The Story of Old Fort Dearborn

John Harris Kinzie, the oldest son of John Kinzie, spent the years from his infancy to the age of nine living with his parents in the Kinzie mansion. There were no schools in the vicinity, and young John had to depend upon chance opportunities of obtaining the rudiments of an education. It is related that among the supplies consigned to John Kinzie, arriving by the "annual schooner," there was found a spelling book inside a chest of tea which the elder Kinzie gave to his son. With the aid of his father's step-brother, Robert Forsyth, then a member of Mr. Kinzie's family, young John learned his first lessons. In later years he said the odor of tea always reminded him of the spelling book he used to study in his boyhood.

The children of the Kinzie family, as well as those of the officers and soldiers at the fort who had their families with them,—as a number of them did,—were formed into classes and taught by a soldier of some education whose term of service had expired, but on account of his irregular habits the school was discontinued after some months.

A brief sketch of General Henry Dearborn, already referred to in this history, should be given in this place. The name of Dearborn is often met with among Chicago localities and institutions; and the city is honored in thus perpetuating the name and memory of a man who, though he had never visited this vicinity, held positions of responsibility and honor in the affairs of the country.

General Dearborn was a native of New Hampshire, and at the time of the establishment of Fort Dearborn was a man somewhat past fifty years of age. After passing through the best schools of the State in which he was born he studied medicine and practiced that profession for some years before the breaking out of the Revolutionary War. At an early period in that struggle he raised a company of militia and joined a regiment commanded by Colonel John Stark, who afterward became the hero of the battle of Bennington. As a captain young Dearborn took part in the battle of Bunker Hill, and at a later time was with Arnold on his unsuccessful expedition to Canada, where he was taken prisoner by the British. He was exchanged and again entered the service, and as major assisted in the capture of Burgoyne's army at the battle of Saratoga.

It is related in a recent history:

At a later period of the war Dearborn was promoted to be lieutenant-colonel and was present at the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown in 1781. After this event he wrote in his journal: "Here ends my military life." He was, however, afterwards commissioned a major-general of militia by the State of Massachusetts, of which State he was a citizen. He became a member of Congress in 1801, and was appointed Secretary of War by President Jefferson. He remained in the cabinet of President Jefferson throughout the eight years of his administration.

In the War of 1812 General Dearborn was appointed senior major-general by President Madison, and rendered distinguished services on the Niagara frontier during that war. He died in Boston at the advanced age of seventy-nine years.

A portrait of General Dearborn is at the present time in the possession of the Calumet Club of Chicago, painted by Gilbert Stuart. John Wentworth once said: "One of the highest compliments paid to General Dearborn is the fact that whilst the names of so many of our streets, have been changed to gratify the whims of our aldermen, no attempt has been made to change that of Dearborn Street. Not only is this the case but the name Dearborn continues to be prefixed to institutions, enterprises, and objects which it is the desire of projectors to honor."

There was an interpreter at the fort, John Lalime by name, who was at enmity with John Kinzie, the Indian trader. One afternoon early in the year 1812, Mr. Kinzie had occasion to be at the fort, and when the gates were about to be closed for the night he passed out to return to his home across the river. Just after his departure Lalime also passed out at the gate, and knowing the state of feeling between the two men, Lieutenant Helm, who was the officer on duty, called out to Mr. Kinzie to beware of Lalime. The latter was following the other closely and his actions were threatening.

Lieutenant Helm had married Mr. Kinzie's step-daughter, Margaret McKillip, some years before, and the relationship thus existing doubtless caused a feeling of natural anxiety on the part of the officer for Mr. Kinzie's safety. When Mr. Kinzie heard the warning shout he turned suddenly upon the man following him and at the same time saw that he was armed with a pistol in his hand and a knife in his belt. Mr. Kinzie himself was totally unprovided with weapons, but notwithstanding, he grappled with Lalime at once. In the course of the struggle which ensued the pistol was discharged, though without harm to either antagonist. Both men attempted to get possession of the knife and both were wounded by it. Mr. Kinzie, however, succeeded in inflicting a fatal thrust upon his adversary, while he himself was covered with blood as a result of the encounter. Lalime fell dead upon the ground.

This tragic affair was witnessed by the people at the fort, and by a half-breed woman who was a servant in the Kinzie family from the door of the Kinzie house. As Lalime had many friends at the fort who at first thought that Mr. Kinzie had attacked him without provocation there was a movement to take Kinzie into custody; and fearing that a squad would be sent for this purpose, he concealed himself in the woods near his house, and soon after embarked in a boat with an Indian guide for Milwaukee, where one of his trading posts was located.

