Part II
Battle of Wisconsin Heights
They came in sight of river
Before the set of sun,
They came in sight of foe,
There chasing scouts a-run...
The screaming Indians came,
Close to guns aflame!
At less than a hundred feet,
They turned in close retreat...
With smoke adrift in air,
Near the Wisconsin there...
A battle of time before, began
Between the red and white of man...
The whites were on a plain
O'erlooking land and flow;
From the hills upon their left,
The natives poured fire below...
But the soldier whites
Drove them, from off the heights...
But with the coming of night,
The soldiers broke off the fight...
There were reports of a few
To many warriors who died;
But only one in war,
Upon the other side...
The aborigines,
That eve and during the night,
Stripped bark from off of trees...
And with pieces, tied ends up tight,
To fashion canoes of these...
With their bark canoes
And rafts of mats and skin,
They floated dependents o'er,
The depth the river was in...
A few unable to go on,
With the army to assail...
Drifted the river down,
In craft, fragile and frail...
Come morning, the army formed
And moved with caution on,
Moved across the lowland place,
But Black Hawk now was gone
With rations on hand for a day
And tools for rafts now lacking,
A crossing they did delay,
To continue Indian tracking...
Another surrender attempt
Soon after, in hours afore the dawn,
After the natives had crossed and gone,
They heard a voice, loud and shrill,
Coming down from a nearby hill...
At the time they did not know
It was Neapope of Indian band;
He spoke the Winnebago tongue
To try to arrange to leave the land...
He described the women and
children;
Their condition, he did invoke,
But the Winnebagos were gone,
Gone the day before he spoke...
The others comprehended naught
Of what their ear had caught...
The Captain at Prairie du Chien,
In command of Fort Crawford there,
Took measures to intervene,
And did deploy and prepare...
He was advised to artillery place,
To prevent escape from river space...
But he did more
Than suggested for:
Besides the artillery placed
At the river's open mouth...
To sever possible aid,
He ordered Winnebago south,
They brought in canoes
Or ruined them not to use...
He had a boat above du Chien,
With cannon, steam back and forth;
And later called to arms some Sioux,
Who descended the river from north...
A hundred and fifty put on paint
Led by Wabashaw of patchy eye,
But ignorance 'twas, or unrestraint,
To even invite the Sioux to ally...
Cut Off at the Wisconsin
From the river some tried to escape
The Wisconsin mouth at night,
But a flatboat fired on their craft,
Loaded with starving in flight...
Several canoes were destroyed
But the fleeing continued to try;
But then the army deployed,
The nonwhite, the native of eye...
They used the aborigine sight,
Of the Winnebago and Menominee,
Who hunted their race in plight,
Even by light of torch to see...
Of the Indians sought,
They four and thirty caught;
In addition, this paleface help,
Seized from nine their scalp.
On the trail again
From cabins abandoned before
The army made rafts for crossing o'er...
On July's twenty-eighth day,
They were again upon their way...
Atkinson, with forces trimmed to go,
Crossed the Wisconsin flow...
Within miles they found the trail,
And bearing west it went;
Farther on the soldiers found,
Northwest the trail it bent...
They came to a hilly ground,
Barren of grass for horse to eat;
They cut saplings for their mounts
And followed the Indian retreat...
The dwindling band of Fox and Sac,
Left belongings strewn along in back...
Blankets, kettles, mats and traps
And starving
and wounded dead in their wake...
The whites passed one in a wooden crypt,
Whose own took time for burial sake...
The Indian hunger forced them to eat,
Their own transport of horse for meat...
Back at the Mississippi
The diminished band of Fox and Sacs,
Arrived to cross the mighty flow,
Near to its tributary, Bad Axe,
Miles above, du Chien below.
It was midsummer, August the 1st,
But hope of crossing was quickly burst...
The desperate band, disappointed were,
They found no canoes on river banks...
In council, most did not concur
But broke with Black Hawk,
with him broke ranks...
He'd counseled these, the sorely tried,
To go up the Mississippi and hide
Black Hawk advised they go,
Among the Winnebago...
But most of them, they listened naught,
To what he counseled, what he sought...
Disillusioned from suff'ring undergone,
To crossing the river they were drawn...
