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Black Hawk's Warpath

9781465669049
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
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Overview
Tom Gordon hastily finished his dish of stewed prunes, bolted a fat doughnut, drained his cup of black tea, and then joined his brother on the long porch which extended across the entire front of the low, rambling building. The two sixteen-year old lads were identical twins, both long of limb, freckle-faced and red-haired. Each wore cowhide boots, into which were tucked baggy trousers of gray wool. In their leather belts were sheath knives. Flannel shirts of a bright blue shade completed their simple attire. Across the narrow Chicago River, directly facing them and clearly outlined in the morning sun, was the frontier outpost of Fort Dearborn. The stockaded fort stood on a promontory, around which the river swept to the southeast, joining Lake Michigan about a half-mile below. Above the fort, built some sixteen years before, in the year 1816, the rude cabins, shanties and other buildings of the village were strung haphazardly along both banks of the stream. Around the village and bordering on the lake, almost the entire neighborhood was a low, boggy prairie. A man could scarcely walk across parts of it, even in the driest summer weather. And at this spring season—late April was the month—the place was well nigh impassable, except by a few devious footpaths. During the past few days, a great throng of Indians had come pouring into the vicinity of the fort. There were, altogether, some two or three thousand savages of different tribes, but mainly of the Pottawattomee nation. “The Injuns have summoned a grand council,” explained a soldier, “to talk over the matter of a certain treaty that the Great White Father at Washington wants ’em to sign.” All of the leading sachems of the region had come in, with the notable exception of Black Hawk, foremost chieftain of the Sacs, and there was much speculation as to the reason for his absence. The Pottawattomees were represented by such chiefs as Alexander Robinson, the son of a Scotch father and Indian mother, Sauguanauneebee (Sour Water), Shaubena, Chepoi (the Corpse), and various others of lesser note. Then, too, all of the principal traders of the region were on hand to deal with the Indians. Their tents and trading booths dotted the landscape, and helped to give the scene almost the festive appearance of a fair.

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