An inquiry into all the circumstances of the affair was made by the officers of the garrison, and a verdict of justifiable homicide was reached. Mr. Kinzie, hearing of this, returned to his home as soon as he had sufficiently recovered from his wound to do so.

It was said by Gurdon S. Hubbard in later years that Mr. Kinzie deeply regretted the killing of Lalime, and further, that he firmly believed the deed was committed in self-defence. Lalime was an educated man and was a favorite with the military people. He was buried on the north side of the river, and for many years thereafter the grave was enclosed with a small picket fence, which was cared for by Mr. Kinzie and his family.

When Captain Nathan Heald assumed command at Fort Dearborn, in succession to Captain Whistler, he entered upon his duties with much reluctance, owing to the remoteness of the post and the loneliness of its situation. He was a much younger man than his predecessor, being at the time thirty-five years of age and unmarried, and found himself associated with officers still younger than he was. A few days after his arrival at his new post he wrote Colonel Jacob Kingsbury, commandant at Detroit, that he was not pleased with his situation and could not bear to think of staying there during the winter. "It is a good place," he wrote, "for a man who has a family, and can content himself to live remote from the civilized part of the world."

Two years previous to this time Captain William Wells had taken his niece, Rebekah Wells, daughter of his brother. Captain Samuel Wells of Louisville, Kentucky, to Fort Wayne on a visit, and while there she met Captain Heald, who was on duty at that point. In the summer following Heald's arrival at Fort Dearborn he obtained a leave of absence for the purpose of going to Louisville to be married to Rebekah Wells. The marriage followed his arrival there and was doubtless the result of the acquaintance formed at the time of the Fort Wayne visit, the first of many romantic episodes.

The journey of the newly wedded couple from the old Kentucky home to their new place of residence at Fort Dearborn was made in May, 1811, and it is interesting to learn that the whole distance was covered in six days. There were three in the party—the captain, his bride, and a little slave girl who begged to be taken along. Each had a horse to ride, and an extra horse carried the baggage; they traveled by compass.

On their arrival the garrison turned out to receive them with military honors. Rebekah was much pleased with her reception, and found everything to her liking; she liked the wild place, the wild lake, and the wild Indians, then indeed friendly enough, but soon to become fierce enemies. Everything suited her ways and disposition, "being on the wild order" herself, she said; and we can well imagine Captain Heald becoming, in his changed circumstances, quite reconciled to the situation with which he was so much displeased the year before.

Captain Heald was a martinet in the matter of military discipline, and during the two years or more that elapsed between his arrival and the evacuation of the fort he became unpopular by reason of his strict insistence upon every detail required by the military regulations. It had become the recognized practice in isolated garrisons at lonely posts to relax somewhat the discipline usually found necessary where large numbers of troops were assembled.

But while Captain Heald was so exacting in the affairs of the post, he applied the same principles to his own conduct where the orders of his superior officers were concerned, even when conditions would have warranted independent action.

Heald would have been an ideal officer on the staff of a general where it was necessary to render instant and implicit obedience to orders, and in such a position his services would have been without doubt faithful and efficient. But when serving at a distant post, where much latitude in complying with instructions might have been permitted and justified, he failed to use the discretion that he was unquestionably entitled to exercise under such circumstances. Heald was not able to see beyond the letter of his instructions, and to the literal manner in which he construed them may be attributed in great measure the disasters that overtook the fort and its occupants.

Captain William Wells, the hero of the story we are here relating, was born about 1770, in Kentucky. His career throughout is surrounded with an atmosphere of romance. When Mr. Roosevelt was writing his Winning of the West, he did not fail to see the picturesque figure of Captain Wells among the pioneer scenes which he there delineates with characteristic vigor and sympathy. We commemorate his name and deeds in our street nomenclature of the present day, and the historical interest which attaches to the name of Wells Street would be worthily supplemented by the people of Chicago in the erection of a statue to his memory.

William Wells and Samuel Wells, the noted Indian fighters, were brothers living in Louisville, Kentucky, belonging to a family of early settlers in that region. When twelve years of age, William was carried off by a band of Miami Indians, whose chief, Little Turtle, adopted him in his family. With this tribe William remained some years, and when he arrived at manhood the chief gave him his daughter in marriage. He became greatly attached to the people of the tribe, and in the disastrous campaigns of Generals Harmer and St. Clair, in 1790 and 1791, when those two generals were successively defeated, he fought with his tribe against the Americans.

