Chapter XII: Part 12

The wily Creek leader also exhibited traits of excellent generalship, for, when the combined forces of Coffee and Jackson reached the vicinity of his encampment at Ten Islands, he ordered a retreat of his followers to a well-fortified town at Tallushatches (now Jacksonville, Alabama), on the Southern shore of the Coosa River. Jackson's men were suffering still from lack of provisions and many were mutinous, but the remarkable leader kept them at work with promises of future pay and honors, and, when news was brought that a large force of Creeks was besieging a friendly chief called Path Killer, he divided his army. A portion, under Colonel Coffee, was sent to attack Tallushatches, while the rest were dispatched to the assistance of Path Killer.

Colonel Coffee had only nine hundred men with him, and sent forward only a few of his soldiers to attack the Indian stockade and then to retreat. He thus hoped to entice the red men from their strong position, and his plan was entirely successful. After making a vigorous advance against the Creeks, his soldiers began to fall back, and then to run away. The Indians hotly pursued, thinking that they had the white men at their mercy. But this is exactly what Coffee wished them to do. His greater force was lying in ambuscade, and, as the painted warriors rushed, yelping, after his flying column, his other soldiers poured vigorous broadsides into their ranks.

Dismayed and terrified, the followers of Weatherford now turned to retreat, but the Americans surrounded them entirely. Then ensued a sanguinary, hand-to-hand encounter. Some of the red warriors broke through the surrounding line and ran back to their village, where they hid in the tepees. As long as they had power to move a limb, they fought like tigers at bay. But the white troops soon overcame all resistance, and killed all of those who had, such a short time before, rushed victoriously against them. Five of the Americans only were killed, and forty-one were wounded, while about two hundred Indians were put to death.

Weatherford was not with this division of his forces, but, with a more powerful contingent, was besieging the friendly Path Killer at Fort Talladega. Jackson hurried to the relief of this place, and, because of very swift marching, arrived there much sooner than the Creeks had expected. But Weatherford was not taken by surprise, and hurled his warriors against the militia with such fury that they gave away. Jackson quickly brought up some mounted rangers, who charged the oncoming redskins with a will. In spite of Weatherford's example and exhortations, his red warriors now broke and ran. Three miles off was a range of densely wooded mountains, and to this the Creeks hastened as fast as their nimble limbs would carry them, while the Americans followed in hot pursuit. Fully a thousand savages fell before the onrush of the men in fringed buckskin, while but fifteen of the American riflemen were killed.

As the Creeks, weary and disgruntled, rested in the security of the mountains, a warrior approached Weatherford, and said:

"Great Chief, I see that we can do nothing against these whites. They will conquer us, no matter how long we resist. I, for one, am going to give myself up. As for you, you can continue the war if you so will, but it will be useless."

"Coward," shouted the Creek leader in great wrath. "I will have your blood for such treachery!" And with no more words, he struck the red man down with his hatchet.

With Jackson things were also going ill. His men grew so ill-humored with starvation that many revolted, and there was danger of the expedition being abandoned. One day, a starving soldier saw the General sitting under a tree, eating something, and going to him, said:

"General Jackson, I can stand this no longer. If you cannot furnish me with bread, I will go home, and many others with me. Men, sir, cannot fight on empty stomachs."

Jackson looked carefully at him before answering.

"You see that I am eating," said he. "I am always ready to divide with a hungry man. Here, take half of my supply of nourishment."

So saying, he reached in his pocket and extracted a handful of acorns.

"Thank you, General," replied the soldier. "If you can fight on such a diet, certainly I, myself, can." And so saying, he walked off humming a tune. The example of "Old Hickory" (as Jackson was nicknamed) was all that allayed mutiny and dispersal among the men.

Weatherford now collected a large force upon an island in the Tallapoosa River, near the mouth of Emuckfau Creek, and, in this densely wooded and swampy country, waited for the Americans to advance upon him. Fierce and vindictive in his hatred for the superior race, he determined to fight to the last ditch rather than to capitulate to the men under Jackson, Coffee, and Floyd, who headed the Georgia militia. Here he had built a rude stockade, and, confident in his ability to withstand an attack, waited for developments.

On the seventeenth of January, Jackson, with nearly one thousand men, marched for the centre of the Indian country, reinforced by Fife, a noted chief, with about two hundred red warriors. As his soldiers pushed through the rough country in the direction of Weatherford's army, scouts from the latter's forces warned the crafty chieftain of the approach of the white troops. In the early morning of the twenty-second of January, the left flank of the rangers was furiously attacked by Weatherford's advance guard. Turning upon them, the men under Old Hickory soon were engaged in a furious battle. The underbrush and saplings impeded good fighting, as they afforded good cover to the redskins, but in spite of this, the buckskin rangers did as much damage as the savages. In a half hour's time the Creeks were routed, but, as the Americans rested and re-arranged their line, the Indians returned to the fray. Led on by Weatherford, in person, they did great damage until finally driven off by a bayonet charge. As the whites withdrew, because of a shortness in their provisions, the Indians claimed this as a victory.