They worked to improvise, to
construct,
Canoes and rafts to ferry them o'er;
A few of them floated to the farther bank...
But a boat appeared
and came toward shore...
White flag raised again
It was the Warrior called, and anchored,
With a load of troops and six lb. piece...
To the Indians now, to fight was futile,
They raised white flags to give up
and cease...
They hailed the weaponed Warrior boat,
Intending surrender to those afloat...
But the situation was misread,
Alas, it's sad to say,
Aboard an interpreter said,
That Winnebagos were they...
And misinterpreted as well
To the lieutenant in command,
Was what the native did request:
They wanted the whites to land...
Mistrust of actions led
The commander to demand,
That two come aboard instead...
Now those ashore misunderstood,
And didn't comply, as well they could...
Black Hawk put cloth to pole
And called to the captain he knew,
To let him board, and for that
To send a little canoe...
He said a native told them to hide
For the whites were going to shoot...
We may glimpse from some of this,
Misunderstanding's root.
A woman aboard reported they
Were Fox and Sac upon the shore;
And the boat, to the natives' dismay,
A storm of lead on them did pour...
To nervous men aboard, it
appeared:
They cover sought and guns did prime;
And on the boat the commander feared,
The natives ashore
were playing for time...
Those afloat unloosed a volley
of fire;
For about two hours they fought,
Until the Warrior had to retire,
Downstream for fuel it sought...
After the boat, downriver left,
Black Hawk tried to persuade again,
But the group in twain was cleft,
For discredit befell this leader of men...
That night several lodges went forth,
Departing with Black Hawk north...
Meanwhile coming behind
The pursuing army that same night,
Were roused by bugle, long before light...
And some ahead, moved out
To find the Indian route...
The scouts came upon
A party ahead;
And some they dispatched,
But the rest, they fled...
Atkinson formed for battle,
And advancing, no foe did see;
But the last that left the camp
Discovered what happened to be
The trail and course
Of the native main force...
This brigade, with scouts sent out,
Began to battle the Indian band,
Who after a feeble fight, fell back
Through brush and fallen timberland...
The Massacre
The army drove them, from river bottom
To several bars where willow grew...
They fired at anything that moved,
they shot 'em!
Many women and children they slew!
Shot burrowed in sand,
Shot while trying to swim away...
Behind logs, cowering in underbrush,
All these the troops did slay!
From the willow bars, a few
Crossed to islands two
Where they did climb up trees...
But alas, and sadly for these...
The Warrior boat appeared anew,
And with its cannon, steered in view;
It boomed away with cannonfire
At the few aloft, those up higher...
Like a tool with jaws to grip,
Came whites together at the flow;
And soldiers boarded the ship,
To clean the islands of foe...
The soldiers routed the remaining ones
And drove the native to river and water,
Where they were drowned
or
shot by guns,
From soldiers lining banks in slaughter...
An agent said they were literally pushed
Into the Mississippi flood,
And shot on the margin or in the stream...
Its current once tinged with blood!
Black Hawk said many women
Commenced swimming the river o'er,
With young upon their backs...
Some drowned, some shot before
They reached the farther shore...
It would be called a war...
But really it seems 'twas more
Of a chase and a massacre,
That took place and did occur...
It needn't have been
In the annals of men...
The Aftermath
The surgeons dressed the soldier wounds
And those of natives surviving the fray;
The prisoners and wounded were sent
To Prairie du Chien by waterway...
Those who got away,
The army did not pursue,
For horses had tired,
And infantry, no shoe...
And it seemed to Atkinson
Too cruel more blood to shed,
Until he learned if remnants
Would surrender themselves instead...
But Wababshaw and the Sioux
Reported to the American chief,
Who deputized the Sioux to search
For those who'd end in grief!
He had been told to restrain,
The Sioux from the Fox and Sac...
Then why did he give such rein?
Why didn't he send them back?
Those who crossed
About a hundred of Black Hawk's band
Had escaped to the farther side,
But starving and almost defenseless were,
And most would perish of homicide!
About a week after crossing,
And far from the boundary river,
The Sioux o'ertook the Fox and Sac,
And did hostile death deliver!
