Wau-bun, the Early Day in the Northwest - Chapters 14-17



CHAPTER XIV.
WILLIAM S. HAMILTON--KELLOGG'S GROVE.

The next morning, after a cheerful breakfast, at which we were joined by
the Rev. Mr. Kent, of Galena, we prepared for our journey. I had
reconciled my husband to continuing our route towards Chicago, by assuring
him that I felt as fresh and bright as when I first set out from home.

There seemed some apprehension, however, that we might have difficulty in
"striking the tail" to Hamilton's diggings, our next point of destination.

The directions we received were certainly obscure. We were to pursue a
given trail for a certain number of miles, when we should come to a
crossing into which we were to turn, taking an easterly direction; after a
time, this would bring us to a deep trail leading straight to Hamilton's.
In this open country there are no landmarks. One elevation is so exactly
like another, that if you lose your trail there is almost as little hope
of regaining it as of finding a pathway in the midst of the ocean.(*)

The trail, it must be remembered, is not a broad highway,

(* I speak, it will be understood, of things as they existed a quarter of
a century ago.)

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but a narrow path, deeply indented by the hoofs of the horses on which the
Indians travel in single file. So deeply is it sunk in the sod which
covers the prairies, that it is difficult, sometimes, to distinguish it at
a distance of a few rods.

It was new ground to Mr. Kinzie, whose journeys from the Portage to
Chicago had hitherto been made in the direct route by Kosh-ko-nong. He
therefore obliged Mr. Morrison to repeat the directions again and again,
though Plante, our guide, swaggered and talked big, averring that "he knew
every bill and stream and point of woods from that spot to Chicago."

We had not proceeded many miles on our journey, however, before we
discovered that Monsieur Plante was profoundly ignorant of the country, so
that Mr. Kinzie was obliged to take the lead himself, and make his way as
he was best able, according to the directions he had received. Nothing,
however, like the "cross trails" we had been promised met our view, and
the path on which we had set out diverged so much from what we knew to be
the right direction, that we were at length compelled to abandon it
altogether.

We travelled the livelong day, barely making a halt at noon to bait our
horses and refresh ourselves with a luncheon. The ride was as gloomy and
desolate as could well be imagined. A rolling prairie, unvaried by forest
or stream--hillock rising after hillock, at every ascent of which we
vainly hoped to see a distant fringe of "timber." But the same cheerless,
unbounded prospect everywhere met the eye, diversified only here and there
by the oblong openings, like gigantic graves, which marked an unsuccessful
search for indications of a lead-mine.

So great was our anxiety to recover our trail, for the weather was growing
more cold, and the wind more sharp

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and piercing, that we were not tempted to turn from our course even by the
appearance, more than once, of a gaunt prairie-wolf, peering over the
nearest rising-ground and seeming to dare us to an encounter. The
Frenchmen, it is true, would instinctively give a shout and spur on their
horses, while the hounds, Kelda and Cora, would rush to the chase; but the
bourgeois soon called them back, with a warning that we must attend
strictly to the prosecution of our journey. Just before sunset we crossed,
with some difficulty, a muddy stream, which was bordered by a scanty belt
of trees, making a tolerable encamping-ground; and of this we gladly
availed ourselves, although we knew not whether it was near or remote from
the place we were in search of.

We had ridden at least fifty miles since leaving Morrison's, yet I was
sensible of very little fatigue; there was, however, a vague feeling of
discomfort at the idea of being lost in this wild, cold region, altogether
different from anything I had ever before experienced. The encouraging
tones of my husband's voice, however, "Cheer up, wifie--we will find the
trail to-morrow," served to dissipate all uneasiness.

The exertions of the men soon made our "camp" comfortable, notwithstanding
the difficulty of driving the tent-pins into the frozen ground, and the
want of trees sufficiently large to make a rousing fire. The place was a
stony side-hill, as it would be called in New England, where such things
abound; but we were not disposed to be fastidious, so we ate our salt ham
and toasted our bread, and lent a pleased ear to the chatter of our
Frenchmen, who could not sufficiently admire the heroism of "Madame John"
amid the vicissitudes that befell her.

The wind, which at bedtime was sufficiently high to be uncomfortable,
increased during the night. It snowed

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heavily, and we were every moment in dread that the tent would be carried
away; but the matter was settled differently by the snapping of the poles,
and the falling of the whole, with its superincumbent weight of snow, in a
mass upon us.

Mr. Kinzie roused up his men, and at their head he sallied into the
neighboring wood to cut a new set of poles, leaving me to bear the burden
of the whole upon my shoulders, my only safety from the storm being to
keep snugly housed beneath the canvas.

With some difficulty a sort of support was at length adjusted for the tent-
covering, which answered our purpose tolerably well until the break of
day, when our damp and miserable condition made us very glad to rise and
hang round the fire until breakfast was dispatched, and the horses once
more saddled for our journey.

The prospect was not an encouraging one. Around us was an unbroken sheet
of snow. We had no compass, and the air was so obscured by the driving
sleet, that it was often impossible to tell in which direction the sun
was. I tied my husband's silk pocket-handkerchief over my veil, to protect
my face from the wind and icy particles with which the air was filled, and
which cut like a razor; but, although shielded in every way that
circumstances rendered possible, I suffered intensely from the cold.

We pursued our way, mile after mile, entering every point of woods, in
hopes of meeting with, at least, some Indian wigwam at which we could gain
intelligence. Every spot was solitary and deserted; not even the trace of
a recent fire, to cheer us with the hope of human beings within miles of
us.

Suddenly, a shout from the foremost of the party made each heart bound
with joy.

"Une cloture! une cloture!" (A fence! a fence!)

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It was almost like life to the dead.

We spurred on, and indeed perceived a few straggling rails crowning a
rising ground at no great distance.

Never did music sound so sweet as the crowing of a cock which at this
moment saluted our ears.

Following the course of the inclosure down the opposite slope, we came
upon a group of log cabins, low, shabby, and unpromising in their
appearance, but a most welcome shelter from the pelting storm.

"Whose cabins are these?" asked Mr. Kinzie, of a man who was cutting wood
at the door of one.

"Hamilton's," was his reply; and he stepped forward at once to assist us
to alight, hospitality being a matter of course in these wild regions.

We were shown into the most comfortable-looking of the buildings. A large
fire was burning in the clay chimney, and the room was of a genial warmth,
notwithstanding the apertures, many inches in width, beside the doors and
windows. A woman in a tidy calico dress, and shabby black silk cap trimmed
with still shabbier lace, rose from her seat beside a sort of bread-
trough, which fulfilled the office of cradle to a fine, fat baby. She made
room for us at the fire, but was either too timid or too ignorant to
relieve me of wrappings and defences, now heavy with the snow

I soon contrived, with my husband's aid, to disembarrass myself of them;
and, having seen me comfortably disposed of, and in a fair way to be
thawed after my freezing ride, he left me, to see after his men and horses.

He was a long time absent, and I expected he would return accompanied by
our host; but when he reappeared it was to tell me, laughing, that Mr.
Hamilton hesitated to present himself before me, being unwilling that one
who had been acquainted with his family at the East

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should see him in his present mode of life. However, this feeling
apparently wore off, for before dinner he came in and was introduced to
me, and was as agreeable and polite as the son of Alexander Hamilton would
naturally be.

The housekeeper, who was the wife of one of the miners, prepared us a
plain, comfortable dinner, and a table as long as the dimensions of the
cabin would admit was set out, the end nearest the fire being covered with
somewhat nicer furniture and more delicate fare than the remaining portion.

The blowing of a horn was the signal for the entrance of ten or twelve
miners, who took their places below us at the table. They were the
roughest-looking set of men I ever beheld, and their language was as
uncouth as their persons. They wore hunting-shirts, trowsers, and
moccasins of deer-skin, the former being ornamented at the seams with a
fringe of the same, while a colored belt around the waist, in which was
stuck a large hunting-knife, gave each the appearance of a brigand.

Mr. Hamilton, although so much their superior, was addressed by them
uniformly as "Uncle Billy;" and I could not but fancy there was something
desperate about them, that it was necessary to propitiate by this
familiarity. This feeling was further confirmed by the remarks of one of
the company who lingered behind after the rest of the gang had taken their
departure. He had learned that we came from Fort Winnebago, and, having
informed us that "he was a discharged soldier, and would like to make some
inquiries about his old station and comrades," he unceremoniously seated
himself and commenced questioning us.

