2-26 Bad Axe Massacre - Sacrifice of the Chosen

May 18, 2014

Victory, WI

“Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.” - John 15:13

When I was in my early teens, I had a problem with my teeth.  Two of my baby teeth, side-by-side, were starting to fail, but no permanent teeth had ever developed, and never would.  Without warning, one of them developed a painful abscess, and my father rushed me to the dentist for an emergency visit.  The dentist had bad news, and took my father aside to talk to him about the options.  Like so many other families struggling to hold onto a lower-middle class existence, we lived day-to-day, and paycheck-to-paycheck, though I did not know this as a child.  Eventually I learned that we were poor, not because I felt any particular want, but because other children would sometimes tease my siblings and me, telling us how ‘poor’ we were, or their parents would not allow them to play with me.

When I left the dentist that day, I still had my tooth.  My father made an agreement with the dentist that, no matter what it took, he would make regular payments so that I could get a root canal and a gold crown that would save my tooth. He didn't want me to suffer the torment of other children or future disfigurement, caused by gaps in my teeth.

We drove home, and he parked the car in the garage.  That car stayed in the garage, my father taking the bus and going without lunches, until the dentist had been paid.  I still cry when I think about that sacrifice, and the honorable way he made good on his promise to pay.  We still had food, and none of the rest of us suffered or lacked, but he took from himself and gave to me even when he had little to give.

I am eternally grateful that I did not understand the limits of his willingness to sacrifice for his children, for I’m sure there were no limits.  I have read stories about fathers who sacrifice their lives for their children, such as:  the father who covered his daughter’s body with his own during a rockslide; or the father who jumped in front of a moving truck to push his disabled son away from certain death.  These split-second moments of heroic sacrifice, born of love beyond self, are an affirmation of bonds that go beyond life.  If life is a circle, then when you reach the end of the circle there is nowhere for the spirit to go but around the circle again.

There is another kind of sacrifice, slow and grim. It is the choice to place yourself in harm’s way, or even in the path of certain death, when there is no immediate threat – no adrenaline rush – no life-or-death instants.

Such stories are not uncommon among the Indians.

There was a time when it was the custom among some Native Americans that when one man killed another from a different tribe, the offending tribe would offer compensation to the victim’s family or tribe so as to prevent an attack of vengeance. The offended tribe, however, could instead refuse the placating offer and demand the delivery of the guilty party, who was often, under the harshest and most extreme circumstances, put to death.

I read one story where such an incident occurred involving a Sauk warrior who killed a member of an Osage band, their hated enemies. Refusing an offering of horses and food, the Osage demanded the life of the warrior. The warrior, however, was too sick to travel, and so, to prevent an attack on their tribe, the brother of the sick warrior volunteered to go in his place.

I remember reading how he walked into their camp, and announced who he was, stating that he was taking the place of his brother who was too ill to come.  The Osage beat the brother savagely, and kicked him and spit in his face, until their anger and hatred had been vented, but he never fought back.  Finally, their anger spent, rather than putting him to death, they held a feast in his honor, an acknowledgement of his bravery.

This is a very long path to travel before telling you the main story of this post.  This is a story of a small number of men who chose the path of almost certain death, so that their loved ones could survive.  This is the story of a few dozen Indian warriors who gathered just inside the forested border surrounding the high meadows, a scant few miles from where the army slept, and waited to take on the full fury of 1200 soldiers.  This is the story of a handful of brave men who had agreed to face impossible odds, and sell their own lives for the freedom of others.  They did not plan to die, but they knew their chance of survival was slim.  Like any soldier storming an entrenched enemy, they did not truly expect to live.  Their plan was to fight and then fall back in a false direction and thus draw the army away from the full body of the encampment by the river.  To be successful, they must be close enough to be seen, and to draw blood.  To be successful, many of them would have to die.

Those chosen for this sacred mission were the strongest and most capable of the surviving members of the band.  It is believed that the plan was devised by Black Hawk and The Prophet before they left, and that the rear guard rode with them, backtracking up their trail from earlier in the day, until the location of the army could be determined and a location selected for the Outpost warriors to wait in ambush.  It was a tactic which had been carried out frequently and successfully several times during the preceding four months.

Black Hawk and the rear guard rode as far east as Red Mound, before breaking off and traveling northwest again under cover of darkness.  This map from 1896 estimates the path taken by the band in their original approach to the river, and the location to where Black Hawk backtracked before heading north.

Black Hawk, with his wife and children, and a close group of followers were gone before the first gunshots were fired on August 2nd.

It was two o’clock in the morning, more than two hours before first light, when reveille sounded on the high meadow, waking the soldiers after a scant three hours’ sleep on the hard ground.  The previous evening, General Atkinson ordered the commanders of the brigades to hold their troops in readiness for a 2 o’clock march.  The orders reached General Dodge in time, but failed to reach Generals Henry, Posey and Alexander before their horses had been sent out to graze.  Though all were raised by the bugle, only half the force was able to get into formation and begin the march when the earliest hint of dawn arrived.

Twenty men volunteered to act as spies for the advancing troops, under the command of Joseph Dickson, and started out in advance of the main body of the army.  Within a few miles, after about an hour’s march, the spies encountered the waiting Indians and sent word back to report to Atkinson and get orders.  At that news, Atkinson, who had pursued Black Hawk and his band for four months, through swamps, across rivers, over mountains, and into tracts of forest made all the more impenetrable by the raging heat, the pouring rain, and the incessant swarms of mosquitoes and flies, surged forth to engage his elusive enemy for the first time.  Until that day, only the Illinois Militia had fought with the Sauks, at Wisconsin Heights, and he, