others opened the port-holes in the block-houses and trained the guns so as to command the assembly. No attack took place, and Captain Heald then promised the Indians a distribution of the goods—whether with or without any express reservations we do not know. The Indians, on their part, promised to escort the train in safety. (This would indicate that the promise was made to one tribe, the Pottowatomies, and that opposition might be looked for from another, probably the Winnebagoes.)

After the council, Mr. Kinzie had a long talk with Captain Heald, whereat it was agreed that all surplus arms, ammunition and liquor should not be distributed, but destroyed. This is Mrs. Kinzie's own account, and seems to set at rest the charge of bad faith (in not distributing all the goods) which has been made by Heald decryers and Indian apologists.

William Wells, with the courage and endurance of his red foster-parents, and the faithful, loving heart of his own race, heard in some way (at Fort Wayne, where he was stationed) of the proposed evacuation of Fort Dearborn and the perilous flight to Detroit—nearly three hundred miles through the lonely "oak openings" of Michigan. His friends were here—his girl-friend, his own brother's daughter, Rebekah Wells Heald, was here. The thought of their danger summoned him like the sound of a trumpet to share it. He came at the head of a band of thirty Miami Indians, to guide, guard, help in every way the forlorn hope. It was too late to change the fatal plan, even if he would have tried to do so. He was a soldier, and obedience to orders was a part of his training. Besides, he knew the Indians, and they knew and respected him, and an expedition which would be desperate without his presence, might be changed by his help to a reasonable undertaking. If the whites had any friends among the reds, he would be at the head of those friends to lead them against the unfriendly.

How the hearts of the troubled little settlement must have bounded as they saw the help approaching! Fancy the scene!

On Friday, August 14th, when the sun was sinking in the West, there came along the lake-shore, stretched out beside the yellow sand-hills that extended southward clear down to the oak woods now marking the suburb of Hyde Park, the band of mounted Indians, headed by the good and brave soldier who knew the Indians as well as they knew each other. They had tramped all the way from Fort Wayne, one hundred and fifty miles, charged with the kindly, dangerous task of escorting the entire Chicago community back along the pathless forest they themselves had just come through.

Captain Heald unquestionably felt greatly reinvigorated, for this was an endorsement of his plan as well as help toward carrying it out. There could be no doubt at headquarters as to his coming, for here was an escorted officer arriving to bear him company. There was certainly a warm hand-shaking between the officers as they came together, and—one would like to have seen the meeting between uncle and niece! It was well neither could look forward twenty-four hours.

Even now the die was cast, and those behind the scenes knew that all was lost. Black Partridge, a chief friendly to the whites, had received, for services rendered at the time of the treaty of Greenville,[AC] a silver medal bearing on one side a portrait of Madison, and on the other clasped hands, surmounted by tomahawk and "calumet," or pipe of peace, with the words "Peace and Friendship." Now he approached Captain Heald and delivered to him the significant emblem. His words, rendered by an interpreter, were these:

"Father, I come to deliver to you the medal I wear. It was given to me by the Americans, and I have long worn it in token of our mutual friendship. But our young men are resolved to imbue their hands in the blood of the whites. I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a token of peace when I am compelled to act as an enemy." (Wau-Bun.)

From "Cyclopædia of United States History."	Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
BLACK PARTRIDGE MEDAL.

This was equivalent to a declaration of hostilities, and a council of war, with Captain Wells as the most trusted adviser, would now have been most excellent. A plan of march should have been formed, including plan of battle, if battle should befall. Many advantages would be with the whites. For several days they would have the lake as their water supply and as a protection on one side. They had wagons to carry food, ammunition and the disabled, and to serve as a cover against musketry. They had between fifty and sixty armed and drilled regulars, twelve good militia-men and thirty Miamis, who could have been forced to fight if they had been properly held in hand—in all about one hundred men. They had a large supply of beef on the hoof, of which many, no doubt, were draught-oxen. On the whole, it is safe to say that, had they had a due sense of the condition of things, they might have made themselves, if not secure from attack, at least safe from annihilation; for, once massed behind the wagons, with the lake at their back, the first onslaught would have met such a rebuff as would have daunted the fickle Indian, who never perseveres against severe loss, no matter how great the stake or how heavy the damage he is inflicting on his enemy. One may now see how the defence should have been conducted when the fatal onslaught did occur. The wagons massed along the shore, the troops—regulars, militia and Miami escort, every man and woman who could fire or load a gun—using these wagons as a breast-work and defending them and the non-combatants crouching behind them; this would have discouraged the assailants and given time for a parley, during which the friendly Indians could have made their influence felt.

So easy it is to be wise after the event!

Mrs. Heald herself (through her son) gives us the following narrative:

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 Indian wigwams—ominous sight! The north side of the river is all wooded, except where little garden-patches are cleared around the human habitations. The observer may see the forks of the stream a half-mile to the westward, but he cannot trace its branches, either "River Guarie," to the north, or "Portage River," to the south, for the trees hide them. Near him, to the west and south, sandy flats, grassy marshes and general desolation are all that he can see. (Will that barren waste ever be worth a dollar an acre?) Beyond, out of sight, past the bend of the South Branch, is Lee's place, with its fresh blood-stains and its two grassless graves.

REBEKAH (WELLS) HEALD.

And so his eye wanders on, across the sandy flat, across the Indian trail, leading west of south, and the lake-shore trail which he himself came over, and finally rests with relief on the lake itself, the dancing blue water and the sky that covers it.

It is said that he who is about to die has some times a "second sight," a gift of looking forward to the days that are to follow his death.

Suppose the weary and anxious observer now to fall asleep, and in dreams to be gifted with this prophetic foresight, and to discern the change that four-score years are to bring.

It is 1892. Close at hand he sees the streamlet, now a mighty channel—a fine, broad, deep water-way, running straight between long piers out to the lake, and stretching inland indefinitely; bordered by elephantine elevators, spanned by magnificent draw-bridges, each built of steel and moved by steam; carrying on its floods great propellers of 100,000 bushels of grain capacity. Looking north, west and south, he sees serried ranks of enormous buildings towering for miles on miles, each one so tall as to dwarf the fort and the block-house to nothingness. He sees hundreds of miles of paved streets, thronged with innumerable passengers and vehicles moving hither and thither, meeting and impeding each other, so that sometimes so many try to pass that none can pass; all must wait until the uniformed guardians of the peace bring order out of chaos. Every acre of ground in sight is worth millions of dollars.

His dreaming ears must be stunned by the thunder of commerce, his nostrils shocked by the smell of the vast food-factories, his skin smutched with the smoke of the burning fuel all about him, to keep these wheels in motion. Bewildered and dumbfounded, even more wearied than he had been by his waking view, he would fain turn his eyes to the east and rest them on the shining calm of the great lake, the dancing blue water and the sky that covers it.

And so we bid him good-bye. Whatever dream visited his tired soul that Friday night was his last. The next day was the one whereon his heroic death was to crown his brave, loving, faithful, fruitless effort to shield the innocent and helpless from a relentless doom.

As the fatal Saturday has been fully treated in Part First of this book, I now pass on to the dark days which followed it, and gather up the details, meager and scanty, of the later life of the survivors, and their death, so far known to the living world.

FATE OF THE FUGITIVES.

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:

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.)

The Wau-Bun narrative is more circumstantial, if not more trustworthy, and tends naturally in a different direction. It goes on:

ALEXANDER ROBINSON (in old age).

Chief of the Pottowatomies, Chippewas, and others.

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 something to do with their further journey to Mackinac. Wau-Bun proceeds:

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.)

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.

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."

From "Cyclopædia of United States History."—Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.

TECUMSEH..

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.

NEW FORT, RIVER, KINZIE HOUSE, ETC., AS GIVEN IN WAU-BUN.

Additional particulars about the interesting career of this remarkable man are given further on. (See Appendix D.)

CONTEMPORANEOUS REPORTS.

MASSACRE TREE, 18th STREET.

TARDLY any one institution existing four score years ago, shows so wondrous a change as does the American newspaper. The steamboat, railroad, telegraph, telephone, power-press and other mechanical aids to the spreading of news have all been invented and perfected within that time, while gas and electric light have aided in the prompt reproduction of intelligence, and penny-postage in its dissemination. So that which was then an infant—say rather an embryo—is now a giant.

The very first published narrative of the massacre which is now at hand is the following account, very short and full of errors, taken from the Buffalo Gazette (date not given) and published in Niles' Weekly Register of October 3, 1812.[AG]

This brief report interests us in various ways. Detroit was in the British hands, and the Queen Charlotte a British ship, for Perry's victory had not yet been won. Major Atwater and Lieut. Eastman, here liberated by the British under flag of truce, were probably part of the army surrendered by General Hull on August 16, and paroled; these officers having remained in Detroit for some unexplained reason—perhaps because they were citizens of that city, as Atwater is an old Detroit name. (It has been given to a street there.) The Queen Charlotte was one of the ships captured by Perry on Sept. 10, 1813, and was sunk in Put-in-Bay, and twenty years later she was raised, repaired and put again in commission, this time as a trading-vessel, and it was on her that John Dean Caton, later Chief Justice of Illinois, and now (1893) an honored resident of Chicago, took passage at Buffalo with his bride, in 1834, and came to the land which was to be their home for sixty years.[AH]

Regarding the rest of the fugitives we have very scanty reports. The next item we find is an utterly wild, false and fanciful statement of Mrs. Helm's vicissitudes, contradicting in every particular her own narrative, as given in Wau-Bun.

This is manifestly written to "fire the patriotic heart" of the country to rally to the defence of "Buffaloe," a frontier town in deadly fear of its Canadian neighbors, in sight beyond the Niagara River. Mrs. Helm herself must have learned with surprise that while she, with the rest of the Kinzie family, was hospitably entertained at "Parc-aux-vaches," on the St. Joseph, she was suffering "three months' slavery among the Indians;" and later, while living in Detroit, she was enduring "three months' imprisonment among their allies," the English. Also that during the five days after the massacre, when she tells us she was, with much discomfort and more alarm, living in the Kinzie mansion with her relatives, she was really dragging a canoe, barefooted, wading along the stream, deprived of all sustenance except the flesh of her murdered countrymen, especially poor Wells's carved-up and bleeding heart—which, by the way, she had only heard of; never seen! Such things serve very well to prove to us that, as creators of imaginative fiction, newspaper correspondents of those days were equal even to those of our own.

More absurd, if possible, is a letter printed in Niles' Register of May 8, 1813, purporting to have been written by one Walter Jordan, a non-commissioned officer of regulars, stationed at Fort Wayne, to his wife, in Alleghany County, dated Fort Wayne, October 19, 1812. In the first place, it is most unlikely that any such white man should have been in Captain Wells's company and remained unmentioned. We hear of nobody as arriving but Captain Wells and his thirty Miami Indians. In our day, it is true, a captain would be likely to be accompanied by an orderly; but Wells had been brought up in too stern a school to be provided with such an attendant. Then, too, the narrative bristles with absurdities. The story is as follows:

One is uncertain whether to rate this as a yarn made by some penny-a-liner out of such scraps as might be picked up from common rumor and the tales of returned stragglers of the thirty Indians who ran away when the attack began, or the lying story of a fellow who was really of the party, and one of the leaders, not in the fight, but in the flight. His enumeration of "one hundred Confute Indians," (no tribe of that name being known to history) in place of the band of thirty Miamis, his estimate of Captain Heald's "one hundred men, ten women and twenty children," his march of "half a mile," his statement that all were killed except fifteen, which would make the loss of life over two hundred, in place of Captain Heald's estimate of fifty-two, all tend to force the conclusion that there was no Walter Jordan in the matter. The latter part of the story, representing himself as heroically losing feather, epaulet and sword-hilt to the rascally savages, who still refrained from inflicting bodily injury on him, his then being kindly but firmly led to the place where poor Wells, in the presence of his niece, was waiting to have his head cut off and set up on a pole, and his heart cut out and divided among the chiefs, etc., tends to the belief that Walter Jordan was present, ran away, saved himself, reached Fort Wayne and devised this cock-and-bull story to explain his long absence, his personal safety and his possession of a horse which did not belong to him. Another hypothesis is that he started from Fort Wayne with Wells, deserted on the road, hung around until he got the story as told by the Indian fugitives, and (finding that his captain was dead) put a bold face on the matter and came in, bringing a horse he had been lucky enough to "capture" when its owner was not looking.

The next item is dated more than a year later; a year during which the wretched captives seem to have suffered miseries indescribable. The story bears the stamp of truth so far as the escaped fugitives knew it:

Turning to the latest muster-roll of the force, dated 1810, we identify among these survivors the names of Dyson Dyer, Nathan Edson, Paul Grummow, James Van Home, James Corbin and Phelim Corbin. Among the perished, August Mott, John Neads and Hugh Logan. To this sad list must be added four still more pitiable victims—the wife and unborn child of Phelim Corbin, and the unhappy Mrs. Neads, to whom death must have been welcome after seeing her little one "tied to a tree to keep it from following her and crying for victuals."

THE SECOND BLOCK-HOUSE IN ITS LAST DAYS.