The bitterness with which he spoke of his former officers made me quite
sure he was a deserter, and I rather suspected he had made his escape from
the service in consequence

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of some punishment. His countenance was fairly distorted as he spoke of
Captain H., to whose company he had belonged. "There is a man in the
mines," said he, "who has been in his hands, and if he ever gets a chance
to come within shot of him, I guess the captain will remember it. He knows
well enough he darsn't set his foot in the diggings. And there's T. is not
much better. Everybody thought it a great pity that fellow's gun snapped
when he so nearly had him at Green Bay."

Having delivered himself of these sentiments, he marched out, to my great
relief.

Mr. Hamilton passed most of the afternoon with us; for the storm raged so
without, that to proceed on our journey was out of the question. He gave
us many pleasant anecdotes and reminiscences of his early life in New
York, and of his adventures since he had come to the Western wilderness.
When obliged to leave us for awhile, he furnished us with some books to
entertain us, the most interesting of which was the biography of his
father.

Could this illustrious man have foreseen in what a scene--the dwelling of
his son--this book was to be one day perused, what would have been his
sensations?

The most amusing part of our experience was yet to come. I had been
speculating, as evening approached, on our prospects for the night's
accommodation. As our pale, melancholy-looking landlady and her fat baby
were evidently the only specimens of the feminine gender about the
establishment, it was hardly reasonable to suppose that any of the other
cabins contained wherewithal to furnish us a comfortable lodging, and the
one in which we were offered nothing of the sort to view, but two beds,
uncurtained, extended against the farther wall. My doubts were after a
time resolved, by observing the hostess stretch a cord between the two, on
which she hung some petticoats

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and extra garments, by way of a partition, after which she invited us to
occupy one of them.

My only preparation was, to wrap my cloak around me and lie down with my
face to the wall; but the good people were less ceremonious, for at the
distance of scarcely two feet, we could not be mistaken in the sound of
their garments being, not "laid aside," but whipped over the partition-
wall between us.

Our waking thoughts, however, were only those of thankfulness for so
comfortable a lodging after the trials and fatigues we had undergone; and
even these were of short duration, for our eyes were soon closed in
slumber.

The next day's sun rose clear and bright. Refreshed and invigorated, we
looked forward with pleasure to a recommencement of our journey, confident
of meeting no more mishaps by the way. Mr. Hamilton kindly offered to
accompany us to his next neighbor's, the trifling distance of twenty-five
miles. From Kellogg's to Ogie's Ferry, on the Rock River, the road being
much travelled, we should be in no danger, Mr. H. said, of again losing
our way.

The miner who owned the wife and baby, and who, consequently, was somewhat
more humanized than his comrades, in taking leave of us "wished us well
out of the country, and that we might never have occasion to return to it!"

"I pity a body," said he, "when I see them making such an awful mistake as
to come out this way; for comfort never touched this Western country."

We found Mr. Hamilton as agreeable a companion as on the preceding day,
but a most desperate rider. He galloped on at such a rate that, had I not
exchanged my pony for the fine, noble Jerry, I should have been in danger
of being left behind.

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Well mounted as we all were, he sometimes nearly distanced us. We were now
among the branches of the Pickatonick, and the country had lost its
prairie character and become rough and broken. We went dashing on,
sometimes down ravines, sometimes through narrow passes, where, as I
followed, I left fragments of my veil upon the projecting and interwoven
branches. Once my hat became entangled, and, had not my husband sprung to
my rescue, I must have shared the fate of Absalom, Jerry's ambition to
keep his place in the race making it probable he would do as did the mule
who was under the unfortunate prince.

There was no halting upon the route, and, as we kept the same pace until
three o'clock in the afternoon, it was beyond a question that when we
reached "Kellogg's" we had travelled at least thirty miles. One of my
greatest annoyances during the ride had been the behavior of the little
beast Brunet. He had been hitherto used as a saddle-horse, and had been
accustomed to a station in the near the guide or leader. He did not relish
being put in the background as a pack-horse, and accordingly, whenever we
approached a stream, where the broke up to permit each horseman to choose
his own place of fording, it was invariably the case that just as I was
reining Jerry into the water, Brunet would come rushing past and throw
himself into our very footsteps. Plunging, snorting, and splashing me with
water, and sometimes even starting Jerry into a leap aside, he more than
once brought me into imminent danger of being tossed into the stream. It
was in vain that, after one or two such adventures, I learned to hold back
and give the vexatious little animal the precedence. His passion seemed to
be to go into the water precisely at the moment Jerry did; and I was
obliged at last to make a bargain with young Roy to dismount

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and hold him at every stream until I had got safely across.

"Kellogg's"(*) was a comfortable mansion, just within the verge of a
pleasant "grove of timber," as a small forest is called by Western
travellers. We found Mrs. Kellogg a very respectable-looking matron, who
soon informed us she was from the city of New York. She appeared proud and
delighted to entertain Mr. Hamilton, for whose family, she took occasion
to tell us, she had, in former days, been in the habit of doing needle-
work.

The worthy woman provided us an excellent dinner, and afterwards installed
me in a rocking-chair beside a large fire, with the "Life of Mrs.
Fletcher" to entertain me, while the gentlemen explored the premises,
visited Mr. Kellogg's stock, and took a careful look at their own. We had
intended to go to Dixon's the same afternoon, but the snow, beginning
again to fall, obliged us to content ourselves where we were.

In the mean time, finding we were journeying to Chicago, Mr. Kellogg came
to the determination to accompany us, having, as he said, some business to
accomplish at that place: so Mrs. Kellogg busied herself in preparing him
to set off with us the following morning. I pleaded hard to remain yet
another day, as the following was Sunday, on which I objected to travel;
but in view of the necessities of the case, the uncertainty of the
weather, and the importance of getting as quickly as possible through this
wild country, my objections were overruled, and I could only obtain a
delay in starting until so late in the afternoon as would give us just
time to ride the sixteen miles to "Dixon's" before sunset.

(* It was at this spot that the unfortunate St. Vrain lost his life,
during the Sauk war, in 1832.)

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No great time was required for Mr. Kellogg's preparations. He would take,
he said, only two days' provisions, for at his brother-in-law Dixon's we
should get our supper and breakfast, and the route from there to Chicago
could, he well knew, be accomplished in a day and a half.

Although, according to this calculation, we had sufficient remaining of
our stores to carry us to the end of our journey, yet my husband took the
precaution of begging Mrs. Kellogg to bake us another bag of biscuits, in
case of accidents, and he likewise suggested to Mr. Kellogg the prudence
of furnishing himself with something more than his limited allowance; but
the good man objected that he was unwilling to burden his horse more than
was absolutely necessary, seeing that, at this season of the year, we were
obliged to carry fodder for the animals, in addition to the rest of their
load. It will be seen that we had reason to rejoice in our own foresight.

My experience of the previous night had rendered me somewhat less
fastidious than when I commenced my journey, so that, when introduced to
our sleeping-apartment, which I found we were to share with six men,
travellers like ourselves, my only feeling was one of thankfulness that
each bed was furnished with a full suit of blue checked curtains, which
formed a very tolerable substitute for a dressing-room.



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CHAPTER XV.
ROCK RIVER--HOURS OF TROUBLE.

It was late on the following day (March 13th) when we took leave of our
kind hostess. She loaded us with cakes, good wishes, and messages to her
sister Dixon and the children. We journeyed pleasantly along through a
country beautiful in spite of its wintry appearance.

There was a house at Buffalo Grove, at which we stopped for half an hour,
and where a nice-looking young girl presented us with some maple-sugar of
her own making. She entertained us with the history of a contest between
two rival claimants for the patronage of the stage-wagon, the proprietors
of which had not decided whether to send it by Buffalo Grove or by another
route, which she pointed out to us, at no great distance. The driver, she
took care to inform us, was in favor of the former; and the blush with
which she replied in the affirmative to our inquiry, "Is he a young man?"
explained the whole matter satisfactorily.

At length, just at sunset, we reached the dark, rapid waters of the Rock
River. The ferry which we had travelled so far out of our way to take
advantage of, proved to be merely a small boat or skiff, the larger one
having been swept off into the stream, and carried down in the breaking-up
of the ice, the week previous.