The Wells family learned of William's presence with the Indians and of the attachment he had formed for savage life and society, and during one of the intervals of peaceful relations they endeavored to win him back to his early home and family connection. Messages were sent to him begging him to abandon his savage life and return to his family. Referring to this period in the life of William Wells, Rebekah Wells, his niece, said: "We all wanted Uncle William, whom we called our 'Indian Uncle,' to leave the Indians who had stolen him in his boyhood, and come home and belong to his white relations. He hung back for years, and even at last when he agreed to visit them the proviso was made that he should be allowed to bring along an Indian escort with him, so that he should not be compelled to stay with them if he did not want to do so."

Accordingly he came with a company of his Indian friends, and after seeing the old places and meeting once more with his relatives, he became convinced that he ought to remain with them, though he decided first to return to his father-in-law. Little Turtle, for whom he felt a strong attachment, and acquaint him with his determination. He frankly told the chief that though he had lived happily among his tribe for many years, had fought for them in the past against the whites, the time had now come when he was going home to his relatives, thereafter to live with and fight for his own flesh and blood.

He was permitted to depart, and soon after joined the army of General Anthony Wayne, who had been sent into the Western country by President Washington to repair the disasters that had overtaken the Americans in the previous campaigns. He was made captain of a company of scouts, and performed effective service in the march of Wayne's army through the wilderness, ending with the battle of Fallen Timbers, in the fall of 1794.

Mr. Roosevelt, in the work to which we have already referred, relates some of Wells's trilling adventures while engaged in this service, among others the following:

After the campaign had terminated in the utter defeat of the tribes, Captain Wells was joined by his Indian wife and children. Wells settled on a farm and was made a justice of the peace and appointed Indian agent at Fort Wayne. His children "grew up and married well in the community," says Roosevelt in his history, "so that their blood now flows in the veins of many of the descendants of the old pioneers." One of these descendants, writing to the Hon. John Wentworth at Chicago, said of his ancestors: "We are proud of our Indian (Little Turtle) blood, and of our Captain Wells blood. We try to keep up the customs of our ancestors, and dress occasionally in Indian costumes. We take no exceptions when people speak of our Indian parentage." Referring to the later services of Captain Wells in the Tippecanoe campaign and of his tragic end at the Fort Dearborn massacre, this letter-writer further says: "We take pleasure in sending to you the tomahawk which Captain Wells had at the time of his death, and which was brought to his family by an Indian who was in the battle. We also have a dress sword which was presented to him by General William Henry Harrison, and a great many books which he had, showing that even when he lived among the Indians he was trying to improve himself."

Wells was indeed a man of fair education for those times, as his correspondence, preserved in the American State Papers, shows. Wentworth, in one of his lectures, printed in the Fergus Historical Series, says that all of Captain Wells's children were well educated, one of them, William Wayne Wells, having graduated at West Point in 1821.

Little Turtle, the Miami chief, and father-in-law of Captain Wells, became reconciled to the Americans after Wayne's victory at the battle of Fallen Timbers, and indeed became their fast friend to the end of his life. In 1797, three years after the battle. Captain Wells accompanied Little Turtle on a visit to the East, and no doubt met President Washington himself at the seat of government, which was at that time in Philadelphia. Little Turtle was frequently at Chicago during the following years, but lived near Fort Wayne, where he died in July, 1812. This was only a few weeks before the dreadful massacre of that year. Wells himself was also a frequent visitor at Chicago during these years and was thoroughly familiar with the surrounding country.

Some account of the Indian tribes and their chiefs will aid the reader in obtaining a clearer knowledge of the conditions and surroundings of the garrison and the few civilian traders dwelling at this remote outpost of the frontier, during the next few years after the establishment of Fort Dearborn.

The Potawatamis were the principal tribe of Indians met with by the whites in the vicinity of Fort Dearborn in 1803, and they continued here until their final removal to their new reservations in 1835. Other tribes were represented by occasional parties camping in their wigwams on the banks of the river near the fort. Among such visitors were Winnebagoes, Miamis, Ottawas, and Chippewas.

When the early explorers passed over the Chicago Portage more than a century before, they found the Illinois Indians in possession of most of the territory of what is now the northern portion of Illinois; but their country was frequently invaded by the Iroquois Indians from the East and their allies, and their numbers rapidly diminished, until the last remnant of the tribe was exterminated, about the year 1770, at Starved Rock, on the Illinois River. It is worthy of notice here that more Indians perished and more tribes were exterminated in intertribal conflicts than in all the wars that have taken place between the white race and the red.