Mrs. John Kinzie, in a sketch of the life of her husband (Chic. Hist. Society, July 11, 1877. Fergus' Hist. Series No. 10) says:

There is good reason to believe that Mrs. Kinzie was mistaken in thinking that the coffins exposed on the lake shore by the action of the waves, contained the bodies of those who perished in the massacre. The fort burying-ground certainly was at the place indicated, and the exposed coffins doubtless contained the bodies of those buried in that ground; but that does not include the massacre victims. Mr. Fernando Jones believes them to have been buried at where Seventeenth Street, extended, would cross Prairie Avenue.

A letter on the matter (kindly furnished me while these pages are in preparation) reads as follows:

Fernando Jones.

No remains of any coffin were found, a fact which would indicate a battle-field burial; but on the other hand, it seems most improbable that the Indians would have left belt-plate, buttons and cloth on any of their victims.

The Indian Problem is solved at last, and by the Indians' own and only means for the solution of problems—the cutting of the knot. It has been a long struggle, marked by wrong on both sides and by shame on ours—theirs was not capable of shame. They had many friends and only one formidable enemy—themselves.

The Americans met them with the sword in one hand and the olive branch in the other. They declined the branch and defied the sword. The English offered them gifts in both hands, and they took all that was offered, rendering in exchange services disgraceful to the more civilized party to the contract. The French offered them love, and won theirs in return. While other whites held aloof, the gay Frenchman fraternized with them, became one with them, shared their lives and their pursuits, won their religious allegiance—nay, more; in a gentler and more irresistible way prevailed over them, for he formed with their women alliances which furnished the inferior race a hybrid, partly like themselves, but superior, and able and willing to be their leaders against the more grasping, less loving Americans. These hybrids have, in many cases, continued the race on its enlightened side, and there are not wanting among ourselves splendid specimens of manhood and womanhood, whose fine figures, flashing eyes, and strong, grave faces, proclaim the proud possession of the blood of the only really "first citizens" of our democratic republic.

It is now hard to trace the Indians who departed hence in 1835, fifty-eight years ago. They are almost "lost tribes." The report for 1890 of the Commissioners of Indian Affairs, gives Pottowatomies of various descriptions scattered in many places. This same is true of the Ottawas and Chippewas.

The larger part of the Pottowatomies (known of old as the "Woods Band," in contradistinction to the "Prairie Band") have renounced tribal relations and are known as the "Citizen Band." They number scarcely two thousand souls, and occupy a tract nearly thirty miles square (575,000 acres) in Oklahoma.

The Commissioners' report says but little about them, giving more attention to the "Prairie Band," since they are still a tribe, and thus, "wards of the nation." They number only 432, and hold in common 77,357 acres in Kansas, where they are doing fairly, but are pestered with the dregs of the "Citizen Band," who fall back on the tribe like the returned prodigal—but unrepentant, and still fit company only for the husk-eating swine.

Of the "Citizen Band," Special Agent Porter says:

"The Pottowatomies are citizens of the United States, thoroughly tinctured with white blood. Nearly all of them speak English and read and write. Some of them are quite wealthy, being good farmers, with large herds of stock. Their morals are below the standard, considering their advanced state as a civilized' people."

This is not high praise; still, it gives hope for better things. Peace and industry coming first, civilization and morality will follow. The savage Indian is essentially a being of the past (notwithstanding the survival of a few wild Apaches, a few "ghost-dancers" among the Sioux, and some other exceptional bodies) and he is succeeded by the truly civilized Indian (of whom the Cherokees are a splendid example), a self-respecting, self governing, self-educating, prosperous human being; not particularly different from the frontiers-man, except by a slight and diminishing shade of color and by the possession of the best characteristics of his savage ancestors. It may perhaps be said that no race of men has ever made as much progress in five generations as have the "civilized Indians." It is only one hundred and sixty years since d'Artaguiette, Vinsenne, the Jesuit Senat, and young St. Ange, son of the French commandant in the Illinois country (Fort Chartres), were defeated in the Arkansas country and were burned at the stake by the unconquered Chickasaws, who were "amazed to see the fortitude with which white men could die." And now, in the territory adjoining Arkansas on the west, the descendants of the torturers are cultivating farms, maintaining governments, courts, schools and churches, and in short, setting an example worthy to be followed by many who have been "civilized" from the time ages back of the year 1492; when the innocent, luckless Haytians learned of the existence of the unspeakable Spaniards, in cruelty the only rivals of the North American aborigines.

What is the reason for the intense interest and curiosity which clusters about this story of violence and rapine, of heroism, anguish and death? Other massacres have blotted with blood the pages of American history. From Deerfield and Schenectady to the Little Bighorn, our devoted bands have perished at the hands of the American Indian; and each dark day is suffered to rest as a mere tradition, buried in the half-forgotten folk-lore of its time and place. Why does the Fort Dearborn massacre, involving only a few score souls, hold a different rank in our hearts?

It is because the footsteps of millions are passing over the spot where it all happened; steamers are churning its peaceful waters; bells and steam-whistles are rending the air that bore away the sound of gun-shots, war-whoops and dying cries; and the sculptors' art is putting into immortal bronze the memory of its incidents. Thus does it gain an ex post facto importance and a posthumous fame.

BLOCK-HOUSE TABLET

Click here to view the Transcription of Block-House Tablet.

Among the world's great cities, Chicago should be the one most thoroughly recorded. No other that counts her denizens by the million has among them those born before her annals fairly began. No other has had such startling vicissitudes. Laid low by slaughter in her infancy and by fire in her youth, she has climbed with bounding steps, upward and onward. Toiling, enduring, laughing, prospering, exulting; she has taken each scourge as a fillip to her energy, each spur as a stimulus to her courage. Hers is the enthusiasm of youth with the strength of maturity.

The early days of Paris and London are lost in half-mythical shadow. Even if told, their incidents might fail to match in interest those which have befallen their young sister. So much the more zealously should we who love this youthful aspirant for fame, take care that the romance of her childhood shall be preserved and handed down to posterity.

The spirited figure of La Salle (given by Lambert Tree) and Martin Ryerson's Indian group, are both fine memorials of the dawn of things in the North-West. Eli Bates's matchless statue of Lincoln is devoted to a page in the history of the whole Union. Now comes Chicago's latest treasure, the magnificent group commemorating the massacre of 1812; a purely civic work, to keep in the minds of Chicago's citizens, for untold generations, the romance and reality of her struggling infancy.

Honor to the men who, in the intense pressure of the present, still have thoughts for the past and the future.

At the unveiling, (1881) of the Block-House Tablet (designed by the Chicago Historical Society) set by William M. Hoyt in the north wall of his warehouse, facing Rush Street Bridge from the south, Mr. Eugene Hall read some stanzas of original verse so musical, so poetic and so apt for the occasion, that I venture (with his permission) to repeat them here, as a finish to our story.

BEAUBIEN FIDDLE AND CALUMET,
IN POSSESSION OF THE CALUMET CLUB.

FORT DEARBORN, CHICAGO, 1881.

JEAN BAPTISTE POINTE DE SAIBLE, THE HAYTIAN NEGRO WHO WAS THE FIRST "WHITE MAN" TO SETTLE IN CHICAGO (1776-77).

COCK-CROW.

NOT IN JEST, but in grave, sober earnest, the Indians used to say that "the first white man in Chicago was a nigger." In their view, all non-Indians were "whites," the adjective having to them only a racial significance. Then, too the aborigines had no jests—no harmless ones. Peering into the dim past for early items concerning what is now Chicago, one comes first to the comparatively clear (though positively scanty) records of the French—La Salle, Marquette, Tonti, Hennepin, St. Cosme and their bold associates—who came in by way of the St. Lawrence in the seventeenth century—1672 to 1700.

From that time there occurs a great blank. Scarcely a ray of light or word of intelligence pierces the deep gloom for just one hundred years. Detroit, Mackinaw, Lake Superior, Green Bay, Fort Duquesne and St. Louis are kept in view. Even Kaskasia and Fort Chartres, both in Illinois territory, are on record; a circumstance due to the fact, not generally known, that they were points of importance in John Law's famous Mississippi scheme. But Chicago was almost as though it had sunk below the waves of Lake Michigan when La Salle, Marquette and St. Cosme bade it good-bye.

ROBERT CAVELIER, SIEUR DE LA SALLE.

Suddenly, in 1778, in the midst of the Revolutionary War, the name reappears in literature in a curious way. It comes to us through a poetical allusion from the pen of Colonel Arent Schuyler de Peyster, commandant at Michilimackinac. De Peyster, as his name suggests, was a New Yorker of the ancient Dutch stock He entered the English army and in 1757 was commissioned lieutenant in the Eighth, or King's Regiment of Foot. Necessarily he was and continued to be a royalist, and when war broke out served King George against Gen. George.

Fortunately for our knowledge of the West during Revolutionary times, Colonel de Peyster was a scholar and a gentleman as well a soldier and a Tory He left a volume of "Miscellanies," which was first published (1813) in Dumfries, Scotland, whither the old soldier retired when the bad cause for which he made a good fight came to a disastrous end by the peace of Paris in 1783.[AI] An edition, edited by General J. Watts de Peyster, of Yonkers, was published in 1888.

From "Cyclopædia of United States History."—Copyright 1881, by Harper & Brothers.

GEORGE ROGERS CLARK (LATE IN LIFE).

Colonel de Peyster's post of loyal service was Mackinaw, whither, as the "Miscellanies" tell us, he was sent early in 1774, "to command the post, with the painful task of superintending the lake Indians." "Canoes arrived with passes signed by the American General Wooster, and Dr. Benjamin Franklin, wherein it was stipulated that those traders should not afford any succor whatever to the British garrison."

He adds that "in the spring following they [the Indians] were sent down to assist General Burgoine in his expedition across Lake Champlaine"—an entry which recalls the fate of poor Jane McCrea, whose death at the hands of the Indians, near Saratoga, used to draw tears from our childish eyes in the good old times before patriotism was no more.

In that expedition they seem to have done no valuable service to King George (except the killing of Miss McCrea), and on their return they were assembled at Mackinaw for the purpose of making a diversion in favor of the English General Hamilton, whom George Rogers Clark, our paragon of Western soldiers, had defeated already (though de Peyster did not know it) and sent across the Alleghanies, a prisoner, to Patrick Henry, Governor of Virginia.

Now comes in the mention of Chicago. De Peyster made a speech to the assembled redskins, which speech he next day turned into rude rhyme at the request of a fair lady whom he calls, in gallant French phrase, "une chère compagne de voyage." The poem is included in the "Miscellanies."[AJ]

The entire versified speech is too long to quote, interesting though it be as an unstudied sketch of things of that time and place. Any one wishing to know more of it can find it in the "Miscellanies," of which a copy should be easily found in any large library.

SPEECH TO THE WESTERN INDIANS.

So steps upon the stage of history the earliest non-Indian settler of Chicago; a man who built, at about the time of our Declaration of Independence, the house which was standing within the memory of hundreds of Chicagoans of 1892—the well-known "Kinzie Mansion," that faced the north bank of the river where Pine Street now ends.

Mrs. John H. Kinzie, in her delightful book, "Wau-Bun, the Early day in the North-West," calls him "Pointe au Sable," and says he was a native of San Domingo, and came from that island with a friend named Glamorgan; who had obtained large Spanish grants in or about St. Louis. She adds that Jean Baptiste sold his Chicago establishment to a French trader named Le Mai, and went back to Peoria where his friend Glamorgan was living, and died tinder his roof, presumably about 1800. From Le Mai, the property passed in 1803, to John Kinzie, the real pioneer of Chicago.

Hispaniola (Hayti and San Domingo) was discovered and even colonized, by Columbus, in 1492. It had then some two million inhabitants, living like our first parents in Eden (Genesis I, 27), but the unspeakable cruelty of the Spaniards so depopulated the splendid and happy island, that in 1517—twenty-five years later—it was requisite to import negro slaves to carry on the mining, and to-day not one soul of the original race survives.

The French began to come in 1630, and by the treaty of Ryswick [1697] the island was divided between France and Spain. Then began the greatness of the Haytian negro, which culminated in Toussaint L'Ouverture, liberator of his race from French slavery and his land from French domain; and later, victim to Napoleon's perfidy. Under the French rule many free negroes were educated in France, very probably Baptiste Pointe de Saible among the rest. At any rate he was of the adventurous spirit which would rather be first in a new sphere than last in an old, and so, with Glamorgan, he came over to Mobile or New Orleans. Then (probably on one of John Law's "Compagnie de l'Occident" bateaux) he came up the Mississippi to Kaskaskia, Cahokia, St. Louis, and at last to Peoria, on the Illinois, where he left Glamorgan, and pushed on to the Pottowatomie outposts where we find him in 1778, the object of Colonel de Peyster's admiring dislike.