My husband's first care was to get me across. He placed me with the
saddles, packs, etc. in the boat, and as, at that late hour, no time was
to be lost, he ventured,

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at the same time, to hold the bridles of the two most docile horses, to
guide them in swimming the river.

When we had proceeded a few rods from the shore, we were startled by a
loud puffing and blowing near us, and looking around, to our great
surprise, discovered little Brunet just upon our "weather-bow." Determined
not to be outdone by his model, Jerry, he had taken to the water on his
own responsibility, and arrived at the opposite shore as soon as any of
the party.

All being safely landed, a short walk brought us to the house of Mr.
Dixon. Although so recently come into the country, he had contrived to
make everything comfortable around him; and when he ushered us into Mrs.
Dixon's sitting-room, and seated us by a glowing wood fire, while Mrs.
Dixon busied herself in preparing us a nice supper, I felt that the
comfort overbalanced the inconvenience of such a journey.

Mrs. Dixon was surrounded by several children. One leaning against the
chimney-piece was dressed in the full Indian costume--calico shirt,
blanket, and leggings. His dark complexion, and full, melancholy eyes,
which he kept fixed upon the ashes in which he was making marks with a
stick, rarely raising them to gaze on us, as children are wont to do,
interested me exceedingly, and I inquired of an intelligent little girl,
evidently a daughter of our host,--

"Who is that boy?"

"Oh, that is John Ogie," answered she.

"What is the matter with him? he looks very sad."

"Oh, he is fretting after his mother."

"Is she dead, then?"

"Some say she is dead, and some say she is gone away. I guess she is dead,
and buried up in one of those graves yonder"--pointing to two or three
little picketed inclosures upon a rising ground opposite the window.

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I felt a strong sympathy with the child, which was increased when the
little spokeswoman, in answer to my inquiry, "Has he no father?" replied,--

"Oh, yes, but he goes away, and drinks, and don't care for his children."

"And what becomes of John then?"

"He stays here with us, and we teach him to read, and he learns dreadful
fast."

When the boy at length turned his large dark eyes upon me, it went to my
heart. It was such a motherless look. And it was explained when, long
afterwards, I learned his further history. His mother was still living,
and he knew it, although, with the reserve peculiar to his people, he
never spoke of her to his young companions. Unable to endure the continued
ill treatment of her husband; a surly, intemperate Canadian, she had left
him, and returned to her own family among the Pottowattamies. Years after,
this boy and a brother who had also been left behind with their father
found their way to the Upper Missouri, to join their mother, who, with the
others of her tribe, had been removed by the Government from the shores of
Lake Michigan.

A most savory supper of ducks and venison, with their accompaniments, soon
smoked upon the board, and we did ample justice to it. Travelling is a
great sharpener of the appetite, and so is cheerfulness; and the latter
was increased by the encouraging account Mr. Dixon gave us of the
remainder of the route yet before us.

"There is no difficulty," said he, "if you keep a little to the north, and
strike the great Sauk trail. If you get too far to the south, you will
come upon the Winnebago Swamp, and, once in that, there is no telling when
you will ever get out again. As for the distance, it is nothing at all to
speak of. Two young men came out here from

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Chicago, on foot, last fall. They got here the evening of the second day;
and, even with a lady in your party, you could go on horseback in less
time than that. The only thing is to be sure and get on the great track
that the Sauks have made, in going every year from the Mississippi to
Canada, to receive their presents from the British Indian Agent."

The following morning, which was a bright and lovely one for that season
of the year, we took leave of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon, in high spirits. We
travelled for the first few miles along the beautiful, undulating banks of
the Rock River, always in an easterly direction, keeping the beaten path,
or rather road, which led to Fort Clark, or Peoria. The Sauk trail, we had
been told, would cross this road at the distance of about six miles.

After having travelled, as we judged, fully that distance, we came upon a
trail bearing northeast, and a consultation was held as to the probability
of its being the one we were in search of.

Mr. Kinzie was of opinion that it tended too much to the north, and was,
moreover, too faint and obscure for a trail so much used, and by so large
a body of Indians in their annual journeys.

Plante was positive as to its being the very spot where he and "Piche" in
their journey to Fort Winnebago, the year before, struck into the great
road. "On that very rising-ground at the point of woods, he remembered
perfectly well stopping to shoot ducks, which they ate for their supper."

Mr. Kellogg was non-committal, but sided alternately with each speaker.

As Plante was "the guide," and withal so confident of being right, it was
decided to follow him, not without some demurring, however, on the part of
the bourgeois,

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who every now and then called to halt, to discuss the state of affairs.

"Now, Plante," he would say, "I am sure you are leading us too far north.
Why, man, if we keep on in this direction, following the course of the
river, we shall bring up at Kosh-ko-nong, instead of Chicago."

"Ah! mon bourgeois," would the light-hearted Canadian reply, "would I tell
you this is the road if I were not quite certain? Only one year ago I
travelled it, and can I forget so soon? Oh, no--I remember every foot of
it."

But Monsieur Plante was convinced of his mistake when the trail brought us
to the great bend of the river with its bold rocky bluffs.

"Are you satisfied now, Plante?" asked Mr. Kinzie. "By your leave, I will
now play pilot myself." And he struck off from the trail, in a direction
as nearly east as possible.

The weather had changed and become intensely cold, and we felt that the
detention we had met with, even should we now be in the right road, was no
trifling matter. We had not added to our stock of provisions at Dixon's,
wishing to carry as much forage as we were able for our horses, for whom
the scanty picking around our encamping-grounds afforded an insufficient
meal. But we were buoyed up by the hope that we were in the right path at
last, and we journeyed on until night, when we reached a comfortable
"encampment," in the edge of a grove near a small stream.

Oh, how bitterly cold that night was! The salted provisions, to which I
was accustomed, occasioned me an intolerable thirst, and my husband was in
the habit of placing the little tin coffee-pot filled with water at my
bed's head when we went to rest, but this night it was frozen solid long
before midnight. We were so well

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wrapped up in blankets that we did not suffer from cold while within the
tent, but the open air was severe in the extreme.

March 15th.--We were roused by the bourgeois at peep of day to make
preparations for starting. We must find the Sauk trail this day at all
hazards. What would become of us should we fail to do so? It was a
question no one liked to ask, and certainly one that none could have
answered.

On leaving our encampment, we found ourselves entering a marshy tract of
country. Myriads of wild geese, brant, and ducks rose up screaming at our
approach. The more distant lakes and ponds were black with them, but the
shallow water through which we attempted to make our way was frozen, by
the severity of the night, to a thickness not quite sufficient to bear the
horses, but just such as to cut their feet and ankles at every step as
they broke through it. Sometimes the difficulty of going forward was so
great that we were obliged to retrace our steps and make our way round the
head of the marsh, thus adding to the discomforts of our situation by the
conviction that, while journeying diligently, we were, in fact, making
very little progress.

This swampy region at length passed, we came upon more solid ground,
chiefly the open prairie. But now a new trouble assailed us. The weather
had moderated, and a blinding snow-storm came on. Without a trail that we
could rely upon, and destitute of a compass, our only dependence had been
the sun to point out our direction; but the atmosphere was now so obscure
that it was impossible to tell in what quarter of the heavens he was.

We pursued our way, however, and a devious one it must have been. After
travelling in this way many miles, we came upon an Indian trail, deeply
indented, running

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at right angles with the course we were pursuing. The snow had ceased,
and, the clouds becoming thinner, we were able to observe the direction of
the sun, and to perceive that the trail ran north and south. What should
we do? Was it safest to pursue our easterly course, or was it probable
that by following this new path we should fall into the direct one we had
been so long seeking? If we decided to take the trail, should we go north
or south? Mr. Kinzie was for the latter. He was of opinion we were still
too far north--somewhere about the Grand Marais, or Kish-wau-kee. Mr.
Kellogg and Plante were for taking the northerly direction. The latter was
positive his bourgeois had already gone too far south--in fact, that we
must now be in the neighborhood of the Illinois River. Finding himself in
the minority, my husband yielded, and we turned our horses' heads north,
much against his will. After proceeding a few miles, however, he took a
sudden determination. "You may go north, if you please," said he, "but I
am convinced that the other course is right, and I shall face about--
follow who will."