Atkinson might've prevented this attack,
By Wabashaw's blood-thirsty Sioux,
Who massacred most of the Fox and Sac,
And scalped sixty-eight
of those they slew!
Black Hawk gives up
With bounty and promise of ponies
And redemption in the American eye,
Some Winnebago trailed Black Hawk
To where the Wisconsin Dells are nigh...
The Winnebago watched
And surprised them as they slept;
Without their striking a blow,
The band did surrender accept...
But Black Hawk said he went
To a village of Winnebago,
And asked a chief with him to go,
To surrender to the American foe...
The squaws made him attire
Of white deer skin to wear;
He then went to Prairie du Chien
To give up to the agent there...
The agent turned him and others o'er
To Zachary Taylor at the fort,
Who entrusted them to a guard,
Under a lieutenant, a gallant sort...
The lieutenant was kind and considerate,
In the way he treated the Indians seized;
His name was Jefferson Davis
And his conduct Black Hawk pleased.
Lieutenant Davis went down with him
To Jefferson Barracks by boat,
On the way the Sac surveyed the country,
As he passed the land afloat...
The land that was native and theirs,
That cost so much he did note...
At the barracks they were confined
And wore a ball and chain;
Time dragged in wintertime
And liberty's lack caused pain.
In spring some visitors came,
Including his daughter and wife;
A trader brought venison dried,
A reminder of previous life...
He was later taken East,
To Washington and Fort Monroe,
And in time, he was released,
After America more did know.
Back to Iowa
Black Hawk did go to abide,
By rivers within the Hawkeye State;
First near the Iowa side,
Then to the Des Moines in '38.
In the fall of that same year,
His autumn came to him...
In time when leaves do sere,
His life did part from limb...
From the old and ancient tree,
The tree the human race,
A falling leaf, fell so free,
And alit on the river's face...
The reddish, russet leaf,
That'd fallen through the air,
Now like a little canoe,
Drifted off from there...
And nigh was heard
The cry
Of a dark-plumed bird...
As off did fly,
A hawk
Into the
sunset sky...
—
John Riedell
Postscript:
Black Hawk dictated his story to Antoine LeClair, the U.S. interpreter
for
the Sac and Foxes, who "was particularly cautious, to understand distinctly
the narrative of Black Hawk throughout." After completing
it, LeClair
carefully examined it, pronouncing it "strictly correct, in all its
particulars." He certified at the Sac and Fox Agency on Oct. 13, 1833, that
after his return to his people, that Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak or Black Hawk
had called upon him and asked that a history be written so the people of
this country "might know the causes which impelled him to act as he had
done, and the principles by which he was governed."
This autobiography and The Sac and Fox Indians by William Hagan were among the works consulted in writing this long narrative of the Sac warrior and leader.
His final words in the autobiography were as follows: "...the white man will always be welcome in our village or camps, as a brother. The tomahawk is buried forever. We will forget what has passed―and may the watchword between the Americans and the Sacs and Foxes, ever be ―'Friendship!' I am now done. A few more moons, and I must follow my fathers to the shades! May the Great Spirit keep our people and the whites always at peace―is the sincere wish of BLACK HAWK."
In his final years he lived near the Iowa River, and a missionary who visited his home in 1833 described his lodge as neatly kept, "surrounded by melon vines." He was gone at the time but his children were polite. In 1838 he moved to a new home along the Des Moines, which empties into the Mississippi at the southeast corner of Iowa. He died that year, on October 3rd, and was placed in a small log mausoleum, above ground in a sitting position. His grave was robbed and his remains were transferred to the museum of the Geological and Historical Society at Burlington, Iowa, but were destroyed by a fire in 1855.
Two sons and a daughter lived with him in Iowa. One of the sons was Whirling Thunder, the subject of a painting with his father, done by John Jarvis (The Thomas Gilcrease Institute of American History and Art). His daughter Namequa was good looking enough "to compete with local white girls for the glances of young pioneer men." While Black Hawk resisted the American encroachments of the white upon Indian land, his great grandson was "one of the greatest athletes America ever saw." That grandson was Jim Thorpe, through whose veins coursed the blood of Black Hawk.
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Site Last Updated on 10/04/09