Edward G. Mason, in an address before the Historical society, gives a tradition in regard to Pointe de Saible's welcome on Chicago soil, which tradition appears in "Early Western Days," a volume published by John T. Kingston, formerly a state senator of Wisconsin. It runs thus: An Indian living south of the Portage River—now called the Chicago—being out hunting, suddenly came upon a strange object, half hidden by the underbrush. It was a black face with white eyes and woolly hair! (Probably no Indian of his tribe had ever seen a negro.) After gazing at the novel sight awhile, he grunted, "Ugh! Mucketewees!" (black meat.) He captured the odd animal and carried him to the village, whither came the Indians from far and near to gaze, to wonder, and to speculate. Fortunately for Baptiste, for Chicago and for history, the consensus of opinion called it "bad meat," and so the creature's life was spared.

Shaubena, a chief of the Pottowatomies, was in and about Chicago long after their war dance of 1836. He had seen Pointe de Saible, but unfortunately his knowledge concerning him is not on record. Mr. Mason says regretfully:

SHAUBENA IN OLD AGE. (ABOUT 1856.)

One other mention of Pointe de Saible is thrown up from the almost barren shore of Western history. The third volume of the Wisconsin Historical Society's collection contains certain "Recollections" of Augustin Grignon (a grandson of Sieur Charles de Langlade), who became the first permanent white settler of Wisconsin about 1735, and, as we have seen, is named by de Peyster in his verses, among which "Recollections" occurs the following precious bit:

"At a very early period there was a negro who lived here (Chicago) named Baptiste Pointe de Saible. My brother, Perish Grignon, visited Chicago about 1794 and told me that Pointe de Saible was a large man, that he had a commission for some office, but for what particular office or for what government I cannot now recollect. He was a trader, pretty wealthy, and drank freely. I do not know what became of him."

With these bits of chance allusion—touches here and there—we get a quite distinct impression of the lonely Baptiste. His origin shows possibility of greatness, for it was the same with that of François Dominique Toussaint, surnamed l'Ouverture. Like him, he was a French West-Indian mulatto. He was large, handsome, well-educated and adventurous, traits which mark pretty clearly his migrations and his fortunes. Neither in Mobile, New Orleans, Kaskaskia, nor St. Louis could he probably feel at home, for at each of these places nigritude was associated with servitude. Among the Peoria Indians he probably found scanty elbow-room, especially if his friend and rival trader, Glamorgan, was, as his name implies, of Welsh blood—a race which gleans close, and thrives where others starve.

Not unnaturally would he, as tradition suggests, aspire to headship of the great tribe of Pottowatomies, for he knew how vastly superior he was to the best of them; and quite as naturally would he fail, seeing that the red strain of blood and the black have even less in common than has each with the white. At the same time, considering the state of domestic relations at that time and place, we may be very sure that he did not fail to "take some savage woman"—one or more—to rear his dusky race in large numbers and much rude, half-breed gaiety and contentment.

As to his office, one would like greatly to know something about it, and is prone to wish that somebody would look it up—in the general government archives, or those of the North-West Territory, which had been established in 1788, General St. Clair being its first governor, and Cincinnati (Losantiville) its capital. Why should it not have been under Harrison and Wells? It would scarcely have been an English office in view of the unpleasant allusion by de Peyster, though the English maintained emissaries hereabouts—fomenters of discontent—away on almost to the war of 1812. Still, it might be worth while to try the Canadian records. Barring swell a discovery, it seems probable that the last word has been written about him.

Jean Baptiste's name "Pointe de Saible" (or Sable) might be suspected of being a description of his residence rather than an inheritance from his forefathers, for the cabin of squared logs, so early built and so lately destroyed, stood at the head of the great sand-point which of old interrupted the course of the Chicago river lakeward, and turned it south for about half a mile to where it flowed over a long, fordable, narrow bar formed by the ceaseless sandstream that moves from north to south along the western shore of Lake Michigan. But the records and traditions are old enough and exact enough to uphold the name as a patronymic, and leave the place as a mere coincidence. One might almost as easily trace it to his lack of grit and perseverance, seeing that he put his hand to the plow and looked back; that he came to Chicago in hope and moved away in despair; that having a "homestead location" he did not stay and "prove up;" that, owning, by occupation, a thousand million dollars worth of real estate, he sold it for a song instead of waiting for a "boom." Point de sable—"no sand."

The two other characteristics of Chicago's first merchant-prince, which are preserved for us by lucky chance, are that he was "pretty wealthy" and that he "drank freely." Only one of these traits has come down to his successors of a century later. [From "Liber Scriptorum," published by the Authors' Club, New York.]

Joseph Kirkland.

CHICAGO RIVER. JUNCTION OF NORTH AND SOUTH BRANCHES (1830).

FORT DEARBORN RECORDS AT WASHINGTON.

WAR Department records, back of the war of 1812, are few and poor; partly, no doubt, for the reason that during that short struggle a British force, sailing up the Potomac, seized upon the defenceless little city of Washington and burned its public buildings with their contents. The Hon. Robert Lincoln, Secretary of War (under President Garfield) at the time of unveiling the Block House Tablet, May 21, 1881, kindly furnished to Mr. Wentworth copies of all documents on file relating to Fort Dearborn and its garrison, (Fergus' Hist., Series No. 16.)

Extract from a letter written June 28, 1804, by General Henry Dearborn, Secretary of War under President Jefferson:

Statement compiled from the Records of the Adjutant General's office in the case of Fort Dearborn, with copies of orders:

Copies of Orders.

ORDER NO. 35.

(Signed) Chas. J. Nourse, Act'g Adjutant-General.

ORDER NO. 44.

(Signed) R. Jones, Adjutant-General.

ORDER NO. 16.

(Signed) R. Jones, Adjutant-General.

GENERAL ORDER HEADQUARTERS OF THE ARMY. NO. 80.

(Signed) R. Jones, Adjutant-General.

INTERIOR OF NEW FORT (1850), LAKE HOUSE IN THE DISTANCE.

When the last fort was being demolished [1856] an old paper was found which bore internal evidence of being a survival from the first fort. How it could have survived the flames of 1812 is a mystery. Perhaps some brick bomb-proof magazine chanced to shelter it, and the builders of the new fort, finding it, laid it in a closet, where it remained, hidden and forgotten. One would like to see it to-day—if it also survived October 9, 1871!

(Signed),
November 12th, 1811.

On December 29, 1836, the garrison was finally withdrawn from Fort Dearborn, and after its thirty-three years of stirring vicissitudes it passed into a useless old age, which lasted a score of years before its abandonment as a government possession. In fact, one of its buildings—a great, barn-like, wooden hospital—was standing, in use as a hospital storehouse, up to 1871, when the great fire obliterated it, with nearly all else that was ancient in Chicago.

WAUBANSA STONE WITH GREAT FIRE RELICS.

An exception to this destruction and the fast gathering cloud of oblivion, is to be found in an old red granite boulder, with a rude human face carved on it, which stood in the center of the fort esplanade, and which is now (1891) one of our few antiquarian treasures. It is nearly eight feet high by three feet in greatest diameter, and weighs perhaps 4,000 pounds. In prehistoric times the Indians used the concave top for a corn-mill, and for many, many weary hours must the patient and long-suffering squaws have leaned over it, crushing the scanty, flinty corn of those days into material for the food of braves and pappooses.

Many persons have looked on it as a relic of prehistoric art—the sacrificial stone of an Aztec teocalli perhaps—but Mr. Hurlbut gives the cold truth; more modern, though scarcely less romantic. He says it was set up in the fort, and soldiers, sick and well, used it as a lounging-place. Sometimes it served as a pillory for disorderly characters, and it was a common expression or threat, that for certain offenses the offender would be "sent to the rock." Waubansa was a Chicago chief, and a soldier-sculptor tried to depict his features on the stone; and (to quote Mr. Hurlbut):

"The portrait pleased the Indians, the liege friends of the chief, greatly; for a party of them, admitted into the block-house to see it, whooped and leaped as if they had achieved a victory, and with uncouth gestures they danced in a triumphant circle around the rock."

The "statue" was pierced to form the base of a fountain, and was set up as one of the curiosities of the great Sanitary Commission Fair, held in 1865, in Dearborn Park, in aid of the sick and wounded in the war for the Union. In 1856 it was adopted as a relic by the Hon. Isaac N. Arnold—member of Congress during the war and one of the staunchest and ablest of patriots, and most devoted of friends to the soldiers—who moved it to his home, in Erie street. Mr. Arnold's house was burned with the rest in the great fire of 1871, and old "Waubansa" passed through the flames with the same unmoved look he had preserved through his earlier vicissitudes. Afterward numerous fire relics were grouped about him and a photograph taken, wherein, for the first time, he looks abashed, as if conscious of the contrast between his uncouthness and the carvings which surround his antique lineaments. The stone stands open to the public view in the grounds adjoining the new home (100 Pine Street), which Mr. Arnold built after the fire, and in which he lived up to the time of his lamented death, in April, 1884.

Who were the victims of August fifteenth, 1812? What were the names of the killed, the wounded, the tortured, the missing? This is a question to which only the merest apology for an answer can be given. In tens of thousands of cases the very act of dying for one's country forbids the possibility of becoming known to fame. Nameless graves dot our land from north to south, and from east to west, especially from the Susquehanna to the Rio Grande and from the Ohio to the Gulf. Heaven knows who were those dead, and who they might have become if they had not died when and where they did. Let us hope that somewhere in the universe they have their record—on earth they are forgotten.

I have aimed at recording every surviving name of the dwellers in Chicago up to the massacre. As an effort toward that end, I give, on the next page, the last muster and pay-roll of the troops at the old fort, as shown by existing records. It is headed:

"Muster roll of a company of Infantry under the command of Captain Nathan Heald, in the First Regiment of the United States, commanded by Colonel Jacob Kingsbury, from Nov. 30, when last mustered, to December 31, 1810."

It concludes with a certificate in the following form, identical, by the way, with the formula in use in our army to this day (1893):

J. Cooper, S. Mate.

Ph. O'Strander, Lieutenant commanding the Company,

* Men who are likely to have been in service at the time of the massacre.

WILD ONION.

THE WHISTLER FAMILY.

ACCORDING to Gardner's Military Dictionary, Captain John Whistler was born in Ireland. He was originally a British soldier, and was made prisoner with General Burgoyne at the battle of Saratoga, in 1777, where our General Henry Dearborn was serving as Major. The captives were conducted to Boston, where, by the terms of the capitulation, they should have been paroled; but for some reason (which the English, by considered no sufficient excuse for not complying with the military agreement) the Continental Congress held them as prisoners of war until the peace of 1783.

John Whistler did not return to England, but joined the American army and became first sergeant, and then won his way to a captaincy in the First Infantry, in which capacity he came, in 1804, and built the first Fort Dearborn. He was brevetted major in 1812, and served with his company until it was disbanded after the close of the war (June, 1815). He died in 1827 at Bellefontaine, Missouri, where he had been military storekeeper for several years. John Wentworth (Fort Dearborn; Fergus' Historical Series, No. 16, p. 14) says:

Of him Captain Andreas says (Hist. Chi. Vol. I, p. 80):

His son, George Washington Whistler, was with Captain John when the family came to Chicago, being then three years old. This is the Major Whistler who became a distinguished engineer in the service of Russia. Another son. Lieutenant William Whistler, with his young wife (Julia Ferson) came to Chicago with Captain Whistler. He will be mentioned later as one of the last commandants of Fort Dearborn, holding that post until 1833. He lived until 1863.

Julia Ferson, who became Mrs. William Whistler, was born in Salem, Mass., 1787. Her parents were John and Mary (La Dake) Ferson. In childhood she removed with her parents to Detroit, where she received most of her education. In May, 1802, she was married to William Whistler (born in Hagerstown Md., about 1784), a second lieutenant in the company of his father. Captain John Whistler, U. S. A., then stationed at Detroit. (Fergus' Historical Series No. 16.) She visited Chicago in 1875, when, at eighty-seven, her mind and memory were of the brightest, and conversation with her on old matters was a rare pleasure. Mrs. General Philip Sheridan is her grand niece, and cherishes her relationship as a patent to high rank in our Chicago nobility. No portrait of John Whistler is known to exist. For likenesses of Major and Mrs. William Whistler see pages 58 and 59.

MRS GWENTHLEAN [WHISTLER] KINZIE (1891).

A daughter of William and this charming old lady was born in 1818, and named Gwenthlean. She was married at Fort Dearborn, in 1834, to Robert A. Kinzie, second son of John Kinzie, the pioneer. Mrs. Gwenthlean Kinzie is now living in Chicago, and has been consulted in the preparation of this narrative.[AO]

Mr. Hurlbut (Chicago Antiquities, p. 83) gives the following spirited account of a visit made in 1875 to Mrs. Julia (Ferson) Whistler, wife of William and daughter-in-law of old John, the whilom soldier in the army of General Burgoyne. (It will be observed that Mr. Hurlbut slightly mistook his war record).

Mrs. Julia (Ferson) Whistler died at Newport, Ky., in 1878, at the ripe age of ninety years.

James McNeil Whistler, the eccentric and distinguished London artist, is descended from old John, the Burgoyne British soldier, through George Washington Whistler, the great American engineer in the Russian service.