So we wheeled round and rode south again, and many a long and weary mile
did we travel, the monotony of our ride broken only by the querulous
remarks of poor Mr. Kellogg. "I am really afraid we are wrong, Mr. Kinzie.
I feel pretty sure that the young man is right. It looks most natural to
me that we should take a northerly course, and not be stretching away so
far to the south."

To all this, Mr. Kinzie turned a deaf ear. The Frenchmen rode in silence.
They would as soon have thought of cutting off their right hand as showing
opposition to the bourgeois when he had once expressed his decision. They
would never have dreamed of offering an opinion or remark unless called
upon to do so.

The road, which had continued many miles through the

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prairie, at length, in winding round a point of woods, brought us suddenly
upon an Indian village. A shout of joy broke from the whole party, but no
answering shout was returned--not even a bark of friendly welcome--as we
galloped up to the wigwams. All was silent as the grave. We rode round and
round, then dismounted and looked into several of the spacious huts. They
had evidently been long deserted. Nothing remained but the bare walls of
bark, from which everything in the shape of furniture had been stripped by
the owners and carried with them to their wintering-grounds, to be brought
back in the spring, when they returned to make their corn-fields and
occupy their summer cabins.

Our disappointment may be better imagined than described. With heavy
hearts, we mounted and once more pursued our way, the snow again falling
and adding to the discomforts of our position. At length we halted for the
night. We had long been aware that our stock of provisions was
insufficient for another day, and here we were--nobody knew where--in the
midst of woods and prairies--certainly far from any human habitation, with
barely enough food for a slender evening's meal.

The poor dogs came whining round us to beg their usual portion, but they
were obliged to content themselves with a bare bone, and we retired to
rest with the feeling that if not actually hungry then, we should
certainly be so to-morrow.

The morrow came. Plante and Roy had a bright fire and a nice pot of coffee
for us. It was our only breakfast, for, on shaking the bag and turning it
inside out, we could make no more of our stock of bread than three
crackers, which the rest of the party insisted I should put in my pocket
for my dinner. I was much touched by the kindness of Mr. Kellogg, who drew
from his wallet a piece of

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tongue and a slice of fruit-cake, which he said "he had been saving for
the lady since the day before, for he saw how matters were a going."

Poor man! it would have been well if he had listened to Mr. Kinzie and
provided himself at the outset with a larger store of provisions. As it
was, those he brought with him were exhausted early in the second day, and
he had been boarding with us for the last two meals.

We still had the trail to guide us, and we continued to follow it until
about nine o'clock, when, in emerging from a wood, we came upon a broad
and rapid river. A collection of Indian wigwams stood upon the opposite
bank, and, as the trail led directly to the water, it was fair to infer
that the stream was fordable. We had no opportunity of testing it,
however, for the banks were so lined with ice, which was piled up tier
upon tier by the breaking-up of the previous week, that we tried in vain
to find a path by which we could descend the bank to the water.

The men shouted again and again, in hopes some straggling inhabitant of
the village might be at hand with his canoe. No answer was returned, save
by the echoes. What was to be done? I looked at my husband and saw that
care was on his brow, although he still continued to speak cheerfully. "We
will follow this cross-trail down the bank of the river," said he. "There
must be Indians wintering near, in some of these points of wood."

I must confess that I felt somewhat dismayed at our prospects, but I kept
up a show of courage, and did not allow my despondency to be seen. All the
party were dull and gloomy enough.

We kept along the bank, which was considerably elevated above the water,
and bordered at a little distance with a thick wood. All at once my horse,
who was mortally afraid of Indians, began to jump and prance, snorting

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and pricking up his ears as if an enemy were at hand. I screamed with
delight to my husband, who was at the head of the file, "Oh, John! John!
there are Indians near--look at Jerry!"

At this instant a little Indian dog ran out from under the bushes by the
roadside, and began barking at us. Never were sounds more welcome. We rode
directly into the thicket, and, descending into a little hollow, found two
squaws crouching behind the bushes, trying to conceal themselves from our
sight.

They appeared greatly relieved when Mr. Kinzie addressed them in the
Pottowattamie language,--

"What are you doing here?"

"Digging Indian potatoes"--(a species of artichoke.)

"Where is your lodge?"

"On the other side of the river."

"Good--then you have a canoe here. Can you take us across?"

"Yes--the canoe is very small."

They conducted us down the bank to the water's edge where the canoe was.
It was indeed very small. My husband explained to them that they must take
me across first, and then return for the others of the party.

"Will you trust yourself alone over the river?" inquired he. "You see that
but one can cross at a time."

"Oh, yes"--and I was soon placed in the bottom of the canoe, lying flat
and looking up at the sky, while the older squaw took the paddle in her
hand, and placed herself on her knees at my head, and the younger, a girl
of fourteen or fifteen, stationed herself at my feet. There was just room
enough for me to lie in this position, each of the others kneeling in the
opposite ends of the canoe.

While these preparations were making, Mr. Kinzie questioned the women as
to our whereabout. They knew no

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name for the river but "Saumanong." This was not definite, it being the
generic term for any large stream. But he gathered that the village we had
passed higher up, on the opposite side of the stream, was Wau-ban-see's,
and then he knew that we were on the Fox River, and probably about fifty
miles from Chicago.

The squaw, in answer to his inquiries, assured him that Chicago was "close
by."

"That means," said he, "that it is not so far off as Canada. We must not
be too sanguine."

The men set about unpacking the horses, and I in the mean time was paddled
across the river. The old woman immediately returned, leaving the younger
one with me for company. I seated myself on the fallen trunk of a tree, in
the midst of the snow, and looked across the dark waters. I am not ashamed
to confess my weakness--for the first time on my journey I shed tears. It
was neither hunger, nor fear, nor cold, which extorted them from me. It
was the utter desolation of spirit, the sickness of heart which "hope
deferred" ever occasions, and which of all evils is the hardest to bear.

The poor little squaw looked into my face with a wondering and
sympathizing expression. Probably she was speculating in her own mind what
a person who rode so fine a horse, and wore so comfortable a broadcloth
dress, could have to cry about. I pointed to a seat beside me on the log,
but she preferred standing and gazing at me, with the same pitying
expression. Presently she was joined by a young companion, and, after a
short chattering, of which I was evidently the subject, they both trotted
off into the woods, and left me to my own solitary reflections.

"What would my friends at the East think," said I to myself, "if they
could see me now? What would poor old Mrs. Welsh say? She who warned me
that if I came

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away so far to the West, I should break my heart? Would she not rejoice to
find how likely her prediction was to be fulfilled?"

These thoughts roused me. I dried up my tears, and by the time my husband
with his party and all his horses and luggage were across, I had recovered
my cheerfulness, and was ready for fresh adventures.



CHAPTER XVI.
RELIEF.

We followed the old squaw to her lodge, which was at no great distance in
the woods. I had never before been in an Indian lodge, although I had
occasionally peeped into one of the many always clustered round the house
of the Interpreter at the Portage.

This one was very nicely arranged. Four sticks of wood placed to form a
square in the centre, answered the purpose of a hearth, within which the
fire was built, the smoke escaping through an opening in the top. The mats
of which the lodge was constructed were very neat and new, and against the
sides, depending from the poles or frame-work, hung various bags of Indian
manufacture, containing their dried food and other household treasures.
Sundry ladles, small kettles, and wooden bowls also hung from the cross-
poles; and dangling from the centre, by an iron chain, was a large kettle,
in which some dark, suspicious-looking substance was seething over the
scanty fire. On the floor of the lodge, between the fire and the outer

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wall, were spread mats, upon which my husband invited me to be seated and
make myself comfortable.

The first demand of an Indian on meeting a white man is for bread, of
which they are exceedingly fond, and I knew enough of the Pottowattamie
language to comprehend the timid "pe-qua-zhe-gun choh-kay-go" (I have no
bread) with which the squaw commenced our conversation after my husband
had left the lodge.

I shook my head, and endeavored to convey to her that, so far from being
able to give, I had had no breakfast myself. She understood me, and
instantly produced a bowl, into which she ladled a quantity of Indian
potatoes from the kettle over the fire, and set them before me. I was too
hungry to be fastidious, and, owing partly, no doubt, to the sharpness of
my appetite, I really found them delicious.