The Potawatami tribe had formerly made their abiding-place near the shores of Green Bay, except when roaming in quest of game into neighboring regions. A portion of the tribe, which was scattered over the southern peninsula of Michigan and continually advancing toward the south, began to press upon the Illinois tribes, which included, besides the Illinois, the Kickapoos and Miamis. The Indians from Michigan in time succeeded in reaching the region of the Chicago Portage, where they met the southward advance of their former friends from Wisconsin, from whom, they had been long separated. The Michigan Indians, when they appeared in this region, became known as the "Potawatamis of the Woods," or "Woods Indians," while those who had come from Wisconsin more recently, having in their movements wandered over the prairie country, became known as the "Potawatamis of the Prairies," or the "Prairie Band." The latter were also often referred to as "Plains Indians." The two divisions of the tribe, having thus met after so long a separation, had become quite different from each other in their habits and customs, and also in their disposition and character.

The Woods Indians were engaged in agriculture to some extent, and were susceptible to the influences of civilization and religion; the Prairie Indians "despised the cultivation of the soil," says Judge Caton, "as too mean even for their women and children, and deemed the captures of the chase the only fit food for a valorous people." In other respects the two divisions were regarded as a single tribe. The northern portion of Illinois was particularly the possession of the Potawatamis, over which they ranged freely, though Chicago and its immediate vicinity was the most important point in their territory where councils were held and trading was carried on.

Caton writes:

The relations existing between the whites in and around Fort Dearborn and their Indian neighbors were generally harmonious throughout the interval of time from the first occupation of the fort in 1803 until 1811, when Tecumseh became active in stirring up the Western tribes to oppose the settlement of Western lands by the whites. Tecumseh was a chief of the Shawnee tribe, whose country was on the lower Wabash. He believed that this country was created by the Great Spirit for the exclusive use of the Indians, and that the grants of land made by the tribes in their treaties with the United States Government were not valid or binding unless the consent of "all the tribes of the continent" had been obtained.

This contention was regarded as preposterous, and Tecumseh was informed that such a principle could not be allowed. He then succeeded in forming a league of several tribes under his leadership, and hostilities soon after began against the settlers and the United States Government. In November, 1811, the battle of Tippecanoe was fought between General William Henry Harrison, Governor of Indiana Territory, and commander of the American forces, on the one hand, and the tribes under Tecumseh's brother, the "Prophet," on the other, Tecumseh himself being temporarily absent. The Indians were badly defeated. Tecumseh took refuge in Canada, where he joined the British, who were soon afterwards at war with the United States. He was killed while fighting on the side of the British at the battle of the Thames October 6, 1813.

Many of the Indians of the Potawatami tribe sympathized with Tecumseh, and it was well known that some of the chiefs and many of the Indians were present at the battle of Tippecanoe among the enemies of the Americans. But in spite of the malign influence of Tecumseh, the Indians conducted themselves generally in a peaceable manner while in the vicinity of Fort Dearborn, and seemed anxious to be regarded as friendly toward their white neighbors.

The Indians continued to come and go on their nomadic excursions according to their habit, and while in this vicinity they lived in their wigwams near the river, their favorite camping place being at a point on the south bank near the present State Street bridge. A swale or gully opened into the river there, reaching back as far as the present line of Randolph Street. The movements of the Indians were regarded with great interest by the traders located in the neighborhood, who were anxious to sell them supplies in exchange for the furs brought in by them; they were regarded with interest also by the officers and men of the garrison, who desired to maintain peaceable relations with their savage neighbors.

But while furs were the principal article offered in payment for goods obtained from the traders, the Indians also brought in quantities of maple sugar put up in birch-bark packages, which usually found ready sale among the settlers. These packages were called "barks" by some and "mococks" by others, each of them containing from twenty-five to fifty pounds. Birkbeck says, in his Letters from Illinois, written in 1818, that maple sugar could be purchased from the Indians for about twenty-five cents a pound, which was about the same price as the coarse brown or "muscovado" sugar from Louisiana was sold for. In his book of reminiscences of early Chicago, Gale tells us that he remembers as a boy how he prized the granulated maple sugar which he bought from the squaws, "put up in small birch-bark boxes, ornamented with colored grasses, and in large baskets made of the same material, holding some twenty-five pounds." It was often called "Indian sugar." When the Indians visited the settlements it was their custom to wander about the streets in an aimless manner, stopping from time to time and taking a look into the window of any house they happened to be passing. The Indians, whether men, women, or children, would cover the tops of their heads with blankets to exclude the light, and press their faces against the window panes and gaze intently into the houses for long periods at a time, to the great discomfort and even terror of the people within. If they wished to enter a house they did not pause to knock, but stalked in and squatted on the floor, and none dared to resist them or to order them to depart from the premises. "You always heard a man come in," says Mrs. Baird, in her narrative, "as his step was firm, proud, and full of dignity. The women, however, made no sound."

