2-17 Run for the River - Run for Your Lives

April 13, 2014

Indian Lake Park

Cross Plains, WI

This section tells the story of My spiritual journey as I follow the path and flight of Black Hawk’s band from Iowa to Illinois, to a final sweep through southern Wisconsin, pursued by a relentless mounted force of militia and U.S. Army regulars.  On each post, I try to tell about my journey, and my feelings as I revisit important locations along Black Hawk’s trail and relive the history, always trying to understand what must have passed through the minds of Black Hawk and his people.  I find I cannot share my story without retelling his story.  If you have followed me this far, then perhaps you understand the way my current path intertwines with the path of those terrified and starving people, separated only through time.

This part of my trip, from Pheasant Branch to the Wisconsin River has special meaning to me, which can only be fully understood by reading the next post, Wisconsin Heights – The Great Escape.  Bear with me a bit longer as I travel to that spot.

On July 21, 1832, Black Hawk and his people woke before dawn.  They had been spread out over several miles from the western edge of Lake Mendota to the hilltop which now rests within the Pheasant Branch Conservancy, atop which are several burial mounds.  There was no doubt as to the closeness of their pursuers.  The militia under the command of Generals Dodge and Henry were camped but a scant few miles to the rear, just east of the isthmus between the two largest lakes, but on the far side of the Yahara River that ran between them.  Black Hawk had contrived an ambush point on the river banks, but their pursuers made no attempt to cross the narrow and dangerous isthmus in the dark.

Reaching the Wisconsin River was their only hope.  Black Hawk himself did not fear being caught.  He and his mounted warriors had eluded the soldiers before, and he knew he could probably do so again.  His worry, as had been the case since leaving the island on Lake Koshkonong, was for the survival of his people; the women, and children, and elderly, many of whom did not travel on horseback.  They were now a single days’ run to the river, a distance of less than 18 miles, if only they could somehow keep the mounted soldiers from overtaking them.

Black Hawk chose a traditional rear-guard strategy, with the best and most able warriors staying to the rear, engaging the enemy if necessary to slow them down and give time to those who were slower and more vulnerable to escape.

I have already described a few of the events that took place on July 21st, most notably the Murder of Deer Heart.  After the killing of this Indian (some accounts identify him as Kickapoo, some as Sauk), when Dr. Philleo rode into camp with the fresh scalp dripping with blood, the militia surged forth with a renewed frenzy.  Philleo rode ahead to rejoin Abel Rasdell and the rest of the scouts.  It was not long before they encountered more victims.  Many of the soldiers wrote careful accounts of this day, and they agree that three more Indians were discovered within a few miles’ ride, two of which were killed.  The third escaped.  As in all eye-witness accounts told by different people, especially after several years’ time has elapsed, some of the details contradict one another.  To the best of my ability, I recount here the circumstances surrounding the deaths of these two men.

Upon the discovery of three Indians by the advance scouts, Dr. Philleo requested five men to pursue and kill them.  General Dodge instead sent ten men.  After some short pursuit, they encountered a single Indian, who turned at the approach of the riders and shouted, “Winnebago! Winnebago!”  Dr. Philleo is said to have ridden to within 20 paces of the man, and shot him through the body, just beneath the heart.  Then, in an act of incredible stoic defiance, the Indian stumbled back several steps, braced himself against an oak tree, and in his final act before falling to his death, raised his gun and fired, wounding a soldier by the name of Isam S. Hardin.  Hardin was hit by three balls, one in the thigh, one in the leg, and one in the foot.  Whether this man was a Winnebago or a Sauk is not known today, but even then the militiamen admitted that they neither knew nor cared.  This man was scalped by Dr. Philleo, adding one more grizzly trophy to his saddlebag. 

A short distance further, they encountered another Indian, this one apparently walking with a pack of meat over his shoulder.  With no warning, the soldiers let loose a volley of gunfire, but missed the man.  The Indian turned, and threw down his weapon in an attempt to surrender to the soldiers, but after the wounding of Isam Hardin, the militia responded with sickening bloodlust, attacking the now unarmed man with a bayonet charge.

The scene is graphically described by Lieutenant Magoon.

“The Indian seized the nearest bayonet in his naked hands and attempted to wrest it from the soldier [Mr. Sample Journey], who by a powerful effort, threw the Indian, face down, on the ground.  With great agility he recovered his position, and again seizing the bayonet, he was forced to release his grasp, and the weapon descended with such force as to penetrate through the body and pin it to the ground.  The hapless Indian struggled to release himself, but the brutal volunteer sprang on the body, and, with merciless ferocity, extracted the bayonet and inflicted seven additional thrusts through the body.”