It is interesting to observe that both our old leading families, the Whistlers and the Kinzies, have furnished successive generations of soldiers to their country. The heroic death of John Harris Kinzie, second, will be noted in the Appendix D, which is devoted to the Kinzie family. Of the Whistlers, some of the name have been constantly in the military service, and when the two families joined by the marriage of Robert Kinzie and Gwenthlean Whistler the racial tendency continued.

General Garland Whistler, son of Colonel William Whistler, was a graduate of West Point, and a soldier in the war for the Union. He is now on the retired list. His son. Major Garland Whistler, also a graduate, was in the late war and is still in the service. Major David Hunter Kinzie, son of Robert (uniting the two families), left West Point for active service in the Union war. He is now at the Presidio, California. Captain John Kinzie, another son of Robert, is stationed at Omaha.

THE KINZIE FAMILY.

BEGINNING at a point even further back in the dim past than the building of Pointe de Saible's cabin, we take up the narrative of the lives of its latest owners, John Kinzie was born in Quebec about 1763, son of John McKenzie, or McKinzie, a Scotchman, who married Mrs. Haliburton, a widow, with one daughter,[AP] and died when his son John was very young. Mrs. McKenzie made a third marriage, with one William Forsyth, who had served under General Wolfe in the taking of Quebec. William Forsyth, with wife, children and step-children, lived many years in New York, and later in Detroit. While they lived in New York, John McKinzie, afterward John Kinzie, was sent, with two Forsyth half-brothers, to school in Williamsburgh, just across the East river; a negro servant, or slave, going every Saturday night to bring the three boys home. One Saturday there was no Johnnie to be found—the embryo frontiers-man had runaway. He got on board a sloop bound for Albany and fell in with some one who helped him on to Quebec, where he found employment in the shop of a silver-smith; and there he remained three years and learned the trade which later gave him the Indian name, "Shaw-nee-aw-kee"—silver-smith.

We next find him in Detroit, with his mother and step-father, who had moved thither with their Forsyth children.[AQ] Robert Forsyth, a grandson of William, was well known in Chicago in the decade before the Union War. He was an officer of the Illinois Central Railway, and his tall, handsome figure, his bluff, hearty manners and his unquestionable ability', made him a general favorite.

While at Detroit, John Kinzie began his long career as Indian-trader, beginning with the Shawnees and Ottawas in the Ohio country. In this way he made the acquaintance of two Indian girls, who, when young, had been captured on the Kanawha River and taken to Chillicothe, the headquarters of the tribe. Their names were Margaret and Elizabeth McKenzie, and their story is thus romantically told by Rufus Blanchard in his admirable "Discovery of the Northwest and History of Chicago." (R. Blanchard & Co., Wheaton, Ill. 1881.)

JOHN K. CLARK.

Fortunately her dog followed her as she fled down the bank of the St. Mary's River, to the stockade, half a mile distant, where the horses were kept. The footsteps of her detestable lover were close behind. She turned and set her dog at him, and reached the stockade, unhitched a horse, leaped upon his back and took her flight through the wilderness, seventy-five miles, to her Indian home at Chillicothe. The horse died the next day after he had performed so wonderful a feat without rest or sustenance. This heroic girl and her sister, Elizabeth, became afterward mothers of some of the first pioneers of Chicago.

After the adventures of Margaret, as just told, she, with her sister, Elizabeth, were taken to Detroit by their foster-father, and there they became acquainted with John Kinzie—and they were married. Elizabeth at the same time met a Scotchman named Clark and married him. The two young couples lived in Detroit about five years, during which time Margaret (Kinzie) had three children, William, James and Elizabeth; and Elizabeth (Clark) had two, John K. and Elizabeth.

ARCHIBALD CLYBOURN.

The treaty of Greenville, 1795, having restored peace on the border, Mr. Isaac McKenzie, the father, received tidings of his children, and went to Detroit to see them. The two young mothers, with their children, returned with their father to their old home, to which arrangement both of their husbands consented. A final separation was not intended, but time and distance divorced them forever. Mr. Kinzie afterwards moved to St. Joseph's, where he married a Mrs. McKillip, the widow of a British officer. Margaret married Mr. Benjamin Hall, of Virginia, and Elizabeth married Mr. Jonas Clybourn of the same place. David, the oldest son of Benjamin Hall and Margaret, made a journey to Chicago in 1822, and he remained there three years. On his return to Virginia his flattering account of the place induced a number of persons to emigrate thither. The first of these was Archibald Clybourn, the eldest son of Elizabeth, who remained a permanent resident and an esteemed citizen, well known to thousands of the present inhabitants of Chicago. His mother was Elizabeth the captive, who, with her second husband, Mr. Clybourn, soon afterwards came to Chicago. Mr. Benjamin Hall was another of the Chicago pioneers who emigrated to Chicago in consequence of David Hall's commendations of its future promise. Margaret, the captive, was his aunt, and to him the writer is indebted for the detail of Margaret's and Elizabeth's history. Mr. Hall is now a resident of Wheaton. He came to Chicago in 1830 and was the proprietor of the first tannery ever established there.

This is the romantic story taken by Mr. Blanchard from the lips of the nephew of one of the captive girls, and given in his valuable history. Some of the circumstances stated as fact may be questionable, especially the "marriage" of the girls to Mr. Kinzie and Mr. Clark. Their summary removal by their father, and their marriage to other men, considered with the marriage of Mr. Kinzie and Mr. Clark to other women, seems to cast doubt upon the occurrence of any ceremonies, civil or religious. Those relations were lightly held at that time and place. There is doubtless a "bend sinister" somewhere, but it seems unlikely that James Kinzie and Elizabeth and Samuel Miller would have left the legitimacy of the more distinguished branch of the family unassailed if it had been assailable. (It is said that Mrs. Miller did chafe under the scandal.)

In 1800 John Kinzie married Eleanor (Lytle) McKillip, widow of a British officer, who had one daughter, Margaret, afterward Mrs. Lieutenant Helm. In the same year he moved to the St. Joseph's River, which empties into Lake Michigan on its eastern side, nearly opposite Chicago, and there set up his trading-house. His son, John Harris Kinzie, was born at Sandwich, opposite Detroit, where his mother chanced to be spending a day when he made his unexpected appearance.

In 1803 John Kinzie visited Chicago, having probably learned of the approaching establishment of Fort Dearborn, and bought the Le Mai house, built by Jean Baptiste Pointe de Saible, some twenty-five years before. He moved into it with his family in the following year. From that time to his death, in 1828, he is the most conspicuous and unique figure in Chicago history, and fairly deserves the name of the father of the city. His branch trading-posts existed in Milwaukee, at Rock River, on the Illinois and Kankakee Rivers, and in the Sangamon country. To quote again Andreas (Hist. Chic. Vol. I, P. 73):

Henry H. Hurlbut in his delightful "Chicago Antiquities,"[AR] says:

Wau-Bun gives a long and romantic biography of John Kinzie and his progenitors; such a sketch as would naturally (and properly) be made by a daughter-in-law, writing during the lifetime of many of the persons directly interested in the facts related, but omitting things which would shock the sensibilities of those persons, and mar the literary symmetry of the picture set forth in her pages. She does not allude to the Margaret McKenzie episode, never mentions James Kinzie, well-known Chicagoan as he was, and also ignores another matter which the integrity of history requires to be stated, and which the lapse of almost three generations should disarm of the sting which might attach to it at the time of Wau-Bun. This matter is the killing, in self-defense, of John Lalime, by John Kinzie. (See Appendix F.)

MRS. JULIETTE KINZIE (1856).

Author of "Wau-Bun."

After the massacre and the subsequent events so romantically described in Wau-Bun, Mr. Kinzie returned, probably in the autumn of 1816, to Chicago, where he reoccupied the historic house. To sit on his front porch and watch the building of a new fort in the old spot must have been a mingling of pleasure and pain. All that had passed since the original incoming of twelve years before must have seemed like a dream. The lake to the eastward, the river in front, the prairie beyond and the oak woods behind him were all as of old; but here around him were the children born and reared in the intervening years; here were new soldiers to take the place of the little band sacrificed four years ago. There, scattered over the sand-hills, were the bleaching bones of the martyred dead, and within dwelt an enduring memory of the horrors of their killing.

JOHN HARRIS KINZIE (1827).

From a miniature in possession of the Kinzie family.

And where were the savings of a lifetime of industry, courage and enterprise? Gone beyond recall. He made heroic efforts to redeem something from the wreck, traveling in Indian fashion and in Indian dress from one to another of the places where he had had branch trading-posts, and where debts were due to him. But it takes only a slight knowledge of affairs in a new country to see clearly that after war has disturbed and ravaged a district, and four years of absence have wasted the goods and scattered the debtors, every dollar saved would have cost in the saving two dollars' worth of work and sacrifice of strength and time. That his salvage was small and his later days quite devoid of the ease and comfort which his hard-won early success should have guaranteed him, we have the testimony of a letter written by him August 19, 1821, to his son John H., after he had placed the latter with the American (Astor's) Fur Company at Mackinaw:

This is said to be the only letter of John Kinzie's that is known to exist. (A large and invaluable collection of papers were given in 1877 to the Historical Society by John H. Kinzie, and perished with the society building in the great fire of 1871). No portrait of John Kinzie has ever been found.

He assisted in negotiating the treaty of 1821, before mentioned; addressing the Indians to reconcile them to it, and signing it as a sub-agent, which post he filled under his son-in-law, Dr. Alexander Wolcott, Indian agent. In 1825 he was appointed Justice of the Peace, for Peoria county.

Captain Andreas remarks on John Kinzie's standing with the Indians as follows:

There is no doubt that the Indians had a warm feeling for the Kinzies. At the same time it seems probable that the treaty in question, like all other treaties, was carefully arranged by the whites and merely submitted to the Indians for ratification. The Indians did not give any money, all payments came from the United States, and were made to such persons (other than Indians) as the commissioners thought best to care for. As to the land given by the Indians to Mr. Kinzie and on which he lived, where was it? The Indians had parted with the Chicago tract, six miles square, nine years before Mr. Kinzie arrived at Fort Dearborn. It is true that in May, 1795, the Ottawas (not the Pottowatomies) conveyed land in Ohio to John Kinzie and Thomas Forsyth; but he certainly never lived on it. He also lived at Parc-aux-vaches, on the St. Joseph's river, from 1800 to 1804. It is possible, though not probable, that the Indians made him a grant there.

JOHN HARRIS KINZIE IN LATER LIFE.

Everyone who visited the hospitable "Kinzie mansion" was glad to do so again. Let us follow the good example.

The structure, as put up by Pointe de Saible, and passed through the hands of Le Mai to John Kinzie, was a cabin of roughly squared logs. In Kinzie's time it was beautified, enlarged, improved and surrounded by out-houses, trees, fences, grass plats, piazza and garden. "The latch string hung outside the door,"[AT] and all were free to pull it and enter. Friend or stranger, red-man or white could come and go, eat and drink, sleep and wake, listen and talk as well. A tale is told of two travelers who mistook the house for an inn, gave orders, asked questions, praised and blamed, as one does who says to himself, "Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn?" and who were keenly mortified when they came to pay their scot and found that there was none to pay. In front (as the picture shows) were four fine poplars; in the rear, two great cotton-woods. The remains of one of these last named were visible at a very late period. (Who knows just how lately?) In the out-buildings were accommodated dairy, baking-ovens, stables and rooms for "the Frenchmen," the Canadian engages who were then the chief subordinates in fur-trading, and whose descendants are now well-known citizens, their names perpetuating their ancestry—Beaubien, Laframboise, Porthier, Mirandeau, etc.

ROBERT ALLEN KINZIE.

Captain Andreas says:

Hurlbut, in his "Chicago Antiquities," says:

The visit of Governor Cass was just before the "Winnebago scare" of 1827. He it was that informed the lonely, unarmed and defenceless post of Fort Dearborn of the Winnebago uprising. Gurdon Hubbard at once proposed to ride down the "Hubbard Trail" for help. The others objected for fear they might be attacked before his return; but it was finally decided that he should go, and go he did. At Danville he raised, within about a day, fifty volunteers, armed and mounted, and started for Fort Dearborn. They reached the Vermilion, then at flood and running "bank-full" and very rapidly. The horses on being driven in would turn and come back to shore. Hubbard, provoked at the delay, threw off his coat, crying: "Give me old Charley!" Mounting the horse he boldly dashed into the stream, and the other horses crowded after him. "The water was so swift that Old Charley became unmanageable; but Hubbard dismounted on the upper side, seized the horse by the mane, and, swimming with his left hand, guided the horse in the direction of the opposite shore. We were afraid he would be washed under, or struck by his feet and drowned, but he got over."[AU]

KINZIE MANSION AS GIVEN IN WAU-BUN.

The brave rescuers arrived and stayed, petted and feasted by the Chicagoans of that day, until a runner came in from Green Bay, bringing word that Governor Cass had made peace with the Indians.

According to Mr. Hurlbut, as the old master neared his end the old homestead also went to decay. The very logs must have been in a perishing condition after fifty years of service, and the lake sand, driven by the lake breezes, piled itself up against the north and east sides. Then, too, the standard of comfort had changed. Son-in-law Wolcott had rooms in the brick building of the unoccupied fort. Colonel Beaubien had a frame house close to the fort's south wall (now Michigan Avenue and River Streets), and thither the Kinzies moved. What more natural than that the ancient tree, as it tottered to its fall, should lean over toward the young saplings that had sprung up at its foot? It is the way of the world.

