USA > Wisconsin > An illustrated history of Wisconsin from prehistoric to present periods : the story of the state interspersed with realistic and romantic events > Part 30
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39 | Part 40 | Part 41 | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44 | Part 45 | Part 46 | Part 47 | Part 48 | Part 49 | Part 50 | Part 51 | Part 52 | Part 53 | Part 54 | Part 55 | Part 56 | Part 57 | Part 58 | Part 59 | Part 60
The old warrior and his family, and a small portion of his band, left Rock Island, October 10, 1833, for their old hunting grounds, on Skunk river, on the west side of the Mississippi, below Shokokon. At this point, he had a
228
HISTORY OF WISCONSIN.
comfortable dwelling-house built, and settled down with the intention of passing the balance of his days in peace and security.
Early in the autumn of 1837, the President of the United States invited deputations from several tribes of Indians residing upon the Upper Mississippi. An invitation was also extended to Black Hawk, through the influence of Col. Geo. Davenport, of Rock Island, and the old chief gladly availed himself of the opportunity of again visiting Washington.
Before returning from Washington, the visiting Sac and Fox delegation, consisting of Keokuk, his wife and son, four chiefs of the nation, Black Hawk and son, and several warriors, visited all the large cities of the east.
Black Hawk attracted great attention in all the eastern cities, especially in Boston. Here they were received by the mayor of the city and afterwards by Govenor Everett. The doors of Fanueil Hall, " the old cradle of liberty," were thrown open and a levee was held. After dinner the delegation was escorted to the state house by a military band, and upon their arrival, they were conspicuously seated near the speaker's desk, the house being filled with ladies, members of the legislature and city dignitaries.
Governor Everett eloquently addressed the audience, briefly outlining the history of the Sac and Fox tribes.
After the governor closed his address, which was followed by several chiefs, and after them the old war-chief, Black Hawk, made a short but digni- fied speech. Presents were then distributed to them by the governor. Keo- kuk was given a beautiful sword and a brace of pistols, his son was given a fine little rifle, the other chiefs long swords, and Black Hawk a sword and a brace of pistols.
The closing of the ceremonies at the capitol was followed by an exhibi- tion of an Indian war-dance on the Common, in the front of the capitol, in the presence of thirty thousand spectators.
Upon Black Hawk's return from Boston, he removed his family and little band farther west on the Des Moines river, near the storehouse of an Indian trader, where a house had been previously erected for his use. His family con- sisted of his wife, two sons, an only daughter and her husband.
In September, 1838, the aged chief, with the head men of his little band, started to go to Rock Island to receive their annuities, but he was taken sick, and returned home. On October 3, 1838, after being confined to his bed about two weeks, he departed* from the scenes of his youth and disappoint-
#Black Hawk was buried on the Des Moines river bottom, on the north side, about ninety rods from where he died. He was buried upon the spot where he sat in council the year before, with Iowa Indians. He was buried in a suit of military clothes, made to order, and given to him when in Washington by General Jackson, with hat, sword, gold epaulets, etc. At the head of the grave, a flag-staff, some twenty feet high, was placed, on which hung a silk flag. (J. B. Patterson in "Life of Black Hawk.")
ZACHARY TAYLOR
JEFFERSON DAVIS · 1864 .
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
THREE ILLUSTRIOUS MEN WHO TOOK PART IN THE BLACK HAWK WAR.
230
HISTORY OF WISCONSIN.
ments in after life, to meet the Great Spirit, in the land where the rights of an Indian are as much respected as his white brothers.
After Black Hawk and the Sac nation had been sacrificed upon the altar of fraud, avarice, and ambition, the general government, as an act of atone- ment, through its commissioners, met the chiefs and head men of the Sac and Fox confederation, in council at Fort Armstrong, on September 31, 1832, and entered into a treaty, whereby the confederation ceded to the United States, in consideration of twenty thousand dollars in specie, to be paid annually for a period of thirty years, a large portion of the country bordering upon the west- ern frontier.
Had this recognition of the rights of Black Hawk and his nation been made a few months prior, hundreds of lives and untold thousands of dollars would have been saved, and a stain upon the nation's honor obviated.
Black Hawk's treatment by the general government, in making the treaty of St. Louis, in 1804, without his knowledge or consent-permitting squatters to encroach upon the Indian village, when millions of acres of unoccupied lands, included in the treaty, were accessible-the shooting of Black Hawk's truce-bearers at Sycamore creek-the slaughter of the Indians at the mouth of the Bad Ax, while trying to surrender with a truce-flag displayed-the slaugh- ter of the defenseless women and children, after they had crossed the Missis- sippi, by the Sioux hirelings of the United States-was only equaled by the last sad act of this most terrible of tragic dramas-the exhuming of Black Hawk's bones from their peaceful slumbers, on the banks of the Mississippi, by the Iowa vandals, who exhibited them in a dime museum .*
*In July, 1839, Black Hawk's grave was desecrated and his body carried off by one Dr. Turner, who lived at Lexington, Ia. At the request of Governor Lucas, of the territory of Iowa, Black Hawk's bones were in the fall of 1839 or spring of 1840 returned and placed in the collection of the Burlington Geological and Historical Society, and, it is said, that they were burned in 1855, with the balance of the society's collections.
THE BLACK HAWK TOWER.
Black Hawk's favorite resort was on the highest bank of the Rock river, and was selected by his father as a look-out. From this point the view of the Mississippi river and valley for many miles was unobstructed.
BLACK HAWK'S WATCH TOWER. BY JENNIE M. FOWLER.
Beautiful tower; famous in history,
Rich in legend, in old-time mystery,
Graced with tales of Indian lore, Crowned with beauty from summit to shore.
Below, winds the river, silent and still,
Nestling so calmly 'mid island and hill,
Above, like warriors, proudly and grand,
Tower the forest trees, monarchs of land.
A land-mark for all to admire and wonder, With thy history ancient, for nations to ponder, Boldly thou liftest thy head to the breeze, Crowned with thy plumes, the nodding trees.
Years now are gone-forevermore fled, Since the Indian crept, with cat-like tread, With moccasined foot, with eagle eye- The red men, our foes, in ambush lie.
The owl still his nightly vigil keeps, While the river, below him, peacefully sleeps, The whip-poor-will utters his plaintive cry, The trees still whisper, and gently sigh.
The pale moon still creeps from her daily rest, Throwing her rays o'er the river's dark breast, The katy-did and cricket, I trow, In days gone by, chirruped even as now.
Indian; thy camp-fires no longer are smouldering, Thy bones 'neath the forest moss long have been mouldering, The " Great Spirit" claims thee. He leadeth thy tribe, To new hunting-grounds not won with a bribe.
On thy Watch Tower, the pale-face his home now makes, His dwelling, the site of the forest tree takes, Gone are thy wigwams, the wild deer long fled, Black Hawk, with his tribe, lie silent and dead.
231
THE MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS.
The Songster on the
BY MAURICE ~ MCKENNA .
I love to live in Oshkosh. There is no higher joy. It satisfies the spirit with a bliss that cannot cloy. I would not soon exchange thee, nor thy transcendent worth, For all the hanghty cities that lie across the earth. . I love thy janty maidens-their faces are so sweet, And their glances are so cunning as they flit along the street --- In their wealth of radiant color beneath the sun's rich rays, Dear rainbows of the summer that grace thy brighter days. Ah! thou hast nothing wanting, my Oshkosh paradox- But thy topmost flower of merit is the songster on the Fox.
There's something about Oshkosh that makes me feel at home -- I cannot find it elsewhere, how far soe'er I roam. Whenever I am absent, my burning soul doth yearn With the sigh of desolation for the hour of my return. I cannot well explain it-so far beyond my art Disport the palpitations of my incandescent heart. Compared with thy famed heroes wrapped in Promethean fire, How puny are the annals of Athens, Rome, or Tyre! Thy sawdust swamps, my Oshkosh, in shiploads or in crocks, Can down the world in music by thy songster on the Fox.
Thou art, indeed, an honor, a cornerstone of fame, To the good old Indian Sachem that gave to thee his name; His memory shall flourish, despite the sneers of foes, While the current of this river through thy throbbing bosom flows. Thou canst but be immortal, by the melody that pours From the bards within thy waters and those upon thy shores. At morning, noon, and even, thy heart is ever light, But the chiefest of thy laurels is that minstrelsy at night. Dispel each haunting phantom, Pandora's magic box, And hail ! thou glorious chorus of the bullfrogs of the Fox.
Let others tune their praises, in ecstasy to sing, About the boasted beauties of the warblers of the spring, The mockingbird, the robin, the bobolink and lark, That kindle in the bosom a weird, exultant spark. Oh! these are petty songsters along our earthly way Beside the green-robed singers, for whom I write this lay.