When the killing was completed, Journey scalped the Indian, claiming his bloody trophy.

Once again, the identity of this victim is not given, and once again I question if this was even one of the first three Indians spotted by Philleo and Rasdell.  Given that this man was merely walking with a pack of meat slung on his back leads me to speculate that this may well have been another non-combatant who fell victim to the militia.  Perhaps. If this is true, then one piece of evidence needs to be examined.  Found among the possessions of this Indian was a gold watch, once belonging to Lieutenant George Force who was killed during the June 20th Indian Raid at Blue Mounds.  That raid is believed to have been conducted entirely by Ho-Chunk warriors.  That evidence would tend to indicate that this warrior was a Ho-Chunk, not a Sauk, though probably one who was sympathetic to the needs of Black Hawk's people.  All of this activity took place before the militia arrived at the Pheasant Branch encampment, and before discovering the newly buried Indian woman there.

Wooded hillside on Indian Trail
Near Indian Lake

Having completed my walk at the Pheasant Branch encampment, I now focused my thoughts on the fleeing band, racing westward in the pre-dawn darkness, following guides who knew the land little more than they did.  The band was now in full flight, throwing aside all possessions that remained to them in a desperate effort to reach the river.

In the parking lot, I set my sights on the next spot of my journey, Indian Lake.  I wanted to follow as closely as possible the actual path taken by the fugitives as they took their flight to the Wisconsin River.  Even current-day travelers will find this a difficult task.  The route between the mound at Pheasant Branch and the south side of Indian Lake is studded with richly forested hillsides, deep ravines, twisted farm fields making use of workable ground wherever it can be found, and very little else, including roads.  Even today, a person traveling this distance by foot or horseback could make the journey to Indian Lake by crossing only seven roads, the first three all within the first mile.  One of those roads, Indian Trail, is laid along the very path traveled by the fleeing band.  From that point to the Wisconsin River, only six more roads need be crossed to complete the trip.  Given our penchant to dissect the earth with interlocking ribbons of pavement, this is extraordinary.

Indian Trail

We charted a course through the countryside, following the line to Indian Lake, stopping several times to view the beautiful hills and valleys.  A heavy mist was just starting to fall, but I could easily imagine the path traveled as each valley flowed into the next.  At Indian Lake we stopped for a while to make a new prayer stick from the materials we brought with us.  The rain was falling even more heavily as we got out and walked the trails a bit, carrying an umbrella to keep from getting soaked, a luxury not afforded the band as they slogged through the woodlands and valleys, assaulted by relentless rain.

We stood for a while, taking a few pictures of the lake, when my husband, ever the bird-watcher, pointed out a Bald Eagle sitting in one of the trees by the lake.  As soon as I saw it, the eagle took flight and went sailing across the lake to land on the high north-facing bluff.  Some people whom we had watched walking their dog through the park came back at that time and told us that they had been watching the eagle the whole time they were walking their dog, and were surprised their activity hadn't caused it to leave. It was as if it had waited patiently for us before taking flight.

As we sat, offering our prayers and preparing our prayer stick, we thought about the pursuit of the soldiers, so close behind.  Were it not for the brave actions of the rear-guard, the band would never have made it this far.

The soldiers, having now sighted and overtaken some of those whom they perceived as their quarry, were in an all-out race to prevent Black Hawk from reaching the Wisconsin River, which they knew to be only a few miles distant.  They, too, were casting aside their belongings, and literally running their horses to death in the pursuit.  An estimated forty horses died during this part of the chase.  The soldiers thus unhorsed would literally leap from the horse as it fell, grab their guns, and resume the pursuit on foot at a run.  At all cost, they wanted to stop the band from reaching the river.

The Indians who remained in the rear to deter the pursuit were not idle.  Some thirty mounted warriors would frequently show themselves either to the left or to the right of the pursuers in an attempt to draw them to the side.  At one point the warriors managed to get roughly half the pursuers to follow them southward, while the rest stayed with the main trail.  At times, these warriors would feign to attack, forcing the followers to stop and group for battle, only to have the Indians break and run again, often in misleading directions.  At other times, the Indians would attack from the rear, pushing their pursuers into disarray.  Said one soldier, “…our scouts were continually chasing the Indians, and being in turn chased by them.  Consequently, the march became almost a flight in pursuit of the enemy.”

