Chapter 9
pages
(32 - 40)
THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. GOV. REYNOLDS'S ACCOUNT OF IT.
But this is a much less war than the government
intended to get up in this region. It was planned to send an army of Kentucky
volunteers across Indiana and Illinois to Peoria Lake, and another of Illinois
militia, under Governor Edwards and Col. Russell, from the southern portion of
Illinois, to form a junction with them in that vicinity, and, thus united, to be
able to overcome any force the Indians might be able to bring against them. Gov.
Shelby, of Kentucky, called for volunteers for this purpose, and got more men
than he wanted, and had to turn some back. The troops accepted were concentrated
at Vincennes into an army, and marched up the Wabash to Fort Harrison (near
where the city of Terre Haute has since been built), and there crossed the
Wabash, and struck out into the Grand Prairie, for the Kickapoo village and
Peoria. They had been brought up in a land of forests, where they could always
have wood to cook with, trees to shelter them against an enemy, and plenty of
pure, running water, and provisions to eat; but here they were out of sight of
timber, in the bleak, wide expanse, with no good water, and not much of any
kind, and provisions scarce; and, to cap the climax, they had heard the foolish
stories, that all the travelers who have traveled in the great prairies tell,
about the horrible prairie-fires, that can lick up whole regiments, and they saw
the prairies on fire in the distance, and they got horribly scared: they got
sulky: they mutinied, and went home, without doing any thing, leaving the other
and smaller army to its fate; and, had the Indians known the situation, they
could have easily cut it off.
Fortunately, however, for us, the Indians did not know
the unsupported condition of Edwards and Russell's little army; and as soon as
the latter found they were unsupported by Gen. Hopkins, they made their escape
out of that part of the country. But as a stripling of their army, John
Reynolds, who afterward became governor of the state, besides filling several
other high offices, published a history of his life and times, I prefer to let
him tell the story about the smaller army in his own way. He says: "We left Camp
Russell—marched up the northwest side of Cahokia creek, nearly to its source,
thence across the prairie to Macoupin creek, not far above the present
Carlinville. . . . We had guides along who conducted the army to the village of
Potawatamie Indians, known as the Black Partridge village, situated at the
Illinois bluffs, nearly opposite the upper end of Peoria Lake. We camped within
four or five miles of the village, and all was silent as a grave-yard—as we
expected a night attack, as was the case with Harrison at Tippecanoe. When
troops are silent, sulky and savage, they will fight. Our horses were tied near
the camp, saddled and prepared for action, if needed. We lay with our clothes
on, and guns in our arms.
"A soldier by the name of Bradshaw fixing his gun, it
fired. Every man in the army was sure of a battle; but, in a few minutes, Gov.
Edwards cried out 'it was an accident.' One thing I recollect, I had a white
blanket-coat on, and I considered it too white at night. I hulled this coat off
in double-quick time. It was said every one with a white coat on in the battle
of Tippecanoe was killed. . . . The next morning, in a fog, our company, the
spies, met two Indians, as we supposed, and our captain fired on them. Many of
us, before he shot, begged for mercy for the Indians, as they wanted to
surrender. But Judy said any body will surrender when they can not help it, and
that he did not leave home to take prisoners. I saw the dust rise off the
Indian's leather shirt, when Judy's bullet entered his body. Both Indians were
mounted on good horses. The Indian commenced singing his death-song, the blood
streaming out of his mouth and nose. He was reeling, and a man from the main
army, Mr. Wright, came up within a few yards of the wounded Indian, but the
Indian just previously had presented his gun at some of us near him, but we
darted off our horses as quick as thought, and presented the horses between him
and us, so he could not shoot us; but Wright was either surprised or something
else, and remained on his horse. The Indian, as quick as a steel trap, shot
Wright, and in a few minutes the Indian expired The other Indian supposed to be
a warrior was a squaw. But before the fact was known, many guns were fired at
her. It is singular that so many guns fired at the squaw missed her; but when
the whites surrounded her and knew her sex, all was over. She cried terribly,
and was taken prisoner, and at last delivered over to her nation. Many of the
French, in the army, understood her language, and made her as happy as possible.
In this matter, I never fired my gun, as I saw no occasion for it.
"When the troops came near the village, no order nor
restraint could be observed. All pounced on the town, pell-mell, with shouts
'loud and long'; but just when we came in sight, the Indians—men, women and
children— retreated from the village, in the greatest hurry and speed. Near the
town were swamps, almost impassable, and a great portion of the horsemen were
mired before they knew it. My horse fell down in the mud, and I went rolling
over his head, in the swamp. Near me, I saw Gov. Edwards and horse flounder in a
deep mud-hole, both down and covered with black mud. The village was built here
on account of the mud and impassable morasses, for defense. The Indians saved
themselves by the swamps. Horsemen could not act, and the cat-tail and brush
were so thick in these morasses that the Indians hid in them, and it was
dangerous to approach them. Several parties, on foot, trailed after the body of
Indians two or three miles, across the swampy bottom, to the river, and killed
some of the enemy on the route, and at the river. A few of the army were
wounded, but none killed. . . . What corn and other articles could not be
removed were burnt. A complete destruction of the village was effected. Some
Indian children were found in the ashes and saved. A large Indian was wounded,
and thereby was unable to run off with the rest; he was starving, and ate bread
voraciously when it was given him. He was protected while the army remained in
the village, but it was said that some straggler behind killed him after the
army left. . .