11
THE SONGSTER ON THE FOX.
Raise not the voice of rapture to shout their praise too high -- Those threaders of the forest, those soarers in the sky. They rest beneath our notice; they are not orthodox, Beside the bullfrogs' chorus at midnight on the Fox.
What a potent thing is envy! How it colors all things black! They pretend that they have singers over there in Fond du Lac! There is nothing 'neath the azure that can worse or baser be Than the ear that will not listen or the eye that will not see. Dear old Oshkosh! They malign thee, and they strive to set thee low; But thou art so far above them that they never land a blow. When all virtues are paraded, when the fables all are told Of the wealth that they have hoarded, of their temples and their gold, Oh, how paltry and how pigmy seem all their motley flocks, Beside the minstrel glory of the bullfrog on the Fox!
My own beloved Oshkosh, when I have told my years, When time, with its attractions, forever disappears, When the storm-clouds are over, the smile of earth, and frown, And, shattered with life's labors, I lay the burden down, When the mourners come around me by Winnebago's wave, And they who knew and loved me shall gather at my grave, When the hands at last are folded that nevermore shall reap; Forbid that human discord disturb my funeral sleep; Let nature's choir come forward, decked out in summer frocks, And leave that holy duty to the songsters of the Fox.
Yes; the sweetest thing in Oshkosh is the music of her frogs When they swell the lofty chorus along their lines of logs. No melody diviner to this planet lends its light Than the anthems of those minstrels in the silence of the night. It lifts the soul to Heaven to list this mighty tune 'Neath the blinking of yon starlets and the cold gaze of the moon. What are all the prima donnas that the world ever scanned To the tenor and soprano of these choristers so grand ? Oh! what is all art's tinsel-a mimicry that mocks !-- To the bullfrog's song at Oshkosh as its sweeps along the Fox ?
Three Premonitions "J.A.WATROUS.
" BOB, I don't feel just right about this day's work; I am depressed ; I feel sure that something out of the common is in store for me between now and the end of the battle soon to open. I never felt that way before when we were to have a fight. If I had a million or a billion dollars and the giving of it would take me safely through the day, and lift this awful load from my mind for good, I would give it. I am sure of trouble-great trouble, and I guess it is death; but I haven't the courage to straggle, to desert the rest of the boys, to keep out of the fight-to leave your side, Bob, where I have stood in so many contests."
This sorrowful, gloomy, short speech, was made by an Illinois man to a Wisconsin soldier the morning of the second day of the battle of Chickamauga ; both belonged to an Illinois regiment.
At the time it was made both men were cooking coffee and broiling their pork ration over the same small fire. Both had been very quiet that Septem- ber morning, after one day of hard fighting. Both were brave men and had been tested at Fort Donelson, Shiloh, Vicksburg, Jackson, and elsewhere.
" Nonsense, Tom, shake off the feeling-I felt that way yesterday, before our regiment made the charge and drove the enemy from their stronghold. I knew I was to be wounded, killed, or made a prisoner, but here I am as hungry as ever, and as whole and well as I ever was; yet twenty-four hours ago I was certain I would be an angel in Heaven now, instead of cooking breakfast on earth. These premonitions don't count, Tom ; they are a fraud and delusion. I will have none of them. Pull yourself together and take heart, for we are going to have some slick work before night. Come, come ; shake off your coat of gloom and eat breakfast. You will feel better after that."
" That's all right, Bob; you talk most cheerfully, but it don't help me; I have tried the shaking off remedy; it don't shake. It comes back with renewed force. I wish to God I could shake it off; I never felt so miserable in all my life. Tell my folks I faced the music like a man, and fell on duty."
" Tom, stop your infernal nonsense ; you make me nervous. Drink your coffee and fill up on hardtack and the underside of a corn-fed pig, and you will be all right."
ii
THREE PREMONITIONS.
So spoke jolly Bob Graves, but it was not said in his usual cheerful, devil- may-care way. He was worried about his chum and long-time tent mate. It had flitted through his mind that his dear friend might be right, that that day's battle might separate them forever, and the thought was distressing him more than he could conceal. He, like all soldiers, did not like to hear about pre- monitions.
These two men, who had been to- gether ever since they enlisted in Chicago in June, 1861, partook of their soldier breakfast without saying a word, and then picked leaves from the same bush and cleaned off their tin plates, pewter spoons and iron knives and forks and tucked them away in their haversacks without looking at each other.