But Jackson only drew off to prepare for another advance, while the Creeks determined to make a last stand at the Great Horseshoe Bend of the Tallapoosa River, in the state of Alabama. Weatherford had a thousand warriors still left, although many had been killed in the recent fighting with Old Hickory. He had caused a well-fortified camp to be erected, which was built with such skill that it could only be carried by a direct assault. "We have been defeated many times," said he to his warriors, "but now we _must_ win a battle. If the whites again defeat us, we shall be lost."

Jackson was now determined to crush the Indians with an overwhelming blow. Consequently, on March 27th he reached the neighborhood of the Creeks' fortifications, with a large and well-equipped army of frontiersmen and friendly Indians. The rangers had all been under fire; many of them had lost friends and relatives in the massacre at Fort Mimms; and thus there was a strong spirit of revenge among them. As they crept silently through the forest they marched in single file, and gave the impression of a huge earthworm, wriggling through the dense undergrowth. Quietly and without noise, the friendly Indians and mounted rangers were sent across the river below the Indian encampment, so as to cut off the retreat of the red men; while a small body of expert riflemen was sent forward to set fire to several buildings. As these crackled and burned in the early morning light, the remaining troops opened fire upon the breastworks, behind which the Creek warriors were hiding.

For five hours the fighting raged. At first it seemed impossible to get into the camp of Weatherford's adherents, but eventually a number of the Tennessee rangers managed to climb over the fallen logs and timber, and to grapple single handed with the hostiles. With a rousing cheer the rest of the rangers now rushed over the barricade, driving many of the Creeks behind their houses. A desperate struggle now took place, but, seeing that they were about to be surrounded, many of the Creeks, including Weatherford, made a wild dash for freedom. Six hundred redskins were soon killed, while over two hundred captives, including women and children, were marched to the rear under a strong guard. At nightfall the pursuit of the Creeks was abandoned, and the battle of Tohopeka, or the Great Horseshoe Bend, was over. The Creeks had suffered such an overwhelming defeat that their spirit of resistance was absolutely crushed.

Weatherford escaped into the forest, and nothing was heard of him. Hundreds of his followers came to Jackson's camp and gave themselves up in the week following their defeat at Horseshoe Bend, for they realized that further resistance would be impossible. "I will accept your capitulation only on one condition," said Jackson to some of the Creek refugees. "And that is that you deliver Weatherford to me, bound by deer thongs. You must also allow me to do with him as I see fit. I know that you wish for peace, but I cannot guarantee it to you until your leader is in my hands. He is an evil man, and I do not know when he will again raise an insurrection."

Deep in the tangled forest, word was brought to Weatherford of the wish of Old Hickory.

"I will never submit to being bound," cried the Creek chieftain, "but I will surrender myself of my own free will, if this is the only way in which peace can be assured. Were you people not cowards, I could yet defeat this boasting General Jackson."

Not long afterwards the American commander was sitting in his tent, dictating some dispatches, when a tall and stately Indian suddenly stalked inside. As Jackson, in amazement, gazed at him, the intruder said:

"I am Weatherford, the chief who led the attack upon Fort Mimms. I have come to ask for peace for my people, who desire it."

Jackson looked at him with no cheerful gaze. "I am surprised," said he, "that you should come into my presence, for I know of your inhuman conduct at Fort Mimms, for which you deserve death. I ordered that you should be brought to me bound, and should you have been brought to me in that manner, I should have known how to treat you."

Weatherford smiled. "I am in your power," said he. "You can do with me as you please, for I am a soldier. I have done the whites all the harm that I could. I have fought them and have fought them bravely. If I had an army, I would yet fight; I would contend to the last; but I have none. My people are all gone. I can only weep over the misfortunes of my nation."

Old Hickory was himself a brave man, and could not help admiring the boldness of this handsome Indian chieftain. A smile lighted his countenance, as he said:

"I will take no advantage of you; you may yet raise a war party and fight us. But if you are captured, you shall receive no quarter. Unconditional surrender is the only safe measure for you and your people."

Weatherford drew himself up in a dignified manner, and replied:

"You can now safely address me in such terms. There was a time when I could have answered you; there was a time when I had a choice; I have none now. I have not even a hope. I could once animate my warriors to battle, but I cannot animate the dead. My warriors can no longer hear my voice. Their bones are at Talladega, Tallushatches, Emuckfau, and Tohopeka. I have not surrendered myself without thought. While there was a single chance for success, I never left my post nor supplicated for peace. But my people are gone, and I now ask it for my nation, not for myself. I look back with deep sorrow, and wish to avert still greater calamities. If I had been left only to contend with the army from Georgia, I would have raised my corn on one bank of the river, and fought them on the other. But your people have destroyed my nation. You are a brave man. I rely upon your generosity. You will exact no terms of a conquered people but such as they should accede to. Whatever they may be, it would now be madness and folly to oppose them. If they are opposed, you shall find me among the sternest enforcers of obedience. Those who would still hold out can be influenced only by a mean spirit of revenge. To this they must not, and shall not sacrifice the last remnant of their country. You have told our nation where we might go and be safe. This is good talk, and they ought to listen to it. They _shall_ listen to it."