Two little girls, inmates of the lodge, sat gazing at me with evident
admiration and astonishment, which were increased when I took my little
Prayer book from my pocket and began to read. They had, undoubtedly, never
seen a book before, and I was amused at the care with which they looked
away from me, while they questioned their mother about my strange
employment and listened to her replies.

While thus occupied, I was startled by a sudden sound of "hogh!" and the
mat which hung over the entrance of the lodge was raised, and an Indian
entered with that graceful bound which is peculiar to themselves. It was
the master of the lodge, who had been out to shoot ducks, and was just
returned. He was a tall, finely-formed man, with a cheerful, open
countenance, and he listened to what his wife in a quiet tone related to
him, while he divested himself of his accoutrements, in the most
unembarrassed, well-bred manner imaginable.

Page 137

Soon my husband joined us. He had been engaged in attending to the comfort
of his horses, and assisting his men in making their fire, and pitching
their tent, which the rising storm made a matter of some difficulty.

From the Indian he learned that we were in what was called the Big Woods,
(*) or "Piche's Grove," from a Frenchman of that name living not far from
the spot--that the river we had crossed was the Fox River--that he could
guide us to Piche's, from which the road was perfectly plain, or even into
Chicago if we preferred--but that we had better remain encamped for that
day, as there was a storm coming on, and in the mean time he would go and
shoot some ducks for our dinner and supper. He was accordingly furnished
with powder and shot, and set off again for game without delay.

I had put into my pocket, on leaving home, a roll of scarlet ribbon, in
case a stout string should be wanted, and I now drew it forth, and with
the knife which hung around my neck I cut off a couple of yards for each
of the little girls. They received it with great delight, and their
mother, dividing each portion into two, tied a piece to each of the little
clubs into which their hair was knotted on the temples. They laughed, and
exclaimed "Saum!" as they gazed at each other, and their mother joined in
their mirth, although, as I thought, a little unwilling to display her
maternal exultation before a stranger.

The tent being all in order, my husband came for me, and we took leave of
our friends in the wigwam, with grateful hearts.

The storm was raging without. The trees were bending and cracking around
us, and the air was completely

(* Probably at what is now Oswego. The name of a portion of the wood is
since corrupted into Specie's Grove.)

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filled with the wild-fowl screaming and quacking as they made their way
southward before the blast. Our tent was among the trees not far from the
river. My husband took me to the bank to look for a moment at what we had
escaped. The wind was sweeping down from the north in a perfect hurricane.
The water was filled with masses of snow and ice, dancing along upon the
torrent, over which were hurrying thousands of wild-fowl, making the woods
resound to their deafening clamor.

Had we been one hour later, we could not possibly have crossed the stream,
and there would have been nothing for us but to have remained and starved
in the wilderness. Could we be sufficiently grateful to that kind
Providence that had brought us safely through such dangers?

The men had cut down an immense tree, and built a fire against it, but the
wind shifted so continually that every five minutes the tent would become
completely filled with smoke, so that I was driven into the open air for
breath. Then I would seat myself on one end of the huge log, as near the
fire as possible, for it was dismally cold, but the wind seemed actuated
by a kind of caprice, for in whatever direction I took my seat, just that
way came the smoke and hot ashes, puffing in my face until I was nearly
blinded. Neither veil nor silk handkerchief afforded an effectual
protection, and I was glad when the arrival of our huntsmen, with a
quantity of ducks, gave me an opportunity of diverting my thoughts from my
own sufferings, by aiding the men to pick them and get them ready for our
meal.

We borrowed a kettle from our Indian friends. It was not remarkably clean;
but we heated a little water in it, and prairie-hay'd it out, before
consigning our birds to it, and with a bowl of Indian potatoes, a present
from our kind neighbors, we soon had an excellent soup.

Page 139

What with the cold, the smoke, and the driving ashes and cinders, this was
the most uncomfortable afternoon I had yet passed, and I was glad when
night came, and I could creep into the tent and cover myself up in the
blankets, out of the way of all three of these evils.

The storm raged with tenfold violence during the night. We were
continually startled by the crashing of the falling trees around us, and
who could tell but that the next would be upon us? Spite of our fatigue,
we passed an almost sleepless night. When we arose in the morning, we were
made fully alive to the perils by which we had been surrounded. At least
fifty trees, the giants of the forest, lay prostrate within view of the
tent.

When we had taken our scanty breakfast, and were mounted and ready for
departure, it was with difficulty we could thread our way, so completely
was it obstructed by the fallen trunks.

Our Indian guide had joined us at an early hour, and after conducting us
carefully out of the wood, and pointing out to us numerous bee-trees,(*)
for which he said that grove was famous, he set off at a long trot, and
about nine o'clock brought us to Piche's, a log cabin on a rising ground,
looking off over the broad prairie to the east. We had hoped to get some
refreshment here, Piche being an old acquaintance of some of the party;
but, alas! the master was from home. We found his cabin occupied by
Indians and travellers--the latter few, the former numerous.

There was no temptation to a halt, except that of warming ourselves at a
bright fire that was burning in the

(* The honey-bee is not known in the perfectly wild countries of North
America. It is ever the pioneer of civilization, and the Indians call it
"the white man's bird.")

Page 140

clay chimney. A man in Quaker costume stepped forward to answer our
inquiries, and offered to become our escort to Chicago, to which place he
was bound--so we dismissed our Indian friend, with a satisfactory
remuneration for all the trouble he had so kindly taken for us.

A long reach of prairie extended from Piche's to the Du Page, between the
two forks of which, Mr. Dogherty, our new acquaintance, told us, we should
find the dwelling of a Mr. Hawley, who would give us a comfortable dinner.

The weather was intensely cold; the wind, sweeping over the wide prairie
with nothing to break its force, chilled our very hearts. I beat my feet
against the saddle to restore the circulation, when they became benumbed
with the cold, until they were so bruised I could beat them no longer. Not
a house or wigwam, not even a clump of trees as a shelter, offered itself
for many a weary mile. At length we reached the west fork of the Du Page.
It was frozen, but not sufficiently so to bear the horses. Our only
resource was to cut a way for them through the ice. It was a work of time,
for the ice had frozen to several inches in thickness during the last
bitter night. Plante went first with an axe, and cut as far as he could
reach, then mounted one of the hardy little ponies, and with some
difficulty broke the ice before him, until he had opened a passage to the
opposite shore.

How the poor animals shivered as they were reined in among the floating
ice! And we, who sat waiting in the piercing wind, were not much better
off. Probably Brunet was of the same opinion; for, with his usual
perversity, he plunged in immediately after Plante, and stood shaking and
quaking behind him, every now and then looking around him, as much as to
say, "I've got ahead of you, this time!" We were all across at last, and
spurred on

Page 141

our horses, until we reached Hawley's(*)--a large, commodious dwelling,
near the east fork of the river.

The good woman welcomed us kindly, and soon made us warm and comfortable.
We felt as if we were in a civilized land once more. She proceeded
immediately to prepare dinner for us; and we watched her with eager eyes,
as she took down a huge ham from the rafters, out of which she cut
innumerable slices, then broke a dozen or more of fine fresh eggs into a
pan, in readiness for frying--then mixed a johnny-cake, and placed it
against a board in front of the fire to bake. It seemed to me that even
with the aid of this fine, bright fire, the dinner took an unconscionable
time to cook; but cooked it was, at last, and truly might the good woman
stare at the travellers' appetites we had brought with us. She did not
know what short commons we had been on for the last two days.

We found, upon inquiry, that we could, by pushing on, reach Lawton's, on
the Aux Plaines, that night--we should then be within twelve miles of
Chicago. Of course we made no unnecessary delay, but set off as soon after
dinner as possible.

The crossing of the east fork of the Du Page was more perilous than the
former one had been. The ice had become broken, either by the force of the
current, or by some equestrians having preceded us and cut through it, so
that when we reached the bank, the ice was floating down in large cakes.
The horses had to make a rapid dart through the water, which was so high,
and rushing in such a torrent, that if I had not been mounted on Jerry,
the tallest horse in the cavalcade, I must have got a terrible splashing.

(* It was near this spot that the brother of Mr. Hawley, a Methodist
preacher, was killed by the Sauks, in 1832, after having been tortured by
them with the most wanton barbarity.)