GURDON SALTONSTALL HUBBARD, IN MIDDLE LIFE.

It was in 1827 that Mr. Kinzie, and whatever then formed his household, quitted the historical log house for the last time. In 1829, it was (says Andreas) used for a while by Anson N. Taylor as a store. In March, 1831, Mr. Bailey lived in it and probably made it the post office, its first location in Chicago, as he was the first postmaster. The mail was then brought from Detroit on horseback, about twice a month.

Captain Andreas says:

Mrs. Robert Kinzie says now (1893) that she is sure that the house was standing when she was married in the fort, in 1834, and she thinks long afterward She scouts the idea that those solid logs were used by the Indians or immigrants for fuel.

The following account of Mr. Kinzie's death was learned from Mr. Gurdon S. Hubbard: "He remained in full vigor of health in both body and mind, till he had a slight attack of apoplexy, after which his health continued to decline until his death, which took place in a few months, at the residence of his son-in-law. Dr. Wolcott, who then lived in the brick building, formerly used as the officers' quarters in the fort. Here, while on a brief visit to Mrs. Wolcott (Ellen Marion Kinzie), he was suddenly attacked with apoplexy. Mr. Hubbard, then living in Mr. Kinzie's family, was sent for, and on coming into the presence of the dying man he found him in convulsions on the floor, in the parlor, his head supported by his daughter. Mr. Hubbard raised him to a sitting position and thus supported him till he drew his last breath. The funeral service took place in the fort and the last honors due to the old pioneer were paid with impressive respect by the few inhabitants of the place."

Mr. Kinzie's remains were first buried in the fort burying ground on the lake shore south of the old fort (about Michigan Avenue and Washington Street) whence they were later removed to a plot west of the present water-works (Chicago Avenue and Tower Place) and finally to Graceland, where they now rest.

Unfortunately there exists no portrait of John Kinzie. The portrait of John H. Kinzie, taken from a miniature, and that of his wife, the author of Wau-Bun, are kindly furnished by their daughter, Mrs. Nellie Kinzie Gordon. There has also been copied an oil portrait of the last named lady herself, painted by Healy in 1857, when she was about to quit her native city for her home in Savannah, Georgia, which departure was a loss still remembered and regretted by her many Chicago friends and admirers; in other words by all of the Chicago of 1857 which survives to 1893.

MRS. NELLIE (KINZIE) GORDON.

A fourth portrait of this honored branch of the pioneer stock is that of the son, John H. Kinzie, Jr., who died for his country in a manner which must endear his memory to every Union loving patriot. The following touching sketch of his life and death is contributed by a near relative of the brave young martyr.

John Harris Kinzie, Jr., was born in 1838. He was educated as a civil engineer at the Polytechnic Institute of Ann Arbor, Mich. He served in the navy during the war and met his tragic fate in 1862, while master's mate on the gun-boat Mound City, commanded by Admiral Davis.

While attacking a fort on the White River, a shot from the fort's battery penetrated the boiler of the Mound City. In the terrific explosion that followed, young Kinzie and more than ninety others were scalded and blown overboard.

The hospital boat of the fleet immediately set out to rescue the wounded men. As Kinzie struck out for the boat, his friend Augustus Taylor, of Cairo, called out to him to keep out of the range of the fort as the sharp-shooters were evidently picking off the wounded men in the water. This proved to be true; young Kinzie was shot through the legs and arras by minié balls as he was being lifted into the boat.

JOHN HARRIS KINZIE, JR

He soon heard the shouts of his comrades; and turning to one of his friends, he said:

"We have taken the fort. I am ready to die now."

He sank rapidly and died the following morning, June 18, just as the sun was rising. He left a young wife barely eighteen years old, a daughter of Judge James, of Racine, Wisconsin, and his own little daughter was born three months after his death.

It was necessary to put a guard over the person of Colonel Fry (who was captured with the fort) to save him from being sacrificed to the indignation the men felt against him for having ordered his sharp-shooters to pick off the scalded men and shoot them in the water.

WILLIAM WELLS AND REBEKAH WELLS HEALD.

GRATITUDE to our first hero and martyr calls for a somewhat extended study of his life, and it will be found interesting enough to repay the attention.

Colonel Samuel Wells and his brother Captain William Wells were Kentuckians; the family being said to have come from Virginia. William, when twelve years old, was stolen by the Indians from the residence of Hon. Nathaniel Pope, where both brothers seem to have been living. He was adopted by Me-che-kan-nah-quah, or little Turtle, a chief of the Miamis, lived in his house and married his daughter Wa-nan-ga-peth, by whom he had several children, of whom the following left children:

Pe-me-zah-quah (Rebekah) married Captain Hackley, of Fort Wayne, leaving Ann and John Hackley, her children.

Ah-mah-qua-zah-quah (a "sweet breeze"—Mary) born at Fort Wayne May 10, 1800, married Judge James Wolcott March 8, 1821; died at Maumee City, (now South Toledo,) O., Feb. 19, 1834, leaving children as follows: William Wells Wolcott, Toledo; Mary Ann (Wolcott) Gilbert, South Toledo; Henry Clay Wolcott, South Toledo, and James Madison Wolcott, South Toledo.

Jane (Wells) Grigg, living at Peru, Indiana; has children.

Yelberton P. Wells, St. Louis, died leaving one child.

William fought on the side of the Indians in the campaign of 1790 and 1791, when they defeated the Americans under Generals Harmer and Saint Clair. The story of his reclamation, as told by Rebekah (Wells) Heald to her son Darius, and repeated by him to a stenographer, in my presence, in 1892, is quite romantic.

Rebekah was daughter of Samuel Wells, elder brother of William, and was therefore niece of the latter. She must have been born between 1780 and 1790. We learn from the story of her son, the Hon. Darius Heald, as follows:

It was at about the time when General Wayne, "Mad Anthony," came into command that Wells left his red friends and began to serve on the side of his own flesh and blood. He was made captain of a company of scouts, and must have done good service, for, in 1798, he accompanied his father-in-law, Little Turtle, to Philadelphia, where the Indian (and probably Wells also) was presented to President Washington, and in 1803 we find him back at Chicago signing an Indian trader's license: "W. H. Harrison, Governor of Indian Territory, by William Wells, agent at Indian affairs." Little Turtle lived usually at Fort Wayne. Of him his friend John Johnston, of Piqua, Ohio, said:

He died July 14, 1812, and was buried on the west bank of the river at Fort Wayne. His portrait hangs on the walls of the War Department at Washington.

In 1809 Captain Wells took his niece, Rebekah, with him to Fort Wayne on a visit. Captain Heald was then on duty at Fort Wayne, and it was doubtless there that the love-making took place which led to the marriage of the two young people in 1811.

The following interesting bits concerning Captain Wells are taken from a letter written by A. H. Edwards to Hon. John Wentworth (Fergus' Hist. Series No. 16), the remainder of which letter is given later in this volume. (See Appendix G.)

"Fort Wayne, 4th June.

"William Wells, Esq."

James Madison Wolcott, grandson of Captain Wells (through Ah-mah-quah-zah-quah, who married Judge James Wolcott) wrote to Mr. Wentworth as follows:

Captain Heald never got rid of the effect of his wound. The bullet remained embedded in his hip and doubtless is in his coffin. He resigned shortly after the war, and the family (in 1817) settled at Stockland, Missouri. The new name of the place, O'Fallon, recalls the fact that the well known Colonel O'Fallon, of St. Louis, was an old friend of the family, and himself redeemed the things which the Indians had captured at the massacre (the same articles now cherished as relics of the historic event) and sent them to Colonel Samuel Wells at Louisville, where they arrived during the interval when all supposed that Nathan and Rebekah had perished with the members of the garrison and their fellow-sufferers.

Among the articles captured by the Indians and, after their transportation from Chicago to Peoria and from Peoria to Saint Louis, bought by Colonel O'Fallon and sent to the Falls of the Ohio (Louisville) to Samuel Wells, are the following, all of which were brought to Chicago by the Hon. Darius Heald, exhibited to his relatives (the family of Gen. A. L. Chetlain), and their friends, and here reproduced.

DARIUS HEALD, WITH SWORD AND OTHER MASSACRE RELICS.

Mr. Wentworth further says:

A considerable part of Captain Heald's first report of the massacre appears in our old friend Niles' Weekly Register, Nov. 7, 1812. (I have quoted it, to a great extent, in connection with the story of the event.)

The following letter from Captain Heald, written three years after taking up his residence in Missouri, speaks for itself:

St. Charles, Missouri Territory May 18th, 1820.

Sir:—I had the honor of receiving your letter of the 30th of March, a few days since. The garrison at Chicago commanded by me at the time Detroit was surrendered by General Hull, were every man paid up to the 30th of June, 1812, inclusive, officers' subsistence and forage included.

The last payment embraced nine months, and was made by myself as the agent of Mr. Eastman, but I cannot say what the amount was. Every paper relative to that transaction was soon after lost. I am, however, confident that there was no deposit with me to pay the garrison for the three months subsequent to the 30th of June, 1812.

The receipt-rolls which I had taken from Mr. Eastman, together with the balance of money in my hands, fell into the hands of the Indians on the 15th of August, 1812, when the troops under my command were defeated near Chicago; what became of them afterwards I know not. I have no papers in my possession relative to that garrison, excepting one muster-roll for the month of May, 1812. By it I find that the garrison there consisted of one captain, one 2nd lieutenant, one ensign, one surgeon's mate, four sergeants, two corporals, four musicians and forty-one privates. I cannot determine what the strength of the garrison was at any other time during the years 1811 and 1812, but it was on the decline. Monthly returns were regularly submitted to the Adjutant and Inspector-General's office, at Washington City, which, I suppose, can be found at any time.

I am respectfully sir, your most obedient servant,

Nathan Heald.

Peter Hagner, Esq., 3rd Auditor's Office, Treasury Department, Washington City.

It so happens that the death of Mrs. Maria (Heald) Edwards, niece of Captain Nathan Heald and mother of Mrs. General Chetlain, is announced after the above matter had been put in print. She died on May 6, 1893, at the residence of General Chetlain, in this city, at the ripe age of ninety years.

It stirs the heart to think that, almost up to this very day, there was living among us so near a relative to the gallant and unfortunate captain; a woman who was a girl nine years old when her uncle passed through the direful ordeal.

MASSACRE TREE AND PART OF PULLMAN HOUSE.

THE BONES OF JOHN LALIME.—SUBSTANCE OF A PAPER READ BY JOSEPH KIRKLAND BEFORE THE CHICAGO HISTORICAL SOCIETY, ON THE OCCASION OF THE PRESENTATION TO THE SOCIETY OF CERTAIN HUMAN RELICS, JULY 21, 1891.

SOME ominous threatenings were heard at old Ft. Dearborn before the bursting of the storm of August 15, 1812. Among them was the killing of the interpreter for the government, John Lalime.

John Kinzie arrived at Fort Dearborn in 1804, and with his family occupied a house built of squared logs, which, up to about 1840, stood where the corner of Cass and Kinzie streets now is. He was an Indian-trader, furnishing what the savages desired and taking furs in exchange. The government also had an Indian agent, or trader, there.

Various circumstances tend to show that before 1812 considerable rivalry existed between the government fur-trading agency and the civilian dealers. The former had certain advantages in the cheapness of purchase and transportation, but were restricted as to selling liquor. The latter were nominally under the same restriction, but practically free, and the Indians, like other dipsomaniacs, hated every man who tried to restrain their drinking. The short-sighted savages mistook their friends for their enemies, their enemies for their friends. They loved the poison and the poisoner.

Remains unearthed April 26th and presented to the Historical Society July 27, 1891.

Mrs. Kinzie, in Wau-Bun, says that there were two factions in the garrison, the Kinzies sympathizing with the opposition. Also that, though the garrison was massacred, no Kinzie was injured, the immunity extending even to Lieutenant Linai T. Helm, who had married Mr. Kinzie's step-daughter. Also that while the fort was burned, the Kinzie mansion was left untouched, and remained standing up to within the memory of living men.

For several years before 1812, John Lalime, a Frenchman, had been the government's salaried interpreter at Fort Dearborn. The earliest mention of the name occurs in a letter written from St. Joseph by William Burnett to his Detroit correspondent, which begins with the words: "When Mr. Lalime was in Detroit last you was pleased to tell him that if I should want anything at your house, it should be at my service." The next intelligence about him is in two letters he wrote concerning Indian matters. The first was to Wm. Clark, Governor of Missouri, and reads as follows:

The second letter is the one mentioned in the first. It is written to John Johnson, United States factor at Fort Wayne, dated July 7th, 1811, and reads as follows:

We observe that the Peoria chief, Main Poc, is mentioned as blameworthy for these wrongs. It may be interesting to know Main Poc's side of the question. Said he:

Lalime's letters show that he was a man of ability and education. We also guess, from a clause in Article III of the treaty of 1821, that Lalime lived after the manner of those days, and left at least one half-breed child. The clause reserves a half-section of land for "John B. Lalime, son of Noke-no-qua."