"Go," answered Jackson, "if you so will. I shall not hinder you. But, if you rouse further strife, beware of me and my men. We shall deal with you, next time, with no careful hand."

The great leader of the Creeks thus departed, as proudly arrogant as he had come, and soon his form was lost in the shadows of the forest.

BLACK HAWK: CHIEF OF THE SACS AND FOXES
AND LEADER OF THE BLACK HAWK REBELLION

Step by step the whites were fighting their way across the country, and in 1832 had frontier settlements in the territory between the Illinois and the Mississippi rivers. The Sacs and the Foxes here had their towns, their principal leader being Black Hawk, a man of splendid physique and noble bearing. He was not only a warrior, but was also an orator of distinction and ability, many of his speeches possessing a poetical eloquence which is remarkable. Personally he was a brave man, but he showed no special generalship in handling his forces, and, although at first successful in attacking the whites, he soon was overwhelmed by the superior ability and prowess of the men of another race.

In 1830 the Sacs and Foxes, through a chief named Keokuk as negotiator, sold much of their land to the United States and agreed to move to the west of the Mississippi. Black Hawk was not consulted in this matter, and became very indignant when he learned what had transpired. Finding that a considerable number of Indians were dissatisfied with the treaty, he offered to place himself at their head and to rebel against Keokuk. But open rebellion did not occur, because of difficulties with the whites, which soon turned the vindictive spirit of Black Hawk against them, and not against the men of his own race. The act which led to hostilities was peculiar.

One of the Sacs found a beehive in a hollow tree, and carried it to his wigwam. Some of the white squatters claimed that it was theirs and made the Indian give it up. But not content with this, they now plundered the savage's wigwam of all the skins which he had collected by hunting in the winter. When the Indian protested, they laughed at him, and thus ill-blood was aroused between the whites and the redskins, which finally culminated in open warfare. "We must have war," said Black Hawk in the council chamber, "or else we shall be driven into the far West, without lands, horses, or shelter. Those of you who are cowards may follow Keokuk, but those of you who wish to maintain your own against the aggressions of these whites, must take up your tomahawks with me."

An old residence of the tribe was the Sac village, situated upon a point of land at the confluence of the Mississippi and Rock Rivers, which had been occupied by them for over a century and a half. As this spot was in the limits of the ceded territory, the Americans demanded the evacuation of the village, but Black Hawk convinced Keokuk that his cession of land was illegal and made him promise to open a negotiation with the Americans, and to have the village restored. With this expectation the Indians still kept possession of the village, until the autumn of the year 1830, when they went into the deep forests, as usual, for their winter's hunt after furs. No sooner had they departed than the whites occupied the tepees and houses in the village, and when the Indians returned, they found that hundreds of white men and women were in their own wigwams. These refused to leave, claiming that the village rightly belonged to them, and so angered the savages by their obstinacy that the chiefs of the allied tribes of Sacs and Foxes determined to drive them out by force.

The white settlers were not in sufficient numbers to oppose the savages, and, realizing their weakness, offered to compromise by living in company with the tribe. Strange as it may seem, the Indians agreed to this, but soon regretted their bargain, as the whites appropriated all the best planting lands, crowded the red men out of their homes, and at length told them that they must leave the village. Many complied, but Black Hawk and a number of warriors refused to move; a fact which led the whites to complain to the Governor of Illinois of the "encroachments of the Indians, and unfair dealings of the Sacs and Foxes."

"I will immediately send the militia to your assistance," wrote the Governor to the complaining citizens. "I furthermore proclaim that the state has been invaded by foreign enemies. The soldiers are for the public defense. They will remove the Indians, dead or alive, to their proper position across the Mississippi River." Seven hundred militiamen began an immediate advance upon the settlement, but General Gaines, the commander of the United States troops in that section of country, foreseeing that this movement would provoke the Indians to open hostilities, hurried to Rock River in order to mediate between the soldiers and redskins. He arrived before the Illinois militia had reached the ground, and, by means of a long harangue, persuaded about a third of the Indians to peacefully retire across the river. The rest, including Black Hawk, refused to leave the place, the women imploring their husbands to fight rather than to abandon their homes.

Seeing that he would have to use his best powers of persuasion, Gaines held a council with Black Hawk on the seventh of June, and there argued for peace for over an hour. The savage leader was painted and armed for battle, and was surrounded by many of his best warriors. "I am not afraid of the Americans," said he, "and I will not remove from my rightful possessions. I am fully able to make war against your soldiers, and to drive them into the sea, if necessary. Let your men come on. I am ready to receive them." Notwithstanding their proud boasts, as soon as the militia came up on the twenty-fifth, the followers of Black Hawk abandoned their position without firing a gun. Two days later, Black Hawk made his appearance again, with a white flag, and demanded another parley, after which a treaty was agreed upon, whereby he and his malcontents relinquished their claim to the territory under dispute. Satisfied with this turn of affairs, the militia withdrew.

