The Black Hawk War Including a Review of Black Hawk's Life
my cornfields and the home of my people. I fought for it. It is
now yours. Keep it as we did. It will produce you good crops. I
thank the Great Spirit that I am now friendly with my white
brethren. We are here together. We are friends. It is his wish and
mine. I thank you for your friendship. I was once a great warrior.
I am now poor. Keokuk has been the cause of my present situation,
but do not attach blame to him. I am now old. I have looked upon
the Mississippi since I was a child. I love the great river. I
have dwelt upon its banks from the time I was an infant. I look
upon it now. I shake hands with you, and as it is my wish, I hope
you are my friends.”
It is to be hoped that on this occasion Black Hawk was intoxicated,
not with liquor, but with pride at his flattering reception, and
that he forgot himself (as he once before did), when he thus
uncivilly spoke of Keokuk, the man who implored him to desist from
entering his disastrous campaign of 1832; the man who urged that
Black Hawk was deceived by liars; the man who, when Black Hawk was
imprisoned, took to him his wife and child and friends to cheer his
fallen spirits; the man who, with all the strength of his mighty
eloquence, urged the old man’s liberation; the man who pledged his
every resource as a guaranty of Black Hawk’s future good behavior
for that liberation; the man who stood at Black Hawk’s side when in
an evil hour he flew into a passion and defied those who were giving
him that liberation on Keokuk’s pledge, and who whispered in the
angry old man’s ear words of moderation, and then who rose and in
the greatness of his heart apologized for Black Hawk’s haste and
begged that it be overlooked; the man who at all times had but the
kindest of words for the old man’s failings and who, to please a
whim of passing envy, actually resigned his chieftainship into the
hands of his tribe to avoid friction, that his exalted position
might no longer wound the false pride of Black Hawk. No sacrifice
was ever demanded that he did not make for Black Hawk.
It was a shame to compromise the old man as he was drifting so
rapidly to the grave, and expose his foibles, then long forgotten.
In the fullness of his eloquence he made himself to speak of “my
towns, my cornfields, and my people,” as though he had been autocrat
of all the Indian tribes, when, in fact, he never had been a chief
and had naught whatever to say more than another about their
disposition or their government; but no blame shall go to Black Hawk
for that speech. Let the reader peruse and remember its concluding
words, which are as sweet and gentle and pathetic as one will find
in all literature, and forget the old man’s follies, for he was
mistaken, as many another has been before and since.
Black Hawk’s cabin stood about one hundred feet from the north bank
of the Des Moines River, a few rods from that of Mr. James H.
Jordan, the agent. Near it, on the sloping bank, stood two large
trees, an elm and an ash, so intertwined as to appear like one tree.
Close by flowed the clear waters of what was known as Black Hawk’s
Spring. Here, during the sultry days of summer, he would sit and
dreamily ponder over the scenes of his, long and turbulent career.
Before him was spread that old battlefield on which his nation
snatched from the Iowas their country and their homes–the same
country then passing to others. Then came a gloomy period of
melancholy, which enveloped him so completely that he said but
little, and that to his few intimates. In the summer of 1838 a party
of Iowas returned on a friendly visit to their old home and Black
Hawk held a friendly council with them at a place about half a mile
from his cabin. On that spot he directed that his body should be
buried. At this time he regarded the usual indifferences of the
Indians as personal slights, and while it may be true that many of
his whilom companions neglected to show him many of the little
civilities which white men might observe, the whites supplied them
with unusual attentions, and he should not have fretted as he did
fret. General Street, observing the same, thoughtfully made the
family a present of a cow, a property very unusual with an Indian.
This pleased him and the family immensely. Madam Black Hawk and her
daughter learned to milk, and during the warm days of 1838 the two
were often seen sitting beside their beloved cow, patiently brushing
away the troublesome flies and other insects. This daughter, though
married, remained with her parents to the time of Black Hawk’s death
and, it may be said, was the mainstay in their domestic affairs; a
model of neatness. It has been said that she and Madam Black Hawk
were so neat that the little yard was swept during the warmer months
once a day. One October day was designated as “ration day” which was
attended by nearly every Indian, leaving Black Hawk almost alone.
Though he had been sick of a fever[280] for many days, nothing
serious was feared. Mr. Jordan was with him to the last moment his
official duties would permit, leaving him, as he supposed, on the
high road to recovery; but the old man took a sudden turn for the
worse and within three hours after Mr. Jordan left his bedside Black
Hawk was dead, after a sickness of fourteen days.
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During Black Hawk’s sickness his wife, As-shaw-e-qua (Singing Bird),
was devoted in her attentions to him and deeply mourned his death.
Some days before it occurred she said: “He is getting old; he must
die. Monoto calls him home.”
His remains were followed to the grave by the family and about fifty
of the tribe, the chiefs and all others being absent at Fort
Armstrong to receive their rations. He was buried on the spot
selected by him prior to his death, which is best described by James
H. Jordan[281] in a letter to Dr. J.F. Snyder of Virginia, Ill., who
has written the best account of Black Hawk’s burial to be
found,[282] and to whom I am much indebted for points in this work:
“Eldon, Iowa, July 15, 1881.
“Black Hawk was buried on the Northeast Quarter of Section Two,
Township 70, Range 12, Davis County, Iowa, near the northeastern
corner of the county, on the Des Moines River bottom, about ninety
rods from where he lived at the time he died, and on the north
side of the river. I have the ground where he lived for a
dooryard, it being between my house and the river. The only mound
over the grave was some puncheons split out and set over his grave
and then sodded over with blue grass, making a ridge about four
feet high. A flagstaff, some twenty feet high, was planted at his
head, on which was a silk flag, which hung there until the wind
wore it out. My house and his were only four rods apart when he
died. He was sick only about fourteen days. He was buried right
where he sat the year before when in council with the Iowa
Indians, and was buried in a suit of military clothes, made to
order, and given to him when in Washington City by Gen. Jackson,
with hat, sword, gold epaulets, etc., etc.”
His body was placed on the surface of the ground in a sitting
posture, with his head toward the southeast, the body supported in
position by a wooden slab or puncheon. On his left side was placed a
cane given him by Henry Clay, with his right hand resting on it.
Three silver medals, the gifts of prominent persons in the east,
hung upon his breast.[283] There were also placed in the grave two
swords, a quantity of wampum, an extra pair of moccasins and other
articles of Indian costume, with a supply of provisions sufficient
to last him three days on his journey to the spirit land. Around the
body and the articles buried with him two large blankets were
closely wrapped. On his head was placed a military cap elaborately
ornamented with feathers. Forked sticks were firmly driven at the
head and foot of the grave and across these a pole was placed,
extending over the body. Against this pole split puncheons were laid
to a peak, the gables of the primitive vault being closed with
boards and the whole then sodded over. Near by was a hewn post
inscribed with Indian characters. Enclosing all was a strong
circular picket fence ten or twelve feet high.
One morning about the 1st of July, 1839, Madam Black Hawk, bitterly
weeping, called upon Mr. Jordan and informed him that the grave of
her husband had been opened and rifled of everything within.[284]
Mr. Jordan immediately instituted a search and traced the act to a
Dr. Turner of Lexington, in the County of Van Buren, who had sent
the body to St. Louis, where the bones were cleaned and then removed
to Quincy, where they were articulated. Much contention as to the
details of the body’s pilgrimage has existed, but the letter to be
found on page 10 hereof, written at the time, should conclusively
settle the matter.
At once Governor Lucas, then governor of the Territory of Iowa,
learned of the location of the bones; he sent for and received them
very soon thereafter, but when the sons of Black Hawk called upon
the Governor and found them “in a good dry place,” they concluded it
was best to allow them to remain in storage. Governor Lucas allowed
them to remain in his office for a little while and then deposited
them in the collections of the Burlington Geological and Historical
Society, where they remained until the year 1855, at which time they
were consumed by the fire which destroyed the building and all the
society’s collections. Thus all that remained mortal of Black Hawk
passed away in fire and smoke after the manner of his stormy life.
It was a spectacular finish and one Black Hawk might possibly have
courted in his strenuous days had it been less ignoble; but ignoble
it was and unworthy the man. To Madam Black Hawk and her children it
was an act of inhumanity which can never be forgiven by
civilization. If Black Hawk had faults, they were buried with his
body, which by all rules of decency should have remained sacred.
When the Sac nation was again removed to its new reservation in
Kansas, Madame Black Hawk with her family followed and there
remained until the 29th of August, 1846, when she died at the fine
old age of 85 years.
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APPENDIX
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APPENDIX NO. 1.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN IN THE BLACK HAWK WAR.
Little consideration should be given to the great majority of
stories told of Mr. Lincoln’s service in the Black Hawk War. If one
were to believe them all, one would find every man in the army to
have wrestled and vanquished him or otherwise participated in some
undignified frolic wherein he was made to appear ludicrously
delightful. While the age was one of jest and joust, and Mr. Lincoln
was apt at both, yet his career as captain in that war was temperate
and dignified.
In 1832 all of his young companions were strenuous, as were all the
young men of Illinois–itself young and vigorous. They bubbled over
with buoyant animal spirits and paid little heed to formalities. It
was especially an era of independence; discipline being regarded an
evidence of femininity, and formality a certain indication of
snobbishness. In the towns of (then) importance–more mature,