There were several chiefs of the Potawatami tribe whose names are well known in the historic annals of that time. One of them was Black Partridge, often called "the Partridge"; there were also Winnemeg, or, as he was sometimes called, Winamac; Waubansee; Topenebe; Billy Caldwell, otherwise known as Sauganash or "the Sauganash," meaning Englishman, as he was an educated half-breed; and Alexander Robinson.

On account of the close and friendly relations existing between the whites and the Potawatamis, the latter were usually spoken of as "our Indians," to distinguish them from those tribes whose hunting grounds were at a greater distance. The Winnebagoes from the north were occasional visitors to the neighborhood, as were also tribes from the south,—Miamis and others,—who were generally referred to as "Wabash Indians."

When councils were held between the representatives of the Government and the tribes, to agree on a treaty, all those tribes were in attendance which could be allowed to have any claims to ownership of lands that were the subject of the treaties about to be made. At such assemblages, whenever they were held in the Western country, the Potawatamis were always found fully represented by their chiefs and a large number of their followers, insisting upon recognition of their claims; and they thus succeeded in getting the lion's share in the distributions made by the Government; and even though their claims were often vague and ill-defined they were always noisy and forward in asserting them. It thus happened that the Indians of the Potawatami tribe were greatly interested in keeping on good terms with the whites.

The Indians in their harangues described an assemblage held for purposes of deliberation as a place where a council fire was lighted; and in referring to the United States Government the Indian orators spoke of the States of the Union—which in 1811 were seventeen in number—as the nation of "the Seventeen Fires," that is, seventeen council fires.

In a former generation the Potawatamis were "French Indians" in their sympathies and trade relations; and this allegiance continued up to and even after the close of the French régime in 1763. They were reluctant to acknowledge the sway of the British during the period of their possession, but through the commanding influence of the New York Indians (the Iroquois or Six Nations) they kept the peace that was guaranteed by the Treaty of Fort Stanwix in 1768. This treaty was made between the English and the Iroquois with "their dependent tribes"; and it was understood that the said treaty bound the Western Indians, though afterwards the latter resented the proceedings. Narrowing the view to the Potawatami tribe, it appears that even while maintaining friendly relations with the Americans after the latter had succeeded to the sovereignty of the Western territories, the tribe was still to a certain extent under British influence. They shared in the gratuities annually distributed by the English at Maiden, Canada; and, as the event will show, they at length became the enemies of the Americans after the War of 1812 had begun.

There was a tract of land under cultivation some four miles southwest of the fort, situated on the west bank of the South Branch of the Chicago River, about where at the present time the old Illinois and Michigan Canal opens into that stream. This tract was owned by a man named Charles Lee, and the farm was known as "Lee's place."

On this tract stood a log cabin in which a number of men employed by Lee lived and carried on the work of the farm. Lee himself lived with his family in a house near the fort on the bank of the river opposite where it discharged into the lake; which was near the present intersection of Madison Street and Michigan Avenue. It will be remembered that in those days a long sand-bar prevented the river from finding an outlet directly in line with its course, and the current was forced to creep along close to the shore for some distance toward the south.

Lee's place was also known as "Hardscrabble," a name which continued to be applied to that neighborhood for many decades thereafter. "The name of 'Hardscrabble,'" it is said in a recent history of Chicago, "has always been a favorite one among pioneers to describe a place in which conditions of existence were hard and difficult. A place of that name was situated near Lewiston, New York, on the Niagara River, about the same period, and is mentioned in military despatches during the ensuing War of 1812; and in the State of Illinois the town of Streator was thus colloquially known during its earlier history." Before the Civil War, General Grant lived on a farm near St. Louis, where he built a log cabin with his own hands and called it "Hardscrabble." The same name was given to a work of fiction by Major John Richardson, with the subtitle "A Tale of Indian Warfare." This work takes the events which occurred at Lee's place and bases upon them a romance the details of which the author supplied largely from his imagination. Many other examples of the use of this name might be given.