Peace was to be of short duration, for the Indians still retained their feelings of exasperation caused by the treatment which they had received, and the Americans did not live up to the terms of their treaty. As usual, they scoffed at the requests of the redskins, and told them that their demands were unjust, when they asked for a supply of corn which had been promised them. Black Hawk's men grew bold and surly. Early in 1831 they attacked a band of peaceable Sioux, encamped near an American fort at Prairie du Chien, and killed twenty-eight. This exasperated the white settlers, and a demand was made for the murderers. Black Hawk refused to deliver them up. "This is an affair between two Indian tribes, independent of the authority of the Great White Father," said he. "I will not give up my people, because of this. You can do what you like about it." As the murdered men were, at the time of the killing, under the protection of the United States Government, the Indian chief was, of course, in the wrong.

It was now the spring of the year 1832, and Black Hawk had collected a force of Sacs, Foxes and Winnebagoes amounting to about a thousand warriors. Crossing the Mississippi, the redskins marched upon the frontier settlements, burning and scalping with a ruthless hand, and driving the white inhabitants before them in alarm. Farms were abandoned; remote settlements were left to their fate; while forts and stockades were crowded with refugees. The Governor of Illinois ordered out a brigade of militia, and, under General Atkinson, the soldiers marched for the scene of hostilities. Regular troops soon joined with the state militia, so that three thousand four hundred men were marching towards the arrogant chief of the rebellious Indians. Black Hawk saw that he could not cope with such a force, and so withdrew from the open country into the swamps, from the protection of which he sent out marauding parties against the settlements. The country was in the greatest fear and alarm.

Atkinson halted for reinforcements and dispatched a Major Stillman with two hundred and seventy men to make a reconnoissance in the direction of Black Hawk's hiding place. Learning of their approach, the chief sent out three of his warriors with a flag of truce, and an invitation to the officers to visit his camp. The white soldiers paid no attention to the flag, took the Indians prisoners, and killed two other Winnebagoes who came up to look for their first party, when the emissaries did not return. This was not the boasted method of warfare which the white man prided himself upon, and it naturally enfuriated the followers of Black Hawk. There were but forty in the camp, as the rest were out hunting, and, when the whites pressed forward to the attack, these armed themselves for the fray, and quietly waited for the rangers to approach. The latter advanced in much disorder, crossed a narrow creek, and were confidently pushing towards Black Hawk's camp, when they were fiercely assailed by the savages. Although outnumbering the redskins, they were no match for them, and soon were thrown into great disorder. Their situation finally became so desperate that the retreat was sounded on the bugle, and they ran away in great confusion. It was a signal triumph for the savages.

More troops were ordered to join with Atkinson. Five companies of artillery made a rapid march of eighteen days from Fortress Monroe, on the Chesapeake, to Chicago, on Lake Michigan, but were attacked by cholera on the route, so that all were unfit for service before they even reached the seat of war. Only nine were left alive in one entire corps. Many men already at the front deserted. Some died in the woods, and their bodies were devoured by wolves. Others straggled into the settlements with their knapsacks on their backs, staggering from faintness and wounds. They were shunned by the inhabitants as the source of a mortal disease, and were left to shift for themselves. General Scott, who was advancing with reinforcements, directed Atkinson to pursue the campaign without waiting for him, as his entire force was knocked out by the dread scourge, so the American leader determined for an immediate advance upon the warriors of the now much-feared leader of the Indian forces.

As the frontier soldiers scoured the country in the endeavor to drive the savages from their lurking-places, Black Hawk began to retreat. Abandoning a camp which he had formed at the Four Lakes, he moved towards the Mississippi, having been assured by the tribes who lived in this quarter that they would not only join his party, but would also furnish him with plentiful supplies and provisions. He was to be grievously disappointed. No allies joined him, no provisions were brought to his camp, and scouts told him that the Americans were close upon his trail. As he was about to cross the Wisconsin River, about forty miles from a frontier fortress, called Fort Winnebago, he was attacked by an advanced body of the Americans, under General Dodge. The fight began just at dusk, and, although sixteen of the red men were slain, the rest escaped across the stream. Many of the women and children were captured by the white soldiers as they attempted to run down the river in canoes, and many of them were drowned, as their frail barques were sunk by the fire of the frontiersmen.

The once boastful Indian chief was now terrified by the advance of his despised enemies, and his vaunted courage had ebbed with the decay of his fortunes. Had he been a Tecumseh, or a King Philip, he would have made one last desperate stand against the whites, and would have died at the head of his rebellious warriors. He had suffered no wrong from the white settlers beyond that of personal insult, and, although he had been driven from the home of his forefathers, it had been only after a treaty with members of his tribe. Yet, it is hard to restrain our sympathy for him and his people, for now, surrounded on three sides, his one thought was of safety, and he was bent solely on the means of escape for the remnant of his fighting force.