From Indian Lake, the path of the band took them down one valley to the next, in a relentless cascade towards the great valley of the Wisconsin River.  Anyone who lives near a major river, as these Indians had their entire lives, can feel in the landscape and sense in the sky the subtle changes that are present when nearing the river.  Gone are the meandering narrow valleys and close hills.  Gone are the hilltops and trees obstructing the view forward.  The valleys become broader, the sky more open.  Suddenly there are waterfowl in the air, and the smell of fresh water.  Eventually, the band found itself in the broad, open valley where Hwy 12 now runs, beyond which lay the great Wisconsin River.  There, but for another hour or two, they would have been able to cross, or escape south along its path in canoes.  Instead, as they were literally within sight of the river, they were forced to detour slightly to the south, heading for two towering hills lightly covered with oak trees.  Black Hawk had decided to engage the enemy directly, and once again the military strategist took over.  He knew that the soldiers were now following the main trail no matter the diversion, so he had everyone cross between the two hills on their way to the river, and he set up the last great defense of his people.

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American Kestrel

There is a bird that is a common sight along country roads, usually sitting on the telephone or electric wires that carry the electronic lifeblood of our society.  It is the American Kestrel.  They are a beautifully colored bird, with gray head and wings, black and white striped cheeks, a rust colored vest, black spots covering the back and underwing, and falcon-striped tail feathers.  Its talons are golden, curved, and needle sharp.  The eyes are the eyes of a killer, with a fierce raptor’s stare and an unblinking intensity.  Though formidable enough, they are shy birds, preferring to avoid confrontation, or even contact.  When driving by, they typically fall gracefully off the wires and veer off over the fields they have been watching, to return only when the perceived threat of the vehicle has passed. 

As we drove from Hwy 12 down Hwy Y toward the two hills where the only real battle of the conflict took place, a Kestrel flew from the wire and down the road in front of our car for a hundred yards or more.  Another common name for the American Kestrel is the Sparrow Hawk.

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Black Sparrow Hawk – I call to you by your white man’s name, because it is by that messenger that you appeared to me today.  We meet again in this place you and I know so well.  How many times have I come here to talk to you?  How many times have I walked these hills, and offered cedar, tobacco, sage and sweet grass?  How many times have I prayed for the spirits of the dead who still linger in this place?  Black Sparrow Hawk, only now do I finally understand.  Only now, after following in your footsteps and taking your path do I know what you were thinking as you saw these hills and hoped that you could win the race.  You knew that the women and children who were still with you could get to the river while you turned and fought this terrible battle.  How many times have you faced the enemy, ready – expecting – to die?  How many times has the Great Spirit granted you another day of life, while your enemies fail in their attempt to kill you?  In these hills you fought, as always, for the lives and safety of your people.  Because of your actions here against an unrelenting enemy, these hills will forever whisper in honor of the great Sauk warrior Black Sparrow Hawk.  Ah-ho.

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(Key Terms: Ma-Ka-Tai-Me-She-Kia-Kiak, Black Sparrow Hawk, Black Hawk, 1767, Saukenuk, Pyesa, Rock Island, Black Hawk’s Watch Tower, Black Hawk State Historic Site, Hauberg Museum, Sauk, Sac, Meskwaki, Fox, Rock River, Sinnissippi River, Mississippi River, War of 1812, British Band, Great Britain, Treaty of 1804, Treaties, Ceded Land, William Henry Harrison, Quashquame, Keokuk, Fort Armstrong, Samuel Whiteside, Black Hawk War of 1832, Black Hawk Conflict, Scalp, Great Sauk Trail, Black Hawk Trail, Prophetstown, Wabokieshiek, White Cloud, The Winnebago Prophet, Ne-o-po-pe, Dixon’s Ferry, Isaiah Stillman, The Battle of Stillman’s Run, Old Man’s Creek, Sycamore Creek, Abraham Lincoln, Chief Shabbona, Felix St. Vrain, Lake Koshkonong, Fort Koshkonong, Fort Atkinson, Henry Atkinson, Andrew Jackson, Lewis Cass, Winfield Scott, Chief Black Wolf, Henry Dodge, James Henry, White Crow, Rock River Rapids, The Four Lakes, Battle of Wisconsin Heights, Benjamin Franklin Smith, Wisconsin River, Kickapoo River, Soldier’s Grove, Steamboat Warrior, Steamship Warrior, Fort Crawford, Battle of Bad Axe, Bad Axe Massacre, Joseph M. Street, Antoine LeClaire, Native American, Indian, Michigan Territory, Indiana Territory, Louisiana Territory, Osage, Souix, Potawatomi, Ojibwe, Ottawa, Ho-Chunk)