On the seventh of April of the fateful year 1812 the log house at Hardscrabble was occupied by three men and a boy. The man who seems to have been in charge of the work at the farm was one Liberty White, and with him were a discharged soldier, also a Frenchman named Debou, and the boy, a son of Mr. Lee's. Communication between the farm and the fort was usually maintained by means of canoes. The products of the farm found a ready market at the fort, thus supplementing the supplies for the garrison coming in the regular way by lake schooners.

On the afternoon of the day mentioned a party of soldiers from the fort, consisting of a corporal and six men, had obtained leave to go up the river to catch a supply of fish, with which the stream at that time abounded. The party went up the South Branch, passing Lee's place, with the usual exchange of greetings, and at length reached a point some two miles beyond, where they remained engaged in fishing until nearly dark. Suddenly they were startled by hearing the dull boom of a cannon which they knew at once to be a danger signal from the fort, and as they surmised was caused by some manifestation of Indian hostility.

Hastily starting on their return, they soon came to Lee's place, which, they observed, was silent and deserted. It was now quite dark, and the party drew up to the bank, meantime calling and shouting, but receiving no answer. The mysterious silence which enveloped the place seemed to indicate that the occupants whom they had seen there a few hours before had suddenly become alarmed and had perhaps fled toward the fort, if indeed something worse had not befallen them. The corporal knew that the commandant would require a full report of the matter, and he at once began an investigation. Stepping ashore, the corporal and his men cautiously advanced toward the house, in which there was not a glimmer of light, and from which issued no sound of human voice. As they groped their way along they stumbled upon the body of a man lying on the ground, and by the sense of touch the corporal quickly ascertained that the head was without a scalp and the body mutilated. "The faithful dog of the murdered man," says the account from which the narrative is derived, "stood guarding the lifeless remains of his master." The party now reëmbarked and proceeded on their way to the fort without further adventure, where they arrived about eleven o'clock at night and made a report to the commandant of what they had seen.

We now return to the log house at Hardscrabble and to the dreadful occurrences which took place there on that eventful afternoon. After the fishing party had passed up the river beyond the farmhouse a wandering band of Indians appeared at the door of the cabin, and according to the custom of savages they entered and seated themselves on the floor without ceremony. Their deportment was sullen and unfriendly, and this circumstance aroused the suspicions of the men in the cabin. One of them, the Frenchman Debou, remarked to Liberty White: "I do not like the appearance of the Indians; they are none of our folks. I know by their dress and paint that they are not Potawatamis." Another one of the white men, the discharged soldier, then said to the boy Lee: "If that is the case we had better get away from them if we can. Say nothing, but do as you see me do."

As the afternoon was then far advanced, the discharged soldier passed out of the house and walked in a deliberate manner down the path toward the canoes tied up at the river bank, accompanied by the boy Lee. Some of the Indians inquired where they were going. The soldier pointed to the cattle standing among the haystacks on the opposite side of the river and made signs that they must go over and fodder them and that they would then come back and get supper for them all.

The boy got into one of the canoes while the man took possession of the other. The stream was narrow and they quickly passed over to the eastern side. Here they pulled some hay from the stacks for the cattle, and made a show of collecting them together, and when they had gradually made a circuit so that their movements were concealed by the haystacks they made a run for the woods which were near at hand and directed their course toward the fort as fast as their legs could carry them.

When they had covered a distance of a quarter of a mile in their flight they heard the sound of two gunshots, which they readily conjectured were fired by the strange Indians upon the two men, Liberty White and the Frenchman Debou. The man and boy did not slacken their speed until they had reached the river somewhere near the present location of State Street bridge. Here they paused long enough to call out to John Burns, then living in a cabin on the north bank of the river near that point, to hasten to the fort with his family, as the Indians were killing and scalping up the river at Lee's place.

Mrs. John Kinzie was at the Burns house at that moment to render what aid she could to Mrs. Burns, who but a few hours before had been delivered of a child. She instantly left the house and ran to her own home, a quarter of a mile distant, to give the alarm and procure help for the sick woman. She found the family awaiting her return, the table spread for supper, while Mr. Kinzie was playing on his violin and the children dancing before the fire.

Rushing into the house, quite out of breath and pale with terror, she was only able to exclaim: "The Indians! the Indians!"