Page 142

As it was, I was well frightened, and grasped both bridle and mane with
the utmost tenacity. After this we travelled on as rapidly as possible, in
order to reach our place of destination before dark.

Mr. Dogherty, a tall, bolt-upright man, half Quaker, half Methodist, did
his best to entertain me, by giving me a through schedule of his religious
opinions, with the reasons from Scripture upon which they were based. He
was a good deal of a perfectionist, and evidently looked upon himself with
no small satisfaction, as a living illustration of his favorite doctrine.

"St. John says," this was the style of his discourse, "St. John says, 'He
that is born of God, doth not commit sin.' Now, if I am born of God, I do
not commit sin."

I was too cold and too weary to argue the point, so I let him have it all
his own way. I believe he must have thought me rather a dull companion;
but at least he gave me the credit of being a good listener.

It was almost dark when we reached Lawton's. The Aux Plaines(*) was
frozen, and the house was on the other side. By loud shouting, we brought
out a man from the building, and he succeeded in cutting the ice, and
bringing a canoe over to us; but not until it had become difficult to
distinguish objects in the darkness.

A very comfortable house was Lawton's, after we did reach it--carpeted,
and with a warm stove--in fact, quite in civilized style. Mr. Weeks, the
man who brought us across, was the major-domo, during the temporary
absence of Mr. Lawton.

Mrs. Lawton was a young woman, and not ill-looking. She complained
bitterly of the loneliness of her condition,

(* Riviere Aux Plaines was the original French designation, now changed to
Desplaines, pronounced as in English.)

Page 143

and having been "brought out there into the woods; which was a thing she
had not expected, when she came from the East." We did not ask her with
what expectations she had come to a wild, unsettled country; but we tried
to comfort her with the assurance that things would grow better in a few
years. She said, "She did not mean to wait for that. She should go back to
her family in the East, if Mr. Lawton did not invite some of her young
friends to come and stay with her, and make it agreeable."

We could hardly realize, on rising the following morning, that only twelve
miles of prairie intervened between us and Chicago le Desire, as I could
not but name it.

We could look across the extended plain, and on its farthest verge were
visible two tall trees, which my husband pointed out to me as the planting
of his own hand, when a boy. Already they had become so lofty as to serve
as landmarks, and they were constantly in view as we travelled the beaten
road. I was continually repeating to myself, "There live the friends I am
so longing to see! There will terminate all our trials and hardships!"

A Mr. Wentworth joined us on the road, and of him we inquired after the
welfare of the family, from whom we had, for a long time, received no
intelligence. When we reached Chicago, he took us to a little tavern at
the forks of the river. This portion of the place was then called Wolf
Point, from its having been the residence of an Indian named "Moaway," or
"the Wolf."

"Dear me," said the old landlady, at the little tavern, "what dreadful
cold weather you must have had to travel in! Why, two days ago the river
was all open here, and now it's frozen hard enough for folks to cross a-
horse-back!"

Notwithstanding this assurance, my husband did not like to venture, so he
determined to leave his horses and

Page 144

proceed on foot to the residence of his mother and sister, a distance of
about half a mile.

We set out on our walk, which was first across the ice, then down the
northern bank of the river. As we approached the house we were espied by
Genevieve, a half-breed servant of the family. She did not wait to salute
us, but flew into the house, crying,--

"Oh! Madame Kinzie, who do you think has come? Monsieur John and Madame
John, all the way from Fort Winnebago on foot!"

Soon we were in the arms of our dear, kind friends. A messenger was
dispatched to "the garrison" for the remaining members of the family, and
for that day, at least, I was the wonder and admiration of the whole
circle, "for the dangers I had seen."



CHAPTER XVII.
CHICAGO IN 1831.

Fort Dearborn at that day consisted of the same buildings as at
present.(*) They were, of course, in a better state of preservation,
though still considerably dilapidated. They had been erected in 1816,
under the supervision of Captain Hezekiah Bradley, and there was a story
current that, such was his patriotic regard for the interests of the
Government, he obliged the soldiers to fashion wooden pins, instead of
spikes and nails, to fasten the timbers of the buildings, and that he even
called on the junior

(* 1855.)

Page 145

officers to aid in their construction along with the soldiers, whose
business it was. If this were true, the captain must have labored under
the delusion (excusable in one who had lived long on the frontier) that
Government would thank its servants for any excess of economical zeal.

The fort was inclosed by high pickets, with bastions at the alternate
angles. Large gates opened to the north and south, and there were small
posterns here and there for the accommodation of the inmates. The bank of
the river which stretches to the west, now covered by the light-house
buildings, and inclosed by docks, was then occupied by the root-houses of
the garrison. Beyond the parade-ground, which extended south of the
pickets, were the company gardens, well filled with currant-bushes and
young fruit-trees.

The fort stood at what might naturally be supposed to be the mouth of the
river. It was not so, however, for in those days the latter took a turn,
sweeping round the promontory on which the fort was built, towards the
south, and joining the lake about half a mile below. These buildings stood
on the right bank of the river, the left being a long spit of land
extending from the northern shore, of which it formed a part. After the
cutting through of this portion of the left bank in 1833 by the United
States Engineers employed to construct a harbor at this point, and the
throwing out of the piers, the water overflowed this long tongue of land,
and, continually encroaching on the southern bank, robbed it of many
valuable acres; while, by the same action of the vast body of the lake, an
accretion was constantly taking place on the north of the harbor.

The residence of Jean Baptiste Beaubien stood at this period between the
gardens and the river-bank, and still

Page 146

farther south was a rickety tenement, built many years before by Mr. John
Dean, the sutler of the post. A short time after the commencement of the
growth of Chicago, the foundations of this building were undermined by the
gradual encroachment of the lake, and it tumbled backward down the bank,
where it long lay, a melancholy spectacle.

On the northern bank of the river, directly facing the fort, was the
family mansion of my husband.(*) It was a long, low building, with a
piazza extending along its front, a range of four or five rooms. A broad
green space was inclosed between it and the river, and shaded by a row of
Lombardy poplars. Two immense cottonwood-trees stood in the rear of the
building, one of which still remains as an ancient landmark. A fine, well-
cultivated garden extended to the north of the dwelling, and surrounding
it were various buildings appertaining to the establishment--dairy, bake-
house, lodging-house for the Frenchmen, and stables.

A vast range of sand-hills, covered with stunted cedars, pines, and dwarf-
willow-trees, intervened between the house and the lake, which was, at
this time, not more than thirty rods distant.

Proceeding from this point along the northern bank of the river, we came
first to the Agency House, "Cobweb Castle," as it had been denominated
while long the residence of a bachelor, and the sobriquet adhered to it
ever after. It stood at what is now the southwest corner of Wolcott† and
N. Water Streets. Many will still remember it, a substantial, compact
little building of logs hewed and squared, with a centre, two wings, and,
strictly speaking,† Since called N. State Street (1870).

(* See Frontispiece.)

Page 147

two tails, since, when there was found no more room for additions at the
sides, they were placed in the rear, whereon a vacant spot could be found.

These appendages did not mar the symmetry of the whole, as viewed from the
front, but when, in the process of the town's improvement, a street was
maliciously opened directly in the rear of the building, the whole
establishment, with its comical little adjuncts, was a constant source of
amusement to the passers-by. No matter. There were pleasant, happy hours
passed under its odd-shaped roof, as many of Chicago's early settlers can
testify.

Around the Agency House were grouped a collection of log buildings, the
residences of the different persons in the employ of Government,
appertaining to that establishment--blacksmith, striker, and laborers.
These were for the most part Canadians or half-breeds, with occasionally a
stray Yankee, to set all things going by his activity and enterprise.

There was still another house on the north side of the river, built by a
former resident by the name of Miller, but he had removed to "Riviere du
Chemin," or Trail Creek, which about this time began to be called
"Michigan City."(*) This house, which stood near the forks of the river,
was at this time vacant.

There was no house on the southern bank of the river, between the fort and
"The Point," as the forks of the river were then called. The land was a
low wet prairie, scarcely affording good walking in the dryest summer
weather, while at other seasons it was absolutely impassable. A

(* I can recall a petition that was circulated at the garrison about this
period, for "building a brigg over Michigan City." By altering the
orthography, it was found to mean, not the stupendous undertaking it would
seem to imply, but simply "building a bridge" over at Michigan City,--an
accommodation much needed by travellers at that day.)