On August 1st, as he was attempting to cross the Mississippi, he was interrupted by an armed steamboat, called the _Warrior_, the Captain of which has written the following account of the engagement which then took place:

"I was dispatched with the _Warrior_ alone to Wapashaw's village, one hundred and twenty miles above Prairie du Chien, to inform them of the approach of Black Hawk, and to order down all the friendly Indians to Prairie du Chien. On the way down we met one of the Sioux band, who informed us that the Indians (under Black Hawk) were on Bad Axe River, to the number of four hundred. We stopped to cut some wood and prepare for action. About four o'clock on Wednesday afternoon (August 1st), we found the _Gentlemen_ where he stated that he had left them. As we neared them, they raised a white flag and endeavored to decoy us, but we were a little too old for them, and, instead of landing, ordered them to send a boat on board, which they declined. After some fifteen minutes' delay, giving them time to remove a few of their women and children, we let slip a six-pounder, loaded with canister, followed by a severe fire of musketry, and if ever you saw straight blankets (Indians running) you would have seen them there. I fought them at anchor most of the time, and we were all very much exposed. I have a ball which came in close by where I was standing and passed through the bulkhead of the wheel-room. We fought them for about an hour or more, until our wood began to fail, and, night coming on, we left and went on to the Prairie. This little fight cost them twenty-three killed, and, of course, a great many wounded. We never lost a man, and had but one wounded--shot through the leg. The next morning, before we could get back again, they had the whole of General Atkinson's army upon them. We found them at it, walked in and took a hand ourselves. The first shot from the _Warrior_ laid out three. I can hardly tell you anything about it, for I am in great haste, as I am now on my way to the field again. The army lost eight or nine killed, and seventeen wounded, whom we brought down. One died on deck, last night. We brought down thirty-six prisoners, women and children. There is no fun in fighting Indians, particularly at this season, when the grass is bright."

What he says of Atkinson's arrival is only too true. Atkinson arrived with a vengeance, and, after a three hours' action, totally defeated the Indians; great numbers of them being driven into the Mississippi and drowned, or captured, by the American sharpshooters. Black Hawk stole away and got safely off, during the action, leaving all his baggage behind him, and certificates signed by British officers, testifying to his good character and excellent services rendered by him to the British cause in the war of 1812. With a small party, he reached the Winnebago village of Prairie du Chien, and, despairing of eluding his persevering pursuers, told the chiefs of this settlement that he wished to surrender himself to the whites, and that, if they wished, they might put him to death. But the Winnebago warriors did him no harm. Their women presented him with a suit of white tanned deerhide, as a testimonial to his bravery and gallantry; made much of him, and crowded about the renowned chieftain in wonder and delight. After a few days of rest he was accompanied by two Winnebago chiefs to the headquarters of General Street, where he was delivered into the hands of the American General.

The soldier was seated at a table, when the famous warrior entered, and, greeting him cordially, he asked him if he had anything to say for himself. The captured chieftain drew himself up to his full height, and then spoke in a slow and majestic manner. Although renowned only as a warrior, his oratory is quite equal to that of Red Jacket and other famous speakers of the Indian race; and had he not been noted as a war chieftain, his speeches would have given him distinction among those of his own color.

"You have taken me prisoner with all my warriors," said he. "I am much grieved, for I expected, if I did not defeat you, to hold out much longer and give you more trouble before I surrendered. I tried hard to bring you into ambush, but your last general understands Indian fighting. The first one was not so wise. When I saw that I could not beat you by Indian fighting, I determined to rush on you and fight you face to face. I fought hard. But your guns were well aimed. The bullets flew like birds in the air, and whizzed by our ears like the wind through the trees in winter. My warriors fell around me; it began to look dismal. I saw my evil day at hand. The sun rose dim on us in the morning, and at night it sunk in a dark cloud, and looked like a ball of fire. That was the last sun that shone on Black Hawk. His heart is dead and no longer beats quick in his bosom. He is now a prisoner to the white man; they will do with him as they wish. But he can stand torture, and is not afraid of death. He is no coward. Black Hawk is an Indian.

"He has done nothing for which an Indian has been ashamed. He has fought for his countrymen, the squaws, and pappooses, against white men, who came year after year to cheat him and take away their lands. You know the cause of our making war. It is known to all white men. They ought to be ashamed of it. The white men despise the Indians and drive them from their homes. But the Indians are not deceitful. The white men speak bad of the Indian and look at him spitefully. But the Indian does not tell his. Indians do not steal.

"Black Hawk is a true Indian and disdains to cry like a woman. He feels for his wife, his children, and friends. But he does not care for himself. He cares for his nation and the Indians. They will suffer. He laments their fate. The white men do not scalp the head; but they do worse, they poison the heart; it is not pure with them. His countrymen will not be scalped, but they will, in a few years, become like the white men, so that you can't trust them, and there must be, as in the white settlements, nearly as many officers as men, to take care of them and keep them in order.

"Farewell, my nation! Black Hawk tried to save you and avenge your wrongs. He drank the blood of some of the whites. He has been taken prisoner, and his plans are stopped. He can do no more. He is near his end. His sun is setting, and he will rise no more. Farewell to Black Hawk."

Although much impressed by this oration, the General ordered the noted chief to be made a prisoner, and sent to Washington to confer with Andrew Jackson, who was the President. Arriving at the seat of government, the celebrated warrior was soon ushered into the presence of the chief magistrate, whom he greeted with the words: "I am a man and you are another. Do with me as you will. I know that you will give me fair treatment."