"The Indians? What? Where?" they all demanded at once. Recovering herself for a moment, she replied: "Up at Lee's place, killing and scalping!" She then proceeded to relate that while she was at Burns's house a man and boy were seen running with all speed along the opposite bank of the river; that they had called across the river, warning the Burns family to save themselves, for the Indians were at Lee's place, killing and scalping, and that they themselves had barely been able to make their escape. The man and boy had then continued on their way as fast as they could toward the fort, where they reported the terrifying news to the officers of the garrison.

"All was now consternation and dismay," says the author of Wau-Bun, from which these particulars are gathered. The Kinzie family hurried to the river side and, by means of two old pirogues, or dugouts, that were kept moored near the house, made all possible haste across the river and took refuge in the fort.

We can but faintly realize what a consuming terror seized upon the pioneers when the cry was heard that hostile Indians were coming. Often the alarm and the attack were simultaneous, for however quick and resourceful the whites might be, the savages were superior to them in one respect at least: their stealthy advance and cat-like spring upon their foes usually gave them the advantage at the beginning, which was followed by brutal ferocity and unsparing cruelty in the treatment of their victims.

It was no wonder that Mrs. Kinzie was terrified at the mention of the approach of hostile Indians. In her childhood, as previously related, she had been stolen by a tribe of Seneca Indians in New York State and had lived among them for four years. She knew Indian ways in peace and warfare, and she knew that now at any moment the war-whoop might be heard and the savages be upon them. Not until she had crossed the threshold of the fort gates with her family about her could she feel a sensation of even temporary security.

After the fugitives from Lee's place had reached the fort and related their adventures the order was given to fire the alarm gun for the purpose of giving notice to any who were at a distance from the fort, and especially to the boat party, who were far up the South Branch of the river, that danger was impending.

Energetic measures were at once taken to secure the safety of the helpless Mrs. Burns and her infant. It was the gallant young Ensign Ronan who volunteered for this duty and, with five or six others who joined him, navigated an old scow up the river to the Burns house, took the mother and her infant child, together with the mattress upon which they lay, placed them on the scow, and soon had them within the walls of the fort, where they were tenderly cared for, and where all gathered felt perfectly safe.

The anxiety felt by all regarding the safety of the still absent boat party was at length relieved by its appearance at a late hour. Their tale was soon told, confirming and amplifying the alarming details related by the fugitives who had so narrowly escaped with their own lives.

On the morning following the events just narrated a party of volunteers made up of soldiers and civilians went up the river to Lee's place. There they found the bodies of Liberty White and the Frenchman Debou pierced with many wounds, the former having received the two shots heard by the fugitives, and the latter bearing the marks of numerous knife thrusts. The scalps of the murdered men had been taken by the Indians. The scalping process, which was practised by all the tribes of American Indians, has always added an element of horror to the outrages committed by them. The bodies of the murdered men were brought to the fort and buried in its immediate vicinity.

The few inhabitants of the place living outside the fort, consisting of discharged soldiers and half-breeds, now took measures to defend themselves against a possible attack from the Indians, which they fully expected to follow. They planked up the long piazzas of the Agency House, which stood a short distance west of the fort on the bank of the river, and cut loopholes through the planks for use of musketry. Greater watchfulness was exercised by the garrison, and every preparation was made to resist attack.

It was afterward learned through traders out in the Indian country that the perpetrators of this bloody deed were a band of Winnebago Indians who came into this neighborhood to "take some white scalps." Their plan had been to massacre all the men at the farm and then proceed down the river and kill every white man who could be found outside the walls of the fort. This plan they had partially carried out as we have seen, but hearing the sound of the cannon fired at the fort, which they knew would alarm all the whites of the neighborhood, and having no further hope of coming upon them by surprise, they thought it best to remain satisfied with what they had already accomplished, and hastily returned to their villages on Rock River.

The tragedy at Lee's place was no doubt the result of the hostility awakened among the Indians of the western country by the malign influence of Tecumseh communicated through the various tribes of the Wabash Indians, among whom he was regarded as the champion of Indian rights. The battle of Tippecanoe, which had apparently crushed his power, was fought in the previous September; but he had renewed his activity from the safe shelter of the British dominions in Canada, where he had taken refuge, and as it was plain to all observers at this time that war between England and the United States was inevitable, the friendship of that chief was regarded as desirable by the former. Indeed, he and his tribesmen became an integral part of the British forces.