Miss Noke-no-qua is not otherwise known to history.

The next knowledge we have of Lalime relates to his violent death in the spring of 1812, about five months before the massacre, at a point on the south bank of the river within a stone's throw of where is now the south end of Rush Street bridge.

GURDON SALTONSTALL HUBBARD. (Last picture taken of him.)

In a letter written by the lamented Gurdon Hubbard to John Wentworth, June 25th, 1881, we read:

Mr. Hubbard does not say he remembers having seen the grave. He did not come to Chicago to live until 1836. Judge Blodgett, as we shall see hereafter, describes its position as not on the river bank, but back in the timber.

A somewhat different account of the affair was given by Mrs. Porthier (Victoire Mirandeau,) and printed in Captain Andreas' History of Chicago, Vol. II, page 105.

This bears all the thumb-marks of truth. It comes at first hand from a disinterested eye-witness. Even if we suppose Mrs. Kinzie to have seen the affray, which she does not say, it was doubtless from the opposite side of the river, while Victoire and her sister were in the fort itself. No other account, direct from an eye-witness, has ever been published.

Now, without pretending to certainty, it strikes me as probable that up to this time Kinzie stood on the Indian side of the irrepressible conflict between white men and red men, while the army and Lalime took the other. Mrs. Helm's narrative in Wau-Bun is decidedly hostile to the good sense of the commandant of the fort, and even to the courage of some of his faithful subordinates, while obviously friendly to the mutinous element in his command. Therefore it seems to me quite likely that Lalime's crazy attack on Kinzie was not entirely disconnected with that irrepressible conflict, that this long-standing quarrel had more than appears on the surface to do with the admitted success of Kinzie's trade and the well-known unprofitableness of the business carried on by the government agency.

On April 29th, 1891, there was unearthed at the southwest corner of Cass and Illinois streets, a skeleton. Workmen were digging a cellar there for a large new building, and were startled by having the shovel stopped by a skull, wherein its edge made a slight abrasion. Further examination brought to light some spinal vertebrae, some fragments of ribs, some remains of shoulder-blades and pelvis-bones, some bones of the upper and lower arms and the hip-bones, besides two bones of the lower part of one leg; also fragments, nearly crumbled away, of a rude pine coffin. The rumor of the discovery spread through the neighborhood, and luckily reached the ears of Mr. Scott Fergus, son of the veteran printer, Robert Fergus, whose establishment stands within ten feet of the place where these relics of mortality had so long lain unnoticed.

Mr. Fergus at once tried to save and collect the bones, and finding some disposition on the part of the laborers to disregard his requests, he rang for the police-patrol wagon, which bundled the little lot into a soap-box and carried them to the East Chicago Avenue station.

I was out of town at this time and did not hear of the interesting occurrence until Mr. Fergus told me of it upon my return, about a month later. I then went to the station, only to learn that the bones, being unclaimed, had been sent in the patrol-wagon to the morgue at the County Hospital, on the West Side. However, on looking up the officer who carried them over, he freely and kindly offered to try to reclaim them, and have them delivered to the Historical Society. The morgue officials, after a few days, at a merely nominal expense, complied with the request, and they are now here. Was this, is this the skeleton of John Lalime?

The place where the bones were found is within a stone's throw of the exact spot indicated by Gurdon Hubbard as the place where the picket fence marked the grave, "two hundred yards west of the Kinzie house."

Dr. Arthur B. Hosmer, and Dr. Otto Freer, who have examined the relics independently of each other, and assisted me in arranging them in human semblance, consider them to be the skeleton of a slender white man, about five feet and four inches in height.

The color, consistency and general conditions indicate that they had lain in the ground (dry sand) for a very long time, reaching probably or possibly the seventy-nine years which have elapsed since Lalime's death.

Now, admitting their expert judgment to be correct, this man died not far from 1812. At that time there had not and never had been in all these parts more than some fifty to one hundred white men, nearly all of whom were soldiers, living in the fort and subject to burial in the fort burying-ground, adjoining the present site of Michigan Avenue and Randolph street. At a later date, say fifty years ago, isolated burials were not uncommon, but even then they could scarcely have occurred in so public a spot as the north bank cf the river, close to the docks and warehouses which had been by that time built there.

John C. Haines, Fernando Jones and others remember perfectly the existence of that lonely little fenced enclosure, and even that it was said to mark the resting-place of a man killed in a fight. They and all others agree that no other burials were made thereabouts, so far as known. Another point, favorable or otherwise to this identification, is the fact that the place where the skeleton was found is the lot whereon stood the first St. James Church, and that the attendants there, as I was informed by one of them, Mr. Ezra McCagg, never heard of any burial as having taken place in the church-yard.

On the other hand, Mr. Hubbard designates "the river bank" as the place of burial, and the memory of Mr. Fernando Jones is to the effect that the fenced enclosure was nearer to the place of Rush Street bridge than is the spot of finding.

But in contradiction to this view. Judge Blodgett tells me that he was here in 1831 and 1832, which was several years before either Mr. Jones or Mr. Haines, and before Mr. Hubbard came here to live, he being then trading at Danville. The Judge adds that with the Beaubien and Laframboise boys he paddled canoes on the creek, played in the old Kinzie log-house and wandered all about the numerous paths that ran along the river bank, and back into the thick, tangled underbrush which filled the woods, covering almost all the North Side west of the shore sand-hills. He says that one path over which they traveled back and forth ran from the old house west to the forks of the river, passing north of the old Agency house—"Cobweb Castle"—which stood near the northeast corner of Kinzie and State Streets. Also that from that path behind Cobweb Castle the boys pointed further north to where they said there was a grave where the man was buried whom John Kinzie had killed, but they never went out to that spot, and so far as he remembered he never saw the grave. A kind of awe kept him quite clear of that place. All he knows is that it was somewhere out in the brush behind the Agency house.

This seems to locate the grave as nearly as possible at the corner of Illinois and Cass streets, where these relics were found. Fernando Jones suggests that even if the grave was originally elsewhere, the remains might have got into the church lot in this way: In 1832 Robert Kinzie entered and subdivided Kinzie's Addition, bounded by Chicago Avenue on the north, the lake on the east, Kinzie Street on the south and State Street on the west, and gradually he and his brother John sold the lots. In 1835 they gave the St. James Society the two lots where the church was built and wherein this skeleton was found. What more likely than that on selling the lot whereon the original interment took place (supposing it to be other than where the bones were unearthed) the sellers were compelled, either by the buyer's stipulation or their own sense of duty to their father's manifest wishes, to find a new place for the coffin of poor Lalime, and thereupon selected the spare room in the new church-yard?

It is worthy of note, that as, with the skeleton, were found the remains of a coffin—a single bit of pine board, showing the well-known "shoulder angle," though decayed so that only a crumbling strip half an inch thick was left—this could not have been a secret interment, made to conceal the death of a man. It would seem utterly improbable that two men's bodies should have been coffined and buried within the little space of ground, in the few years of time pointed out by all these circumstances. We learn that Lalime was so buried; also that, so far as known, all other excavations thereabouts have failed to expose his remains; also that these relics have now come to light. Everyone must draw his own conclusion. I have drawn mine. If it be erroneous, this exploitation of the subject will be likely to bring out the truth.

LETTER FROM FERNANDO JONES.

LETTER FROM THE HON. J. C. HAINES.

DR. HOSMER'S LETTER.

DR. FREER'S LETTER.

THE LATE CALUMET CLUB-HOUSE.

IMPORTANT REMINISCENCES OF AN OLD SETTLER (A. H. EDWARDS).—[from "FORT DEARBORN"; FERGUS' HISTORICAL SERIES, NO. 16.]

Sheboygan (Wis.), May 24th, 1891.

Hon. John Wentworth:

It is pleasant to note that at the disastrous fire at the Calumet Club, which occurred while these pages were preparing, the Beaubien fiddle and the Wells hatchet were saved.

Sheboygan (Wis.), Jan. 10, 1881.

A. H. Edwards.

For other extracts from this interesting paper see Appendix E—"The Wells and Heald families."

THE SAUGANASH (1833).

BILLY CALDWELL, THE SAUGANASH.

THE Sauganash had qualities, good and bad, appertaining to each of his parent races. He had fighting courage and coolness in danger, he had physical endurance, he had personal faithfulness to personal friends, he had a love of strong drink. There is now (1893) in this city, an account-book kept which was at a Chicago grocery store in the thirties, wherein appear many charges reading: "One quart whisky to B. Caldwell." The book is in possession of Julian Rumsey, Esq., a relative of Mrs. Juliette (Magill) Kinzie, author of "Wau-Bun."

When the inevitable separation came, and the Indians, after a grand farewell war-dance (August 18, 1835),[AW] departed on their migration toward the setting sun, Caldwell went with them, and died September 28, 1841, at Council Bluffs, Iowa. His old friend Mark Beaubien, had named after him the first and most noted of Chicago's real hotels, the "Sauganash," lovingly remembered by many of the "first families."

Letter written by the Sauganash [Billy Caldwell] and Shabonee [Chambly].

Council Bluffs, March 23rd, 1840.

To General Harrison's Friends:

ME-TEE-A; A SIGNER OF THE TREATY OF 1821.

FAREWELL WAR-DANCE OF THE INDIANS.

EARLY in 1833 Indians to the number of five thousand or more, assembled at Chicago, around the fort, the village, the rivers and the portage, to treat for the sale of their entire remaining possessions in Illinois and Wisconsin. John Joseph Latrobe, in his "Rambles in North America," gives the following realistic sketch of the state of things hereabouts just sixty years ago:

The negotiations dragged on for weeks and months, for the Indians were slow to put an end to their jollification, an occasion when they were the guests of the Government, and fared sumptuously with nothing to pay. The treaty had still to be ratified by the senate before its provisions could be carried out and the settlement made. This took about two years.

FAREWELL WAR-DANCE OF THE INDIANS, AUGUST 18, 1835.

The money paid and the goods delivered, the Indians shook the dust off their feet and departed; the dust shaking being literal, for once, as they joined, just before starting, in a final "war-dance." For this strange scene, we fortunately have as witness Ex-Chief-Justice Caton, previously quoted herein. He estimates the dancers at eight hundred, that being all the braves that could be mustered, out of the five thousand members then present of the departing tribes. The date was August 18th, 1835. He says:

The young lawyer, afterward Chief Justice, had come to the West in 1833, and less than a year before this had gone back to Oneida County, New York, and there married Miss Laura Sherrill. They were among the lookers-on from those upper windows, a crowd all interested, many agitated and some really frightened at the thought of the passions and memories that must be inflaming those savage breasts and that were making them the very picture of demoniac fury.

The Indians were conveyed to the lands selected for them, (and accepted by a deputation sent by them in advance of the treaty) in Clay County, Missouri, opposite Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. The Missourians were hostile to their new, strange neighbors, and two years later they were again moved, this time to a reservation in Iowa, near Council Bluffs. Once more the fate of the poor waif, "Move on, move on," was theirs, and then they halted in Kansas for many years. Their present condition has been already sketched.

Judge Caton is an ardent, devoted friend of the Indians. He knew many of them personally, they having been his faithful companions—by night and day, in summer and winter—in hunting, which was the passion of his early years. Yet here, we observe, he says sadly, that his wishes for their welfare go beyond any confident hope he can feel.

THE BRONZE MEMORIAL GROUP.

History places the scene of the Massacre adjacent to the shore of Lake Michigan, between the present 16th and 20th Streets. The Memorial Group, now (1893) newly erected, stands at the eastern extremity of 18th Street, overlooking the lake (nothing intervening save the right of way of the Illinois Central Railway); and is therefore in the midst of the battle-field.

I think it well here to put in evidence unanswerable testimony as to the identity of the spot selected for the group with the place where the short and fatal struggle took place. Regarding it, Munsell's history observes:

The letters quoted by Captain Andreas are all from persons not only well-informed, but also of the highest social character and standing. They are as follows:

Letter from Mrs. Henry W. King.

A. T. Andreas, Esq.

Letter from Hon. Isaac N. Arnold.

Chicago, January 25, 1884.

Captain A. T. Andreas.

Letter from A. J. Galloway.

Chicago, February 8, 1884.

Captain A. T. Andreas.

My dear sir:—At your request I will state my recollections concerning the cottonwood tree in the east end of Eighteenth Street. When I removed from Eldredge Court to the present 1808 Prairie Avenue, in 1858, the tree was in apparent good condition, though showing all the marks of advanced age. The large lower branches (since cutoff), after mounting upward for a time, curved gracefully downward, so that a man riding under them could have readily touched their extremities with his whip at a distance of twenty or twenty-five feet from the body. From an intimate knowledge of the growth of trees, I have no doubt but its sapling life long ante-dated the time of the massacre of the Fort Dearborn garrison. I will venture the opinion that if it were cut down and the stump subjected to a careful examination, it would be found that the last two inches of its growth cover a period of fifty years at least.