Later on, he said: "We did not expect to conquer the whites, no. They had too many houses; too many men. I took up the hatchet, for my part, to revenge the injuries which my people could no longer endure. Had I borne them longer without striking, my people would have said, 'Black Hawk is a woman; he is too old to be a chief; he is a Sac.' These reflections caused me to raise the warwhoop. I say no more of it; it is known to you. Keokuk once was here; you took him by the hand, and, when he wished to return to his home, you were willing. Black Hawk expects that, like Keokuk, we shall be permitted to return, too."

"You must feel no uneasiness about your women and children," said the President. "They will be looked after and will be protected from their Indian enemies. You must promise me never to lift the hatchet again against the white man, and then you can return to your own race."

Having secured the necessary promise, Black Hawk, with some companions, was sent to Norfolk, Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York, where he was amazed and much flattered by the immense crowds of spectators who flocked from all quarters to obtain a view of him. The sight of the navy yards, arsenals, and ships of war made him realize the weakness and insignificance of his own nation compared with the Americans, and, upon viewing some troops in New York, he exclaimed: "I once thought that I could conquer the whites, my heart grew bitter and my hands grew strong. But the white men were mighty. I and my people failed. I see the strength of the white men. I will be the white man's friend. I will go to my people and speak good of the white men. I will tell them that they are like the leaves of the forest, very many, very strong, and that I will fight no more against them."

From New York the Indians returned by way of Albany and the Great Lakes to the Upper Mississippi, where they were set at liberty. No incident worthy of record took place for three years after his liberation, until the summer of 1837, when a battle occurred between the Sacs and Foxes, on one hand, and the Sioux upon the other, in which this noted chieftain participated. The remainder of his life was peaceful enough, as he was honored by both reds and whites. Invited to a dinner at a Fourth of July celebration at Fort Madison, Wisconsin, he was seated to the right of the toastmaster, who spoke of him as follows, when his health was proposed:

"Our illustrious guest. May his declining years be as calm as his previous life has been boisterous and filled with warlike events. His present friendship to the whites fully entitles him to a seat at our board."

To which the now aged warrior responded:

"It has pleased the Great Spirit that I am here today. The earth is our mother, and we are now permitted to look upon it. A few snows ago I was fighting against the white people; perhaps I was wrong; let it be forgotten. I love my towns and cornfields on the Rock River; it is a beautiful country. I fought for it, but it is now yours. Keep it as the Sacs did. I was once a warrior, but I am now poor. I love to look upon the Mississippi. I have looked upon it from a child. I love the beautiful river. My home has always been upon its banks. I thank you for your friendship. I will say no more."

Black Hawk--the orator, and defeated, though not crestfallen chieftain--died October 3rd, 1838. Many whites, as well as Indians, assembled at his tepee to pay their last respects to the noted red man, and buried him as the Sac chieftains had always been interred. This was according to his wish. Instead of covering his body with earth, it was placed upon the ground in a sitting posture, with a cane between the knees, supporting the hands. Slabs and rails were then piled around the remains, and the bones of Black Hawk were left to the care of the elements. During the following winter the body was stolen, and a year later was found in the possession of a surgeon of Quincy, Illinois. But the Governor of Iowa, learning of this outrage, compelled the thieving medical man to restore the skeleton of the noted warrior to his friends. These interred the bones of the chief beneath the ground, with a simple headstone to mark the last resting place of the once powerful warrior of the Sacs and Foxes.

OSCEOLA:
THE SNAKE OF THE FLORIDA EVERGLADES

In a rude stockade in Florida, an officer of the United States Government sat before a rough-hewn table, upon which was laid the papers of an Indian treaty. It was the year 1832. Before him stood several Seminole chieftains, one of whom was nearly white and had a sharp, intelligent and crafty-looking countenance.

"You see," said the American soldier, pointing to the paper, "by the terms of this agreement, you Seminoles are to give up all your possessions in Florida, are to receive $15,400 upon arriving at your new home, and shall each have a blanket. Your women will each have a new homespun frock. Seven of your chiefs must consent to this agreement before it becomes a law. That is the will of our great father, President Jackson."

"I will sign your paper," said one of the gaudily-attired Seminoles, stepping forward.

"And I, also," said another.

But he of the sharp features jumped quickly between them and the parchment. It was Osceola, half Indian and half white, a redskin of treacherous courage and implacable hatred for the whites.

"I shall never sign these lies," said he with violence, "you whites are all cowards and cheats!" and, seizing his long knife in his right hand, he plunged it through the paper with such force that it went clean through the table upon which it lay. Then turning haughtily, he left the room, and disappeared.

The officer wrote to Washington that, in spite of the opposition of some of the chiefs, the treaty would be ratified by the Indians and they would leave their homes in the Everglades and swamps to the possession of the whites. But, in this, he was mistaken. It became apparent that the Seminoles intended to fight rather than to give up their lands to the white pioneers. A General Thompson called the real leaders of these Southern redskins to another conference, in October, 1834, and said:

"I have told you that you must stand to your bargain; my talk is the same. Your father, the President, who is your friend, will compel you to go. Therefore, be not deluded by any hope or expectation that you will be permitted to remain here."