But as the days and weeks passed by, and the friendly Indians of the neighborhood explained that the attacking party at Lee's place were Winnebagoes, with whose hostility they had no sympathy, the tension of feeling was gradually relieved and more dependence came to be placed on the peaceable disposition of the Potawatamis. The vigilance of the garrison was relaxed, as it seemed to all that no further outbreak was likely to occur. The whites became convinced at length that no connection existed between the Winnebagoes concerned in the attack at Lee's place and the other tribes in the vicinity, and that no concert of action was apparent between the different tribes. Thus the memory of the bloody deed was permitted to slumber, and no serious attempt was made to bring the perpetrators to account. In fact, the feeling of unrest among the savages in general throughout the country was such that it seemed the part of wisdom to postpone any schemes of reprisal or punishment that the whites might have entertained until the times were more propitious. The excitement and fear which such an outrage usually inspired among the people of the frontiers wore off by degrees, and the ordinary activities of life were resumed.

Thus for a year or more there had been intermittent alarms of Indian attacks and outrages before the final catastrophe. Besides the murders committed in this region and in other parts of the western country, the horses and cattle of settlers had been stolen. On one occasion, when marauders failed to find horses in the stable near the fort, they wantonly killed a number of sheep found on the premises.

A significant incident occurred within the walls of the fort a few months preceding its destruction. It is related that two Indians from a northern tribe had been admitted to the fort as visitors. They noticed Mrs. Heald and Mrs. Helm playing at battledore on the parade ground opposite the officers' quarters. One of the Indians turned to the interpreter and said: "The white chiefs' wives are amusing themselves very much; it will not be long before they are hoeing in our cornfields!"

Not much importance was attached to the remark at the time but it was afterward bitterly remembered.

The following is a brief summary of the important national events which occurred during the years from 1803 to 1812, concurrent with and of especial interest to this narrative.

The Louisiana Purchase, consummated on April 30, 1803, added a vast extent of territory to the American possessions beyond the Mississippi, and greatly increased the responsibilities of the general Government. The public men of that day but faintly realized the consequences that would follow the immense addition to the territories of the United States thus brought about, though with characteristic energy and good sense they set about the task of developing the new domain.

"The winning of Louisiana," says Roosevelt, in his Winning of the West, "followed inevitably upon the great westward thrust of the settlerfolk, a thrust which was delivered blindly, but which no rival race could parry, until it was stopped by the ocean itself."

The entire area of what is now the State of Illinois was, in 1803, a part of Indiana Territory, which had been organized three years before, with William Henry Harrison, then a young man of twenty-seven, as first Governor. It was not until February, 1809, that Illinois Territory was organized, with Ninian Edwards as the first Governor. No civil government was in existence at Chicago; the first authority, as at all frontier posts, was military. The only people here during the period of which we are writing, besides the few traders we have mentioned and their helpers, were the officers and soldiers of Fort Dearborn, and they were of course under military authority and discipline. All orders came to the captain commanding at the fort through the commandant at Detroit, Colonel Jacob Kingsbury, until the breaking out of the war with England, when General William Hull, previously the Governor of Michigan Territory, was placed in command of the Northwestern army then assembling at Detroit. Orders thenceforth issued from the commanding general.

The southern portion of the territory now within the bounds of the State of Illinois had been settled in some few localities during the French period of domination, and the population of the towns of Kaskaskia, Prairie du Rocher and Cahokia were predominantly French, being composed of a few native born French, but mostly of French Canadians and Creoles.

Even under British domination (1763 to 1783) there were practically no English-speaking people among the inhabitants of the places mentioned except the garrisons in the forts at those points; and after the conquering march of Colonel George Rogers Clark and his Virginians in 1778 and 1779 the English authority ceased altogether, the forces forming the garrisons having become prisoners in the hands of the Americans. The result of the stream of emigration that set in from Kentucky and the States farther east, after the creation of the Northwest Territory in 1787, was that in a few years the Americans outnumbered the earlier inhabitants.

At the time Fort Dearborn was built almost the entire State of Illinois, as at present constituted, was included in a county called St. Clair County. It was not until long after Illinois had become a State in the Union that county government began to be effective in any way in the affairs of the little community at Chicago; and indeed, it did not matter in the least to the inhabitants what the name of the county might be in which the place was situated. It is quite likely that no one there even knew that he was living within the limits of St. Clair County, which in any case was merely a geographical expression carrying no exercise of jurisdiction whatever.

Thomas Jefferson was President of the United States from 1801 to 1809; in the latter year he was succeeded by James Madison, who was President for the ensuing eight years.

III
The Tragedy

III
THE TRAGEDY