When Tom had fastened his tin cup to his haversack he said :
" Bob, did you see me wash dishes and get ready for business ? "
" No; I was busy washing my own."
" I am sorry."
" Why so? What's the matter now? Do you want to make me crazy with your dog-goned premonitions ? "
" Now, don't act that way, Bob. You know I would not harm you or hurt your feelings any sooner than I would harm or wound the feelings of my dear mother."
"Then why did you ask me if I saw you wash your dishes? It was not like you. I don't want to get it into my head that you are to be taken from me. That would unman me for the fight. I couldn't stand that, Tom. But tell me why you asked."
Tom's face was as white as the fleecy clouds overhead. His lips twitched and his voice trembled as he answered :
" Because, my dear old chum, it was the last time I shall wash them. This will be my last fight. I shall be killed to-day."
Before poor Bob had time to say a word in reply a rebel shell had made things lively in camp. -
"Fall in, Company B!" shouted the orderly, and our two friends were the first to respond.
The shelling continued for some time, and some of the broken pieces of iron came painfully close to the Illinois regiment.
iii
THREE PREMONITIONS.
Both young soldiers showed their metal in the fierce and decisive battle of that hot September day, almost a lifetime ago.
Both were too brave to have exhibited the white feather, the one to the other, and both to their comrades, but neither desired to participate in the fight; both, though natural heroes, would have grasped at a medium excuse to keep from under fire.
The plain trutlı of the whole matter was, strange as it may seem at this distance from those stirring scenes, Bob had heard so much about premonitions, and so much that had come out in exact accordance with the premonition programme, that he expected every minute to see his young comrade fall.
Their regiment had participated in several sharp and dangerous charges, and been twice driven back by the enemy.
The final struggle of the day came, in that part of the line of battle, when the afternoon was well spent.
General James Longstreet, the peer of any man who led confederate troops, and the corps commander most dreaded by the union army after the death of Stonewall Jackson, massed his men at Chickamauga as he had done at the great battles on the Peninsula, Second Bull Run, Antietam, Chancellors- ville and Gettysburg, with skill and courage equal to that exhibited by any confederate commander, and when the order to charge was spoken by buglers and officers, his men of gray marched in solid phalanx against the union line. What awful moments those were as the boys in blue watched the long line of gray, with glistening guns, advance without a sign of fear-advance to death and eternity for a host.
Up, up, up they came, with firm, yea, eager steps, without firing a gun, until the color of their eyes could almost be seen by our soldiers. Then there rolled out a slaughtering volley into their very faces, at a range so short that powder was blown into the hands and cheeks of the killed and wounded.
What wonder that they recoiled ; that they wavered ?
Their officers sprang to their front and made desperate efforts to hold them in position, and succeeded ; but when, a few seconds later, another blind ing, deadly volume of lead, powder and smoke swept into the heroic column, killing scores and wounding hundreds, they faltered, wavered and then flew back over the ground they had so bravely marched over a moment before.
A ringing cheer from the Unionists told of a temporary victory.
But it would not have been General Longstreet's corps had not that chief- tain and his division and brigade commanders rallied their defeated troops and again led them to the charge. Their numbers were less by a thousand than when the first charge was made.
On, on, on they come with that old yell so familiar to every union soldier who has been within hearing of a confederate line of battle in action. It
iv
THREE PREMONITIONS.
makes one's hair stand on end to think of that old rebel yell, even twenty- eight years after it died away at Appomattox.
Again they receive volley after volley from the well-tried troops of the west; and again, after nearly reaching the brow of the hill, which, when once reached by them, would mean a great victory for the southern army, they are so pressed with bullets, canister, solid shot and exploding shell that they break and fly back over the field.
And what man can blame them for doing so ?
It seemed certain death to stand still, and it was no less than certain, ap- parently, that death would come if they went forward. Some of them might live if they fell back; and they fell, with all speed, though they were not routed -not demoralized. Longstreet and his men were never demoralized, though many times whipped.
I ask myself, now, could any live and stand there in the face of that storm of lead, or move forward upon those several lines of battle firmly maintained by the Unionists, and survive? Could they ? Who can tell?
After this charge, which was so gallantly resisted, the regiment to which our young friends belonged was moved to the left quite a distance, where it re- mained in position for an hour or more, or so long that the men thought the fighting was all over; when, suddenly, and with great energy, they were attacked by what seemed a still greater force than that which they had assisted in repelling an hour or two before. This time the confederates were masters of the situation ; they drove the union men back with great loss.