"We will remain and will fight," answered the spokesman of the chiefs.

Six months later, they were again called together to hear the message of their father, President Jackson, the great white chief in Washington. General Thompson read them the message of this wise statesman, which ran:

"My children, I am sorry to have heard that you have been listening to bad counsel. You know me, and you know that I would not deceive you, nor advise you to do anything that was unjust or injurious. Open your ears and attend now to what I am going to say to you. They are the words of a friend, and the words of truth.

"The white people are settling round you. The game has disappeared from your country. Your people are poor and hungry. All this you have perceived for some time. And nearly three years ago you made an agreement with your friend, Colonel Gadsen, acting on the part of the United States, by which you agreed to cede your lands in Florida, and to remove and join your brothers, the Creeks, in the country west of the Mississippi."

After going into the terms of the treaty, the message concluded with:

"I now learn that you refuse to carry into effect the solemn promises thus made by you, and that you have stated to the officers of the United States that you will not remove to the Western country. My children, I have never deceived you, nor will I ever deceive any of the red people. I tell you that you must go, and you will go.... But lest some of your rash men should forcibly oppose your arrangements for removal, I have ordered a large military force to be sent among you.... Should you listen to the bad birds that are always flying about you, and refuse to go, I have directed the commanding officer to remove you by force. This will be done. I pray the Great Spirit, therefore, to incline you to do what is right."

This strong appeal divided the Seminoles, a considerable number consenting to their removal; but Osceola would not hear of such a step, and, when protesting against the matter in the presence of General Thompson, grew so angry that he drew a knife. "Arrest this man, immediately!" cried the now irate soldier, "and put him in irons until further orders."

Maddened and outraged by this treatment, Osceola secretly swore revenge. The devil rose in the soul of this mongrel of the Florida canebrakes, and he made an oath to never rest until he had the life blood of General Thompson. But, simulating a spirit of peace, he agreed to sign the treaty, and to do all in his power to persuade his people to follow his example. He was playing a part, and his true nature soon asserted itself, after seventy-nine of his people (men, women, and children) signed the compact with the Government of the United States at Fort King. Osceola, himself, put his name to the deed, but two weeks later shot down a white interloper who had penetrated the dense jungle of the Everglades, where he had made his home. Soon all of the Seminoles were in arms, and the Government of the United States was plunged into a desperate conflict, which was to last for seven long and tedious years.

There were three important and crucial events in this bitter struggle. One was the annihilation of Major Dade and his men; another the shooting of General Thompson, and a third the capture and death of the crafty and treacherous Osceola.

Only five hundred regular troops of the United States army were in Florida in the fall of 1836. One company was at St. Augustine; six were in the centre of the state at Fort King, and three were near what is now the town of Tampa, at Fort Brooke on Hillsboro Bay. "Two companies will leave Fort Brooke on December 16th, to meet an equal number from Fort King near the forks of the Ouithlacoochee River, in order to make an active campaign against the Seminoles," wrote General Clinch, the director of the Southern army at that time, to the commander at Fort Brooke. So, collecting the necessary men, that part of the expedition which was to come from Fort Brooke was soon made up, placed under the charge of Major Francis L. Dade, who had fought gallantly at Tippecanoe twenty-five years before, and, with one hundred and nine effectives, and a guide (half negro and half Spanish) started towards the place of rendezvous. One six-pound cannon, drawn by four oxen, brought up the rear.

The troops were not able to make speedy progress, for tangled weeds, branches, and vines grew across the roadway in dense confusion. In four days they only went sixty-five miles into the jungle, in whose dank and soggy depths the keen eyes of Osceola's men watched like ferrets. Lean-bodied warriors crept like snakes through the undergrowth, by paths known to themselves alone, and kept their cruel chieftain continually advised of the advance of the little army. Even the half-breed guide was a spy and a traitor; he had told the Seminoles by what route the whites were to advance, and had hinted to them that it would be an excellent opportunity to annihilate the entire band. Osceola prepared to do so, and, in a place favorable for attack, collected a strong body of half-naked and well-armed redskins.

On December the 28th, Major Dade's little battalion crossed the waters of the Ouithlacoochee and marched slowly along the sandy trail which was the only road. The ground was rather open and covered with a sparse growth of tropical palmettos. On the right was a small pond, surrounded by a swampy marsh, overgrown with rank grass, five feet high, and scrubby bushes and trees. On the left it was open and without much grass. The troops pushed on unsuspectingly, but behind the rank growth of weeds several hundred Seminoles, under Micanopy, lay in ambush. Osceola was away upon a mission of death, and had left strict orders that not a savage was to fire his piece until the signal was given.

The Americans were strung out in a long line, and were totally unsuspicious of any attack. Two Lieutenants were in the advance, and after them marched Major Dade with the main force, the six-pounder in the midst of the light-hearted soldiers. They trudged along singing, but Micanopy had his eye upon the leader of the expedition, and, as he passed by, the Indian took careful aim at his head. _Crack!_ a rifle shot rang out upon the clear air, the gallant Major fell prostrate to the ground, and, with a wild, blood-curdling warwhoop, the Seminole warriors discharged a gruelling volley into the advancing column. The two Lieutenants in front immediately went down. The suddenness of the attack appalled and staggered the Americans.