Yours truly,

A. J. Galloway.

To these highly convincing letters. Captain Andreas adds verbal testimony as follows:

On the same branch of the subject, and in absolute conformation of the Clark testimony, see the following letter, later than the other, which I am glad to be able to give as "the conclusion of the matter."

Aspen, Colorado, March 15, 1890.

Editor of the Tribune:

So much for the place selected for the bronze group, now for the work itself.

Carl Rohl-Smith, a Danish sculptor who had already won distinction in Europe and in America, and who came to Chicago under the strong attraction which the preparation of the World's Columbian Exposition offered for all artists, won notice and praise by his statue of Franklin, cast for the entrance of the Electrical building. This work pleased those interested highly, and the sculptor was invited to prepare the model for a group to commemorate the Fort Dearborn Massacre of 1812. Mr. Rohl-Smith, by the help of his accomplished wife, made a study of the historical facts connected with the event, and naturally concluded that Black Partridge saving the life of Mrs. Helm was the portion of the sad story which presented the most picturesque, dramatic and artistic features for reproduction. To this he added the killing of Surgeon VanVoorhees, which Mrs. Helm details almost in the same breath with the story of her own experience. The study, when completed in clay, won the approval of all observers (this acceptance being fortified by the warm admiration the group elicited from the best art-critics to whom it was submitted), and orders were at once given for the work; to be in bronze and of heroic proportions; the figure group to be nine feet high, set on a granite pedestal ten feet high.

Mr. Rohl-Smith set himself to work with the utmost diligence. Fortune favored him; for there happened to be just then some Indians of the must untamed sort at Fort Sheridan (only a few miles away), in charge of the garrison as prisoners of war, they having been captured in the Pine Ridge disturbance whereof the affair of Wounded Knee creek was the chief event. By General Miles's permission, Mr. Rohl-Smith was allowed to select two of these red-men to stand as models for the principal savage figures of the group. The two best adapted were "Kicking Bear" and "Short Bull." Concerning them Mr. Rohl-Smith says:

The savages were accompanied by an interpreter, and the newspapers of the day gave some amusing accounts of their demeanor in the studio; their mixture of docility and self-assertion, etc. It chanced that the real dispositions of the two principal models were the reverse of their assumed characters; and Kicking Bear (who, when wearing his native dress and war-paint, carried a string of six scalps as part of his outfit), was much amused at the fact that he was assigned the more humane part. "Me, good Injun!" he cried; "him bad Injun!" And he laughed loudly at the jest.

The four faces of the granite pedestal bear appropriate bas-reliefs cast in bronze. The front (south-west) shows the fight itself; the opposite side represents the train—troops, wagons, etc.—leaving the fort; one end gives the scene when Black Partridge delivered up his medal to Captain Heald, and the opposite end the death of the heroic Wells.

The various scenes bear descriptive inscriptions; and on the North-West face is the dedication, as follows:

The group stands on the scene of the fight, just one hundred and twenty feet east of the "Massacre tree" spoken of in chapter VII, and earlier in this appendix. Its position is admirable in the artistic point of view as well as in the historical, for it occupies the eastern extremity of Eighteenth Street and the northern of Calumet Avenue; separated from Lake Michigan only by the right of way of the Illinois Central railway. The hillocks which shielded the Indians in making their attack have been leveled down, but their sandy base forms an admirable foundation for the massive pedestal, which may well keep its place, unmoved, for a thousand years.

[A] [B] [C] [D] [E] [F] [G] [H] [I] [J] [K]
[L] [M] [N] [O] [P] [Q] [R] [S] [T] [V] [W]

A.

Abbott, Dr. Lucius; 49.
Agency House; 48, 67, 79, 192.
Ah-mah-qua-zah-quah; 35, 173.
Allen, Colonel; 109.
American Fur Co.; 65, 164.
Anderson, Capt. Thomas C.; 66.
Andreas, Capt. A. T. quoted; 153, 163, 165, 167, 170, 216-218.
Andrews, Presley; 146, 150.
Arnold, Hon. I. N.; 148-149, 217.
Artaguiette; 124.
Astor's Fur Co.; 56, 65, 164.
Atwater, Major; 113, 114.

B.

Baker, B'vt Major D.; 144.
Bates, Eli, 126.
Battles, Joe; 63.
Baxley, Virginia; 194.
Beaubien, Alex.; 121, 194.
Beaubien, J. B.; 169.
Beckwith, H. W.; 168.
Bisson, Mrs.; 45, 46.
Black Bird; 40, 180.
Black Hawk; 32.
Black Partridge; 29, 30, 44-46, 90, 104, 220.
Black Partridge Medal; 91.
Blanchard, Rufus; 67, 158-161.
Block-House; 120.
Block-House Tablet; 125, 126.
Blodgett, Hon. H. W.; 189, 192.
Bowen, Joseph; 118.
Braddock's Defeat; 61.
Bradley, Capt. H.; 144.
British and Indians; 30, 77-79.
Brock, Gen.; 78.
Bronze Group; 29, 220, 221.
Brown, Maj. Gen.; 145.
Bunker Hill, Battle of; 107.
Burgoyne, Gen.; 58, 135.
Burman (soldier); 146.
Burnett, Geo.; 146, 150.
Burns, John and family; 72, 80, 103.
Burns, Robert; 134.
Butterfield, Justin; 148.

C.

Cahokia; 138.
Caldwell, Billy (Sauganash); 46, 47, 201, 203.
Callis, Mrs.; 48.
Calumet Club; 35.
Calumet Lake; 55.
Cass. Lewis; 83, 167, 168.
Caton, Hon. J. D.; 114, 153, 203-206.
Caton, Laura Sherrill; 205.
Chandonnais; 37, 38, 42, 43, 97, 102.
Chetlain, Mrs. Gen.; 180.
Chicago; passim; see table of contents.
Chicago in 1812 and in 1892; 95.
Chicago, the name; 54.
Chicago, Treaty of; 47.
Clark, Elizabeth; 159.
Clark, Geo. Rogers; 53, 54, 135.
Clark, H. B.; 218.
Clark, John K.; 159.
Clarke, Robert G.; 220.
Cleaver, Charles; 121.
Clybourn, Archibald; 160.
Clybourn, Jonas; 160.
Cobweb Castle; 48, 192.
Conflict of Authorities; 83, 84, 87.
Confute Indians; 116.
Cooper, Isabella; 197-9.
Cooper, John, Surg. Mate; 149, 150.
Corbin, James; 118, 146, 150.
Corbin, Phelim; 20, 118, 146, 150.
Corbin, Sukey; 20, 48, 119.
Cummings, Maj. Alex.; 144.
Custer slaughter; 33.

D.

Dearborn, Fort; see Fort Dearborn.
Dearborn, Gen. Henry; 57, 143.
Debou (Frenchman); 72.
Defence, possible; 192.
De Peyster, Col. A. S.; 53; 56, 134-136.
De Peyster, J. Watts; 134.
Du Pin, Madame; 104.
Durantaye; 155.
Dyer, Dyson; 118, 146, 150.

E.

Eastman, Lieut. J. L.; 113, 114.
Eastman, Jonathan, Paymaster; 189.
Edson, Nathan; 118, 150.
Edwards, J. H.; 176-7, 197-9.
Edwards, Maria (Heald); 183.
English employment of Indians; 77-79.
"Epeconier;" 35, 36.
Erie Canal; 210.
Evacuation of Fort Dearborn; 81, 88.

F.

Farnum, Isabella (Cooper); 197.
Fergus Hist. Series, quoted; 68, 120, 151, 152, 168.
Fergus, Robert; 190.
Fergus, Scott; 190, 191.
Ferson, Julia, 152.
Forsyth, Geo.; 158.
Forsyth, Robert; 158, 167.
Forsyth, Thomas; 158, 162, 166.
Forsyth, William; 157.
Fort Chartres; 133.
Fort Dearborn, passim; see table of contents.
Fort Dearborn, Records of; 143-150.
Fort Dearborn Verses; 127-129.
Fort George, Canada; 102.
Fort Maiden, Canada; 109.
Fort Meigs, Canada; 109.
François, half-breed; 100.
Franklin, Statue of; 220.
Free Masonry; 98, 178.
Freer, Dr. Otto; 191, 195.
French Period; 53.
Fry, Col.; 172.
Fury, John; 146, 150.

G.

Galloway, A. J.; 218.
Gardner's Military History, quoted; 151.
George III; 79, 84, 135.
Gilbert, Mary Ann; 173.
Glamorgan; 137.
Gordon, Mrs. Nellie Kinzie; 171.
Grade of streets changed; 210.
Grant, Gen. U. S.; 155.
Great Fire; 213, 214.
Greene, Capt. John; 144.
Greenville, Treaty of; 47, 54, 57, 90, 155, 159.
Griffith, Quartermaster; 100.
Grigg, Jane Wells; 173.
Grignon, Augustin; 139.
Grummond, Paul; 118, 146, 150.
"Grutte;" 24.
Guarie River; 57.

H.

Hackleys, Ann and John; 173.
Haines, Hon. John C.; 121, 192, 194, 195.
Hall, Benjamin; 160.
Hall, David; 160.
Hall, Eugene; 127.
Hallam, Rev. Mr.; 194.
Haliburton, Mrs.; 157.
Hamilton, Gen.; 135.
Hardscrabble; 71, 105.
Harmer, Gen.; 174.
Harpell, Charles; 218.
Harrison, W. H.; 44, 65, 107, 109, 201.
Hays, Sergeant; 105.
Hayti, Island of; 137.
Heald family; 173-183.
Heald, Hon. Darius; passim; see table of contents.
Heald manuscript lost; 99.
Heald, Captain Nathan; passim; see table of contents.
Heald, Rebekah (Wells); passim; see table of contents.
Heald, Rebekah, quoted; 31-38, 69, 83, 93, 97-99.
Helm, Lieut. Linai T.; 23, 33, 39, 41, 48, 49, 162, 181.
Helm, Margaret; passim; see table of contents.
Helm, Margaret, quoted; see Wau-Bun.
Hennepin; 133.
Henry, Patrick; 135.
Hispaniola; 137.
Historical Society; 29, 45, 165, 191.
Hooker, J. Lewis; 121.
Hosmer, Dr. A. B.; 191, 195.
House-raising; 209, 210.
Hoyt, William M.; 127.
Hubbard, G. S.; 57, 167, 169, 170, 188.
Hull, Gen.; 78, 80, 93, 114, 118, 180.
Hunt family, the; 199.
Hunter, Gen. David; 23.
Hurlbut's Antiquities; 54, 58, 62, 148, 154, 155, 162, 167.

I.

Indians; passim; see table of contents.
Indian Agency; 62, 63.
Indian Atrocities; 38.
Indian Group, (Ryerson's); 126.
Indian Treaties; 165.

J.

Jackson, Andrew; 107.
Jackson, Samuel; 194.
Jamison, Capt.; 194.
Jefferson, President; 57.
Jerked beef; 85.
Johnston, John; 175.
Jones, Fernando; 121, 192-195.
Jones, R. Adjt. Gen.; 145, 146.
Jordan, Walter; 116-118.
Jouett, Charles, 48, 61, 62.

K.

Kaskaskia; 133, 138.
Keamble, (soldier); 146.
Kee-ge-kaw or swift-goer; 66.
Kee-po-tah; 44, 100, 103, 112.
Kickapoos; 116.
Kicking Bear; 221.
King, Mrs. Henry W.; 217.
Kingsbury, Col. Jacob; 149.
Kingston, John T.; 138.
Kinzie family; 23, 46, 61, 68, 100, 120, 157-170.
Kinzie House; 19, 44, 46, 61, 64, 73, 80, 111, 167.
Kinzie, John; passim; see table of contents.
Kinzie, Mrs. John; 23, 43, 61, 165.
Kinzie, John Harris; 23, 61; 161, 164, 165, 171, 194.
Kinzie, Mrs. John Harris; 21, 28, 42, 82, 120, 163, 171, 216.
Kinzie, John Harris Jr.; 171, 172;
Kinzie, Ellen Marion; 23, 170.
Kinzie, Maria Indiana; 23.
Kinzie, Robert Allen; 23, 167.
Kinzie, Mrs. Robert Allen; 153, 170, 194.
Knowles, Joseph; 118.

L.

Laframboise, Josette; 24.
Laframboise, Pierre; 121, 194.
La Geuness, J. B.; 65.
Lake Erie, battle of; 109, 110.
Lalime, John; 70, 80, 163, 185.
La Salle, Robert Cavelier; 53, 54, 126, 133, 134.
Latrobe, John Joseph; 203.
Law, John, 133, 138.
Lawe, Judge John; 65.
Leclerc, Peresh; 30, 39.
Lee's place and family; 70-72, 80, 104, 105.
Le Mai; 57, 60, 137, 155.
Liber Scriptorum; 133-141.
Lincoln, Hon. Robert; 68, 143.
Little Belt, Sloop; 110.
Little Turtle (Me-che-kan-nah-quah); 32, 35, 55, 173-177.
Locker, Frederick; 146, 150.
Logan, Hugh; 119, 150.
Lord Liverpool's Government; 78, 79.
Lundy's Lane, battle of; 107.
Lynch, Michael; 146, 150.