The brigade in which these two men fought remained until it was com- pletely surrounded by yelling, victorious confederates. It was pandemonium more than broke loose.
These two young men had stood close together throughout the struggle all day, watching each other, hoping that they might escape the day's disasters. While Bob was loading his trusty rifle, with his face turned away so that he could not see his comrade, he was shocked to hear that tried friend groan, and say :
" Good-by, Tom; I'm gone."
Bob turned around just in time to see him fall. An instant later he himself was wounded in the leg, and fell.
About one hundred men of the regiment broke through the confederate forces and made their escape to the union line, while the balance of them were taken prisoners, including, of course, the wounded.
What wonder that the colonel of that Illinois regiment, when he saw the handful of survivors of his brave band of 500 only the day before, sat by the roadside and cried like a child? His command had melted away in a day, more than half of it killed or wounded. He did what many a commander has
V
THREE PREMONITIONS.
done under similar circumstances. Commanders of brave soldiers love them, and they mourn them sincerely when disaster befalls them.
As they, our heroes, had tented, messed, marched and fought together ever since they enlisted, these two men, one dangerously and the other most painfully wounded, remained where they fell, together, giving mother earth the benefit of their patriot blood.
It was all of an hour after he was struck down that Tom opened his eyes and beheld his comrade at his side. These questions were asked in such rapid succession that the questioned could not answer one until all had been laid before him :
" Where are we? How did we get here? What are we doing here ?"
" We are on the battlefield, my dear boy. We were shot and are waiting to be carried away."
" I told you so, Bob, I told you so, but you wouldn't believe me; you laughed at me; I knew something terrible was going to happen. I hoped it would not be quite as bad as this, yet I expected it would be death. Do you think I am mortally wounded ? Are we in the enemy's lines ? Has anybody come to care for us ?"
" No, Tom, you are not mortally wounded, so brace right up; you will get well. We are in the enemy's lines. No one has yet come to care for us, but some one will come before long. Here, take a drink from my canteen; don't go to fainting here."
As they ceased to talk the attention of both was attracted to a tall, weather- beaten, blue-eyed, shabbily-clad, but kindly-faced sergeant in the regulation gray uniform.
He seemed to have been standing there listening to the conversation of the two wounded soldiers during the entire talk. He asked :
"Are you 'uns bad shot, boys ? "
Tom answered the confederate: " Yes, Johnnie, I guess I'm done for ; please take good care of my comrade here; almost anything will answer for me. Mark my grave so my folks can find me when they come for my body."
" Oh, now, don't you alls get discouraged. I'll go and bring a doctah and have your wounds dressed and you will feel less like pressing on to the big town in the skies," and off he went, soon returning with a young surgeon, who proposed to examine Bob's wound first.
" No, doctor, please look after my friend ; I am not badly hurt. I don't think he is as badly injured as he says he is, but please look after him; never mind me ; mine is only a flesh wound. He's been suffering from a premonition ever since breakfast."
vi
THREE PREMONITIONS.
Our confederate sergeant was an interested onlooker, frequently putting in a word of encouragement, saying nothing unkind, as was often the case when prisoners were brought face to face with an enemy
It was half an hour before the doctor had completed the examination of the wounds and dressed them.
" What is the prospect, doctah?" asked the confederate sergeant. " Can you save the least one ?" pointing to poor, white-faced, big-eyed Tom.
" Oh, yes; with good care both will get well, but with such care as he must expect in hospital I fear that one will not get out of the scrape with his life. His is a very bad wound-a very dangerous one. Only the best of care will save him. Too bad he can't be at his home."
" I guess I will camp down here with the Yanks, to-night, doctah, if you've no objection ; my company is only a bit over the way, and if it moves I can easily join 'em."
Before " camping down " the sergeant brought a canteen of fresh water from a spring near by, and the northerners emptied their haversacks, when the three ate a light supper, from necessity; the confederate having a piece of cornpone, and the others only a hardtack apiece. That supper was as silently eaten as was the breakfast about which I spoke.
While the maimed heroes were courting sleep that night, the confederate sergeant informed them that his home was only a mile from that very spot, and if he could get the consent of his colonel and the provost-marshal to do so, he would see that his new Yankee friends were taken to that home, with the request that his mother and sisters care for them until they were well, when they must report to the nearest confederate camp and take their chances in prison with the others who had been captured that day. Of course this was readily assented to. I say readily assented to. It was most gladly hailed. It was a bright light in a stormy night at sea.
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.