"When we reached this village, we heard nothing of
Hopkins; and I presume it was not prudent to remain there any time. In this
vicinity, in a day or two, one thousand Indians could be assembled. Under these
circumstances, the army started back the same day they destroyed the village. I
recollect all the booty I took was a deer-skin, sewed fast all around, and it
full of corn. It rained in the evening, and my corn-sack got wet, which caused
it to become as slippery as a fish; but I hung to it, and got it into camp that
night.
"Every one dreaded an attack from the Indians, as they
all knew that they were numerous in that vicinity. We traveled on to dark, in
torrents of rain, and camped on the high bluff of the river, where we could
obtain neither water to drink nor wood to burn. We were all exhausted, and many
lay down in the rain and mud without food, fire, or water to drink. I never
experienced such a bad night. I saw in the morning men sleeping half-covered
with mud, where the horses and men had tramped the earth. No Indians appeared,
and we were glad of it. The next morning, we started by time. Got out into the
open woods; made fires; dried ourselves; fired off our guns; loaded again; eat
our breakfast, and commenced in earnest our march for home.
"While the army was in the neighborhood of the old
village of Peoria, Capt. Craig had his boat lying in the lake, adjacent to
Peoria, The boat was fortified, so that the fire of the enemy could not
penetrate it. Craig was attacked on several occasions, by the Indians, but
received no damage. . . .
"Our army reached Camp Russell in safety, after some
weeks' march, where we were received with the honors of a salutation, booming
from the Fort Chartres's cannon, and the roar of small arms. The troops, for the
most part, were permitted to return to their homes; and Judy's company, wherein
I was a private, was discharged entirely.
"Thus closed this short, energetic campaign, which, no
doubt, did much service in preventing the Indians from marauding around the
frontiers. Not a man was killed, and all were pleased with the services they
performed for their country."—Reynolds's Life and Times, 137 to 142.
What an extraordinary story is this! A considerable
army marches about 200 miles north to form a junction with another much larger,
marching from the southeast, at Peoria, and, properly to expedite the business,
the small army sends Captain Craig with his command up the river, in boats, with
provisions. The captain's company arrives at Peoria, in due time, and takes the
village and burns it, and is quietly resting on its oars. The small army, in
stead of going to Peoria, passes within a few miles of it, without sending over
to see if Capt. Craig had arrived, or was in need of succor, or could tell where
Hopkins, the commander of the larger army, was, marches up to the Indian
village, about twenty miles above Peoria, finds no body there but a man and his
wife, who are not combatants, but beg hard for their lives; but mercy reigns not
in that crowd: they kill the man at once, and shoot many balls at the woman, but
her sex, or her manitou, or what-not, protects her. The troops ascertain (but
how they ascertain it is not stated) that the charmed individual is a woman;
they cease to desire to do what it seems they were unable to do—to kill the
woman. They afterward found an old cripple, that was unable to get out of the
way, who was also killed. "What few Indians had been there, except these three
and some small children, escaped into the swamps, and across the river. Then,
without hearing from Hopkins or Craig, they turned tail, the same day, and fled
precipitately through mud and rain about 200 miles, to their starting-place,
passing Peoria again, without sending over to ascertain the fate of Craig and
his boats. And all this without their having lost a man or having obtained any
knowledge as to where the Indian army was. For all that they knew, the Indians
were fighting Craig at Peoria, or Hopkins in the Grand Prairie near by. Again he
says they camped on the 'bluffs of the river, where we could obtain neither
water to drink nor wood to burn'. This, I am positive is not correct. Every
where along there the bluffs abound with wood. I have been over that ground,
but, for fear of a mistake, I inquired of Mr. Josiah Fulton, who is acquainted
with every foot of ground in that neighborhood, and was for years among those
Indians, and he says there was then no place along there where wood was not
plenty. I suspect Reynolds did not know where he was. In stead of being on the
bluff, he was in the great prairie, near where Metamora or Cruger now stands.
He further says, "When we reached this village we heard
nothing of Hopkins." Why should they, when they shot the first man who met them
and attempted to speak to them? And on that account he says, "I presume it was
not prudent to remain there any time." Then why not turn and meet Hopkins, as
they knew the direction he was coming, in stead of fleeing pell-mell 200 miles,
in another direction?
But to what place did they flee ? He says to Camp
Russell, which was about a mile north of Edwardsville, in Madison county. But he
adds that they were saluted by the guns of Fort Chartres, which, however,
happens to be an old dilapidated fort some forty or fifty miles from Camp
Russell.
He calls this a short and energetic campaign, and
claims great credit for their patriotic services. A more extraordinary
hallucination is not on record, unless it was the case of the monomaniac who
worked himself into the belief that his legs were glass, and was afraid to use
them, lest they should break.
Of himself Reynolds says, on page 139, "In this small
matter I never fired my gun, as I saw no occasion for it"; and on page 141, "I
recollect all the booty I took was a deer-skin, sewed fast all around, and it
full of corn. It rained in the evening, and my corn-sack got wet, which caused
it to become as slippery as a fish; but I hung to it, and got it into camp that
night." Yet for these services, and those in another campaign to Peoria, the
next fall, in which no one fired a gun, he assumed the title of 'The old
Ranger'; and on account of this title, not his services, he was enabled to
obtain the best offices in the state, as long as he lived.
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Updated March 1, 2005