M.

Macomb, Mr.; 112.
Macomb, Maj. Gen; 146.
Mackinaw; 53, 80, 102, 103.
Mad Anthony; see Wayne.
Maguago, battle of; 155.
Main Poc; 187.
Marquette; 53, 54, 71, 105, 133.
Mason, E. G.; 49, 138.
Massacre; 19-50 and passim.
Massacre tree; 33, 113, 216-219.
McCagg, Ezra; 192.
McCoy, Isaac; 63.
McCrea, Miss Jane; 135.
McKee, Col.; 100.
McKenzie, Elizabeth; 158, 159.
McKenzie, Isaac; 159.
McKenzie, John; 157.
McKenzie, Margaret; 158, 159, 163, 164.
McKillip, Eleanor; 160, 161.
McKillip, Margaret; 161.
McNeil, Col. J.; 144.
McPherson, Hugh; 146, 150.
Me-che-kan-nah-quah; 32, 35, 55, 173.
Miami Indians; 20, 24, 25-27, 89, 93, 116, 180.
Militia-men; 23, 38, 40.
Miller, Samuel; 161.
Mills, Elias; 118, 146.
Min-na-wack or Mill-wack-ie; 66, 103.
Mirandeau, Victoire; 189.
Morfitt, William; 146, 150.
Mott, August; 119, 150.
Mound City (gun-boat); 171.
Munsell's History, quoted; 45. 63, 67, 71, 80, 82.

N.

Napoleonic years; 63.
Nau-non-gee; 77, 105.
Neads, John, wife and child; 119, 150.
Nelson (soldier); 119.
Nee-scot-nee-meg; 45.
New Orleans, battle of, 107.
Niles Register, quoted; 108, 113, 115, 116, 118, 180.
Noble, Mark; 170.
Noke-no-qua, Miss; 187.
Nourse, Charles J.; 145.

O.

O'Fallon, Col.; 37, 178.
O'Fallon, Mo.; 38, 99, 178.
O'Strander, Philip; 149, 150.
Ottawas; 77.
Ouillemette; 19, 45, 46, 57, 155.

P.

Parc-aux-vaches; 23, 115, 166.
Patterson, Mr.; 109.
Pee-so-tum, 30, 41, 142.
Pe-me-zah-quah; 173.
Perry, Commodore; 107, 110.
Peterson (soldier); 146.
Pettell, M.; 80, 155.
Plattsburgh paper, quoted; 103.
Pointe de Saible, J. B.; 44, 53, 55-57, 60, 133-141, 157, 166.
Pope, Nathaniel; 173.
Porthier, Victoire Mirandeau; 189, 190.
Pottowatomies; 24, 25-27, 30, 40, 44, 46, 57, 88, 103, 123, 166.
Proctor, Gen.; 101, 108, 115, 119.
Posterity of Pioneers; John Whistler, John Kinzie, William Wells and Nathan Heald; see appendix C, D and E.
Put-in-bay; 107, 114.

Q.

Queen Charlotte, (schooner); 113, 114.

R.

Relics recovered; 178.
Reveille; 19.
Roberts, Capt.; 181.
Robinson, Chief; 63, 101.
Rohl-Smith, Carl; 29, 220, 221.
Ronan, Lieut. George; 22, 28, 33, 40, 70, 83, 83, 144, 146, 181.
Round Head; 201.
Rumsey, Julian; 201.
Russell family; 80.
Ryerson, Martin; 126.
Ryswick, treaty of; 137.

S.

Sand-dunes; 25; 29, 31, 180.
Sauganash, the; 46, 47, 201, 202.
Scalped girl; 197.
Scott, Winfield; 107.
Senat, Jesuit; 124.
Shaubena; 138, 139, 202.
Shaw-nee-aw-kee, (Silver-smith); 68, 109, 158.
Shawnee Indians; 77, 201.
Sheaffe, Col.; 102.
Sheridan, Mrs. Gen.; 152.
Short Bull; 221.
Skeletons juried; 120, 121.
Skeleton in Hist. Society; 186.
Sleeping-car system; 212-214.
Smith, John; 146, 150.
St. Ange; 124.
St. Clair, Governor; 140, 174.
St. Cosme; 133.
St. Domingo; 137.
St. James' Church; 194.
St. Joseph's; 23, 59, 98, 100-102.
Stuart, David; 164.
Swearingen, Col. James S.; 58.
Sword of Capt. Heald; 99.

T.

Tanner, Dr. H. B.; 65.
Taylor, Augustus; 172.
Tecumseh; 32, 47, 106, 201.
Thames, battle of; 107.
Thompson, Lieut.; 194.
Tippecanoe, battle of; 44, 74, 77.
Tonti; 54, 133.
To-pee-nee-be; 24, 25, 27, 63, 100, 102.
Torture of wounded prisoners; 38, 43, 98.
Toussaint L'Ouverture; 138, 139.
"Tracy," schooner; 59, 67, 155.
Tree, Lambert; 126.

V.

Van Home, James; 118, 146, 150.
Van Voorhees, Dr. Isaac; 28, 33, 40, 144, 181, 220.
Vinsenne; 124.

W.

Wabash Indians; 44.
Wabash River; 144.
Wa-bin-she-way; 48.
Waggoner, Anthony L.; 150.
Wah-bee-nee-mah; 30.
Walk-in-the-water; 201.
Wa-nan-ga-peth; 35, 173.
War-dance; 203.
War of 1812; 80.
Washington, President; 175.
Wau-ban-see; 41, 44.
Waubansa stone; 147, 148.
Wau-Bun, quoted; 21, 23, 28, 81, 39, 41, 42, 44, 45, 62, 71, 72, 80, 82, 85, 86, 88, 90, 99-106, 108-110, 137, 186.
Wayne, Gen. Anthony; 47, 55, 56, 175, 202.
Webster, Daniel; 148.
Weem-tee-gosh; 100.
Wells family; 173-183.
Wells, Rebekah; 69, 70, 173.
Wells, Samuel; 36, 37, 69, 99, 173.
Wells, William; passim; see table of contents.
Wells Street; 35.
Wentworth, John; 68, 151, 152.
Whisky; 63, 87, 88.
Whistler family; 151-156.
Whistler, John; 58-61, 66, 69.
Whistler, John Jr.; 162.
Whistler, Major Geo. W.; 152.
Whistler, William; 58, 59.
Whistler, Mrs. Wm.; 59, 60, 61.
White Elk; 48.
White, Liberty; 71.
Williams, Mrs. Mary Clark; 118.
Wilmette; 57.
Winnebagoes; 77, 88, 116, 167.
Winnemeg; 41, 80, 81.
Wolcott, Alexander; 165, 169.
Wolcott, Henry Clay; 173.
Wolcott, James Madison; 35, 173, 177.
Wolcott, William Wells; 173.
Women and Children; 40, 49, 64.
Wood, Alonzo C.; 194.
Woodward, Augustus B.; 49.
Wounded for torture; 38, 43, 98.

DIBBLE PUBLISHING CO.,

334 Dearborn Street,

CHICAGO.

MAJOR KIRKLAND'S FIVE BOOKS.

Historical Works:

THE STORY OF CHICAGO. Cloth, $3.50; Half Morocco, $5.00; Full Morocco, Gilt Edged, $7.00.

THE CHICAGO MASSACRE OF 1812. Paper, 50 cts. Cloth, $1.00

Novels:

ZURY, THE MEANEST MAN IN SPRING COUNTY. Paper, 50 cts.; Cloth, $1.50.

THE McVEYS, AN EPISODE. Cloth, $1.25.

THE CAPTAIN OF COMPANY K. Illustrated. Paper, 50 cts.; Cloth, $1.00.

Each of the above books sent, carriage free, on the receipt of the price named. All three of the novels, in cloth, for $3.00.

The two histories are devoted to a topic which the whole world agrees to consider, on the whole, the most interesting of all now offered for its attention, namely, the young giant of the West:—Chicago.

The last named, "The Chicago Massacre of 1812," is here, within these covers, to speak for itself. The first named, "The Story of Chicago," has been published for about a year, meeting a success without parallel among the books on this subject.

The publishers have received (beside hundreds of favorable reviews) the following eloquent personal letters, worth many ordinary critiques:

WHAT THE FOUR
	OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, LOUISA CHANDLER MOULTON, FRANCES E. WILLARD, EDMUND C. STEDMAN,

HAVE TO SAY ABOUT

THE STORY OF CHICAGO:

Boston, March 19, 1892.

My Dear Mr. Dibble:

I have waited a few days to become acquainted with your beautiful book, "The Story of Chicago." It is indeed a story worth telling, and I thank you most heartily for giving me the opportunity of reading it and the privilege of placing it upon my shelves.

They used to tell us that the age of miracles had passed, but few recorded miracles compare with the wonder of this great city, springing up like a mushroom and hardening and spreading its branches until it stands like a mighty oak, king of the forest, with the promise of countless ages before it.

I have had great pleasure in looking at the splendid architectural monuments as they are figured in your pages. I have looked with the deepest interest on the portraits of the men who have wrought all these marvels, and I only wish that I could promise myself the delight of beholding Chicago as she will appear in her more than royal robes when the world is flocking to look at her, the Empress City of the West; it may be, by and by, of the Continent.

I am, dear sir. Very truly yours,
Oliver Wendell Holmes.

I have delayed to thank you for "The Story of Chicago" until I could find time to make myself thoroughly familiar with it; and I can now say, without hesitation, that it has interested me more than any other story of a town that I have ever read.

I congratulate you on having secured as its author so accomplished a writer as Major Kirkland, whose novels are a memorable delight, and who proves himself, in this fascinating "Story of Chicago," no less successful as a historian.

Your very numerous and beautiful illustrations add greatly to the value of the book; and surely this Story, (which reads like a chapter of miracles,) is a contribution to American history of which no one can afford to be ignorant.

Yours very sincerely,
Louise Chandler Moulton.

The Dibble Publishing Co.,
Chicago, Ill.

Kind Friends:—"The Story of Chicago" is Major Kirkland's masterpiece. He has comprehended what envious New York has called the "Windy City," but which is in reality the Magic City, not only of America but of the world. Whoever helps to put this book under eyes that have not been blessed by its fair, inspiring pages and choice photogravures has helped to increase the sum of human happiness, for as the brain of man is creation's masterpiece so Chicago is the planet's whispering gallery of whatever is most hopeful, progressive and inspiring to humanity. Her history is the epic of the Great Lakes and the wonder-book of the prairies. Long may its crisp pages rustle in the breeze.

Frances E. Willard.

Dear Mr. Dibble:

When you prevailed upon Major Kirkland to write the "Story of Chicago." you displayed once more your acumen. You induced the brilliant author of "Zury" to forego his imaginative work for a while, and to devote his talent to the narration of an "o'er true tale"—a tale, however, as strange and absorbing as any romance. I know he will get his reward, and I hope you will get yours.

But let me compliment you, heartily, upon the book itself, and upon the liberality and taste with which you have illustrated it. Every American is proud of Chicago, of her history, her great ambition, her financial and intellectual progress. Her record is faithfully set forth in your handsome volume. Whoever designs to visit Chicago and the Columbian Exposition should own and thoroughly read "The Story."

Ever sincerely yours,
Edmund C. Stedman.

Following the good practice of "letting other men do the talking," here are some of the countless public praises which came crowding in after the publication of each of the three novels:

KIRKLAND'S THREE NOVELS.

ONE NOVEL ("Zury") tells of life on Zury's farm, and another ("The McVeys") tells of life at Springville and early Chicago, with glimpses of Lincoln, Douglas, David Davis, etc., and bring together Zury and Anne Sparrow, the hero and heroine of both novels: Of these two books Hamlin Garland in The Boston Transcript says:

The War novel won the first prize ($1,600) in the famous competition got up by the Detroit Free Press. In gaining favorable notices it quite equalled its two predecessors.

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"BUNKER HILL TO CHICAGO."

BY MRS. ELOISE O. RANDALL RICHBERG.

Is a charming story, of interest from start to finish. So cleverly is the tale unfolded there is no point at which to rest until the end is reached. The compassionate author closes on page 160. In paper covers, 50 cents, and will be sent postage paid to any address on receipt of price.

"FAY BANNING."

BY WILL J. BLOOMFIELD.

Speaks for itself in a language and style of its own, drawing the reader on, page after page, fully occupying the mind with dramatic scenes of exquisite taste and ever changing variety, in so clear and vivid a form the reader is inclined to feel he is really participating in, and helping to tell the story of his adventures and those of his friends who are leading characters in this beautiful drama of real life. 288 pages handsomely printed from close, clear type, neat cloth covers, $1.00; paper covers 50 cents, and will be sent, postage paid, to any address on receipt of price.

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This sweet singer, though blind, has so beautifully told the story of "Lily Pearl" that one of our leading authors says of her: "Sightless she is not, for in her the mind's eye is of a brilliancy that seems to make our mere physical vision useless by comparison. Better the soul's sight without eyes, than the eyesight without soul." 458 pages handsomely illustrated and neatly bound in cloth, $1.25. Address

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