Page 148

muddy streamlet, or, as it is called in this country, a slew,(*) after
winding around from about the present site of the Tremont House, fell into
the river at the foot of State Street.(**)

At the Point, on the south side, stood a house just completed by Mark
Beaubien. It was a pretentious white two-story building, with bright-blue
wooden shutters, the admiration of all the little circle at Wolf Point.
Here a canoe ferry was kept to transport people across the south branch of
the river.

Facing down the river from the west was, first a small tavern kept by Mr.
Wentworth, familiarly known as "Old Geese," not from any want of
shrewdness on his part, but in compliment to one of his own cant
expressions. Near him were two or three log cabins occupied by Robinson
the Pottowattamie chief, and some of his wife's connexions. Billy
Caldwell, the Sau-ga-nash, too, resided here occasionally, with his wife,
who was a daughter of Nee-scot-nee-meg, one of the most famous chiefs of
the nation. A little remote from these residences was a small square log
building, originally designed for a school-house, but occasionally used as
a place of worship whenever any itinerant minister presented himself.

The family of Clybourn had, previous to this time, established themselves
near their present residence on the North Branch--they called their place
New Virginia. Four miles up the South Branch was an old building which

(* The proper orthography of this word is undoubtedly slough, as it
invariably indicates something like that which Christian fell into in a
flying from the City of Destruction. I speel spell it, however, as it is
pronounced.)

(** A gentleman who visited Chicago at that day, thus speaks of it: "I
passed over the ground from the fort to the Point, on horseback. I was up
to my stirrups in water the whole distance. I would not have given
sixpence an acre for the whole of it.")

Page 149

was at one time an object of great interest as having been the theatre of
some stirring events during the troubles of 1812.(*) It was denominated
Lee's Place, or Hardscrabble. Here lived, at this time, a settler named
Heacock.

Owing to the badness of the roads a greater part of the year, the usual
mode of communication between the fort and the Point was by a boat rowed
up the river, or by a canoe paddled by some skilful hand. By the latter
means, too, an intercourse was kept up between the residents of the fort
and the Agency House.

There were, at this time, two companies of soldiers in the garrison, but
of the officers one, Lieutenant Furman, had died the autumn previous, and
several of the others were away on furlough. In the absence of Major Fowle
and Captain Scott, the command devolved on Lieutenant Hunter. Besides him,
there were Lieutenants Engle and Foster--the latter unmarried. Dr. Finley,
the post surgeon, was also absent, and his place was supplied by Dr.
Harmon, a gentleman from Vermont.

My husband's mother, two sisters, and brother resided at the Agency House--
the family residence near the lake being occupied by J. N. Bailey, the
postmaster.

In the Dean House lived a Mr. and Mrs. Forbes, who kept a school. Gholson
Kercheval had a small trading establishment in one of the log buildings at
Wolf Point, and John S. C. Hogan superintended the sutler's store in the
garrison.

There was also a Mr. See lately come into the country, living at the
Point, who sometimes held forth in the little school-house on a Sunday,
less to the edification of his hearers than to the unmerciful slaughter of
the "King's English."

(* See Narrative of the Massacre, p. 159.)

Page 150

I think this enumeration comprises all the white inhabitants of Chicago at
a period less than half a century ago. To many who may read these pages
the foregoing particulars will, doubtless, appear uninteresting. But to
those who visit Chicago, and still more to those who come to make it their
home, it may be not without interest to look back to its first beginnings;
to contemplate the almost magical change which a few years have wrought;
and from the past to augur the marvellous prosperity of the future.

The origin of the name Chicago is a subject of discussion, some of the
Indians deriving it from the fitch or polecat, others from the wild onion
with which the woods formerly abounded; but all agree that the place
received its name from an old chief who was drowned in the stream in
former times. That this event, although so carefully preserved by
tradition, must have occurred in a very remote period, is evident from an
old French manuscript brought by General Cass from France.

In this paper, which purports to be a letter from M. de Ligney, at Green
Bay, to M. de Siette, among the Illinois, dated as early as 1726, the
place is designated as "Chicagoux." This orthography is also found in old
family letters of the beginning of the present century.

In giving the early history of Chicago, the Indians say, with great
simplicity, "the first white man who settled here was a negro."

This was Jean Baptiste Point-au-Sable, a native of St. Domingo, who, about
the year 1796, found his way to this remote region, and commenced a life
among the Indians. There is usually a strong affection between these two
races,

Page 151

and Jean Baptiste imposed upon his new friends by making them believe that
he had been a "great chief" among the whites. Perhaps he was disgusted at
not being elected to a similar dignity by the Pottowatamies, for he
quitted this vicinity, and finally terminated his days at Peoria, under
the roof of his friend Glamoragan, another St. Domingo negro, who had
obtained large Spanish grants in St. Louis and its environs, and who, at
one time, was in the enjoyment of an extensive landed estate.

Point-au-Sable had made some improvements at Chicago, which were taken
possession of by a Frenchman named Le Mai, who commenced trading with the
Indians. After a few years Le Mai's establishment was purchased by John
Kinzie, Esq., who at that time resided at Bertrand, or Parc aux Vaches, as
it was then called, near Niles, in Michigan. As this gentleman was for
nearly twenty years, with the exception of the military, the only white
inhabitant of Northern Illinois, some particulars of his early life may
not be uninteresting.

He was born in Quebec in 1763. His mother had been previously married to a
gentleman of the name of Haliburton. The only daughter of this marriage
was the mother of General Fleming, Nicholas Low, Esq., and Mrs. Charles
King, of New York. She is described as a lady of remarkable beauty and
accomplishments. Mr. Kinzie was the only child of the second marriage. His
father died in his infancy, and his mother married a third time a Mr.
Forsyth, after which they removed to the city of New York.

At the age of ten or eleven years he was placed at school with two of his
half-brothers at Williamsburg, L. I. A negro servant was sent from the
city every Saturday, to bring the children home, to remain until the
following Monday morning. Upon one occasion, when the messenger

Page 152

arrived at the school he found all things in commotion. Johnny Kinzie was
missing! Search was made in all directions; every place was ransacked. It
was all in vain; no Johnny Kinzie could be found.

The heavy tidings were carried home to his mother. By some it was supposed
the lad was drowned; by others that he had strayed away, and would return.
Weeks passed by, and months, and he was at length given up and mourned as
lost. In the mean time the boy was fulfilling a determination he had long
formed, to visit his native city of Quebec, and make his way in life for
himself.

He had by some means succeeded in crossing from Williamsburg to the city
of New York, and finding at one of the docks on the North River a sloop
bound for Albany, he took passage on board of her. While on his way up the
river, he was noticed by a gentleman, who, taking an interest, in the
little lonely passenger, questioned him about his business.

"He was going to Quebec, where he had some friends."

"Had he the means to carry him there?"

"Not much, but he thought he could get along."

It happened, fortunately, that the gentleman himself was going to Quebec.
He took the boy under his care, paid his expenses the whole distance, and
finally parted with him in the streets of the city, where he was, in
truth, a stranger.

He wandered about for a time, looking into various "stores" and workshops.
At length, on entering the shop of a silversmith, he was satisfied with
the expression he read in the countenance of the master, and he inquired
if he wanted an apprentice.

"What, you, my little fellow! What can you do?"

"Anything you can teach me."

"Well, we will make a trial and see."

Page 153

The trial was satisfactory. He remained in the family of his kind friend
for more than three years, when his parents, who, in removing to Detroit,
had necessarily returned to Canada, discovered his place of abode, and he
was restored to them.

There were five younger half-brothers, of the name of Forsyth. In the old
family Bible, we find the following touching record of an event that
occurred after the family had removed to Detroit:--

"George Forsyth was lost in the woods 6th August, 1775, when Henry Hays
and Mark Stirling ran away and left him. The remains of George Forsyth
were found by an Indian the 2d of October, 1776, close by the Prairie
Ronde."