But, although staggered, there was no panic, and the whites were not disorganized. With immediate promptitude the soldiers fell back from the road into the trees, and returned the rifle fire of their savage enemies. Crouching behind fallen logs and palmetto stumps, they only discharged their muskets when they saw a redskin show himself, and so accurate was their fire that the attackers finally withdrew. For forty minutes the battle had raged with fury.

About fifty Americans were now left, and, with a knowledge of Indian tactics that is commendable, they instantly began to fell trees for a breastwork in the form of a triangle. The wounded were carried to the centre, and the six-pounder was placed where it could rake the oncoming foe. Working with desperation, the whites had succeeded in raising a protecting barrier, three tree trunks high, when a terrible yell from the forest of palmettos announced another Indian attack. The Seminoles poured a destructive fire into the little fort. Men fell upon every side, but with stolid and grim determination, the soldiers fought on in silence.

Unfortunately for the soldiers, their palisade was in a slight hollow, so the Indians commanded it from all sides. Lieutenant Keais lay helpless against the breastwork with both arms broken, until killed by a bullet through the head. Another officer, Henderson, continued to load and fire his musket with a broken arm, until dispatched by a leaden missile in the chest. A Doctor did great damage with two double-barreled shotguns, until finally knocked over by the accurate fire of some Seminoles who had crawled into the trees. Captain Gardiner was seen by one of the survivors to fall, crying out: "I can give no more orders, my brave boys. Do your best!" But soon there was no more fire from the log breastworks; the Indians swarmed into the rude fort, and it was all over with Major Dade's battalion.

Although the Seminoles took many scalps, they left three men alive, who feigned death, and, as they were bodily wounded, looked as if they had suffered the fate of all. One of them was shot by a lurking warrior when he tried to get away. The other two, however, crawled off towards Fort Brooke, sixty-five miles through the Everglades, and one of them reached this haven of refuge. The third was shot by a Seminole. When news of the annihilation of Dade's men reached civilization, it sent a thrill of horror through the entire country, and made the whites more determined than ever to annihilate the followers of Osceola.

This chief, it will be remembered, had sworn vengeance against General Thompson for throwing him in irons, and now was to have his oath fulfilled. The General was, on December 28th, dining with nine other gentlemen at the storehouse of Mr. Rogers, two hundred and fifty yards from Fort King. As the weather was mild, doors and windows were thrown open wide. The repast was a good one, wine was upon the table, and it is said that one officer had proposed a toast: "To the speedy capture of that knave Osceola and a termination of the war." No sooner had the words left him than a volley rang out. The officer dropped to the ground, mortally wounded; a wild yell sounded in the ears of those who survived this sudden and unexpected assault, and Osceola bounded into the room, followed by a dozen warriors.

At the first fire, General Thompson had been struck and had fallen prostrate to the ground. Leaping to his bleeding form, Osceola scalped him, held his hand aloft, and uttered a yell of triumph which was long remembered by all who heard it. Five others lay dead upon the ground. Those who were not killed leaped from the windows and fled. Five of them, who were fortunate enough to start towards the fort, escaped; but the others, who dashed towards a sheltering hill of sand, near by, were shot down by the skillful Seminoles. The cook, who was a negro woman, crouched behind a barrel in a dark corner, and was so thoroughly protected by her color that she was not seen by Osceola, who, pausing for a moment to take another scalp, darted out again, uttering a peculiarly shrill and piercing yell, so that those in the fort might know who was the leader of this bloody attack. His vengeance had been complete.

After this tragic affair the war continued as before. The Seminoles increased in numbers, through additions of runaway negroes and criminals from the Creeks and other tribes adjoining. Their strength seemed to be greater than usual, and, when driven into a corner, they fought like wildcats, without any thought of surrender. All Florida was in a panic of fear. The fugitives from Seminole wrath were reduced to such sore straits that Congress passed a bill to send them food and clothing until peace could be declared. To such extremities was the Government driven, that a force of one thousand Southern and Western Indians was enlisted to help subjugate the dreaded Seminoles.

In the last days of October, 1837, a solitary Indian was one day seen in the edge of the timber before Fort Peyton. He held up his hand in token of peace, and, being allowed to approach nearer, said: "I have a talk from Osceola to Big Chief."

"What does he want?" asked the sentry who had challenged him.

"He not far off. Wish to speak with Big Chief Jessup" (the commander of this stockade).

"I will give him Osceola's message," said the sentry.

When General Jessup heard that the savage Seminole was near by, he immediately devised a scheme for capturing him. Finding that he could not entice him into the fort, he ordered one of his officers, with over a hundred soldiers, to seize the Seminole chief, under cloak of a flag of truce. This sharp trick was successfully operated, and, although it was a piece of the most flagrant treachery, the wily enemy to white government was at last secured. The affair is a perpetual stain upon the honor of the United States.