It seems a singular fatality that the unhappy mother should have been
twice called to suffer a similar affliction--the loss of a child in a
manner worse than death, inasmuch as it left room for all the horrors that
imagination can suggest. The particulars of the loss of this little
brother were these. As he came from school one evening, he,met the colored
servant-boy on horseback, going to the common for the cows. The school-
house stood quite near the old fort, and all beyond that, towards the
west, was a wild, uncultivated tract called "the Common." The child begged
of the servant to take him up and give him a ride, but the other refused,
bidding him return home at once. He was accompanied by two other boys,
somewhat older, and together they followed the negro for some distance,
hoping to prevail upon him to give them a ride. As it grew dark, the two
older boys turned back, but the other kept on. When the negro returned he
had not again seen the child, nor were any tidings ever received of him,
notwithstanding the diligent search made by the whole little community,
until, as related in the record, his remains

Page 154

were found the following year by an Indian. There was nothing to identify
them, except the auburn curls of his hair, and the little boots he had
worn. He must have perished very shortly after having lost his way, for
the Prairie Ronde was too near the settlement to have prevented his
hearing the calls and sounding horns of those in search of him, had he
been living.

Mr. Kinzie's enterprising and adventurous disposition led him, as he grew
older, to live much on the frontier. He early entered into the Indian
trade, and had establishments at Sandusky and Maumee. About the year 1800
he pushed farther west, to St. Joseph's, Michigan. In this year he married
Mrs. McKillip, the widow of a British officer, and in 1804 came to make
his home at Chicago. It was in this year that the first fort was built by
Major John Whistler.

By degrees more remote trading-posts were established by him, all
contributing to the parent one at Chicago; at Milwaukie with the
Menomonees; at Rock River with the Winnebagoes and the Pottowattamies; on
the Illinois River and Kankakee with the Pottowattamies of the Prairies,
and with the Kickapoos in what was called "Le Large," being the widely
extended district afterwards erected into Sangamon County.

Each trading-post had its superintendent, and its complement of engages--
its train of pack-horses and its equipment of boats and canoes. From most
of the stations the furs and peltries were brought to Chicago on pack-
horses, and the goods necessary for the trade were transported in return
by the same method.

The vessels which came in the spring and fall (seldom more than two or
three annually), to bring the supplies and goods for the trade, took the
furs that were already collected to Mackinac, the depot of the Southwest
and

Page 155

American Fur Companies. At other seasons they were sent to that place in
boats, coasting around the lake.

Of the Canadian voyageurs or engages, a race that has now so nearly passed
away, some notice may very properly here be given.

They were unlike any other class of men. Like the poet, they seemed born
to their vocation. Sturdy, enduring, ingenious, and light-hearted, they
possessed a spirit capable of adapting itself to any emergency. No
difficulties baffled, no hardships discouraged them; while their
affectionate nature led them to form attachments of the warmest character
to their "bourgeois," or master, as well as to the native inhabitants,
among whom their engagements carried them.

Montreal, or, according to their own pronunciation, Marrialle, was their
depoot. It was at that place that the agents commissioned to make up the
quota for the different companies and traders found the material for their
selections.

The terms of engagement were usually from four to six hundred livres
(ancient Quebec currency) per annum as wages, with rations of one quart of
lyed corn, and two ounces of tallow per diem, or "its equivalent in
whatever sort of food is to be found in the Indian country." Instances
have been known of their submitting cheerfully to fare upon fresh fish and
maple-sugar for a whole winter, when cut off from other supplies.

It was a common saying, "Keep an engage to his corn and tallow, he will
serve you well--give him pork and bread, and he soon gets beyond your
management." They regard the terms of their engagement as binding to the
letter. An old trader, M. Berthelet, engaged a crew

Page 156

at Montreal. The terms of agreement were, that they should eat when their
bourgeois did, and what he did. It was a piece of fun on the part of the
old gentleman, but the simple Canadians believed it to be a signal
instance of good luck that had provided them such luxurious prospects. The
bourgeois stuffed his pockets with crackers, and, when sure of being quite
unobserved, would slily eat one. Pipe after pipe passed--the men grew
hungry, but, observing that there were no preparations of a meal for the
bourgeois, they bore their fast without complaining.

At length the matter became too serious--they could stand it no longer. In
their distress they begged off from the bargain, and gladly compounded to
take the customary rations, instead of the dainty fare they had been
promising themselves with their master.

On arriving at Mackinac, which was the entrepot of the fur trade, a small
proportion of the voyageur's wages was advanced him, to furnish his
winter's outfit, his pipes and tobacco, his needles and thread, some
pieces of bright-colored ribbons, and red and yellow gartering (quality
binding), with which to purchase their little necessaries from the
Indians. To these, if his destination were Lake Superior, or a post far to
the north where such articles could not be readily obtained, were added
one or two smoked deer-skins for moccasins.

Thus equipped, he entered upon his three years' service, to toil by day,
and laugh, joke, sing, and tell stories when the evening hour brought rest
and liberty.

There was not wanting here and there an instance of obstinate adherence to
the exact letter of the agreement in regard to the nature of employment,
although, as a general thing, the engage held himself ready to fulfil the
behests of his bourgeois, as faithfully as ever did vassal those of his
chief.

Page 157

A story is told of M. St. Jean, a trader on the Upper Mississippi, who
upon a certain occasion ordered one of his Frenchmen to accompany a party
to the forest to chop wood. The man refused. "He was not hired," he said,
"to chop wood."

"Ah! for what, then, were you hired?"

"To steer a boat."

"Very well; steer a boat, then, since you prefer it."

It was mid-winter. The recusant was marched to the river-side, and placed
in the stern of the boat, which lay fastened in the ice.

After serving a couple of hours at his legitimate employment, with the
thermometer below zero, he was quite content to take his place with the
chopping-party, and never again thought it good policy to choose work for
himself.

There is an aristocracy in the voyageur service which is quite amusing.
The engagement is usually made for three years. The engage of the first
year, who is called a "mangeur-de-lard," or pork-eater, is looked down
upon with the most sovereign contempt by an "hivernant," or one who has
already passed a winter in the country. He will not only not associate
with him, but if invited by him to join him in a friendly glass, he will
make some excuse for declining. The most inveterate drunkard, while
tortured by a longing to partake his favorite indulgence, will yet never
suffer himself to be enticed into an infringement of this custom.

After the first winter, the mangeur-de-lard rises from his freshman class,
and takes his place where he can in turn lord it over all new-comers.

Another peculiarity of the voyageurs is their fancy for transforming the
names of their bourgeois into something funny, which resembles it in
sound. Thus, Kinzie would

Page 158

be called by one "Quinze nez" (fifteen noses), by another "Singe"
(monkeyfied). Mr. Kercheval was denominated Mons. Court-cheval (short
horse), the Judge of Probate, "le Juge Trop-bete" (too foolish), etc. The
following is an instance in point.

Mr. Shaw, one of the agents of the Northwest Fur Company, had passed many
years on the frontier, and was by the voyageurs called Monsieur Le
Chat.(*) On quitting the Indian country he married a Canadian lady and
became the father of several children. Some years after his return to
Canada, his old foreman, named Louis la Liberte, went to Montreal to spend
the winter. He had heard of his old bourgeois' marriage, and was anxious
to see him.

Mr. Shaw was walking in the Champ de Mars with a couple of officers, when
La Liberte espied him. He immediately ran up, and, seizing him by both
hands, accosted him,--

"Ah! mon cher Monsieur le Chat; comment vous portez-vous?" (My dear Mr.
Cat, how do you do?)

"Trees-bien, Louizon."

"Et comment se porte Madame la Chatte?" (How is the mother cat?)

"Bien, bien, Louizon; elle est tres-bien." (She is very well.)

"Et tous les petits Chatons?" (And all the kittens?)

This was too much for Mr. Shaw. He answered shortly that the kittens were
all well, and turned away with his military friends, leaving poor Louizon
quite astonished at the abruptness of his departure.

Cut off, in the manner described, from the world at

(* Mr. Cat.)

Page 159

large, with no society but the military, thus lived the family of Mr.
Kinzie, in great contentment, and in the enjoyment of all the comforts,
together with most of the luxuries, of life.

The Indians reciprocated the friendship that was shown them, and formed
for them an attachment of no ordinary strength, as was manifested during
the scenes of the year 1812, eight years after Mr. Kinzie first came to
live among them.

Some of the most prominent events of that year are recorded in the
following Narrative.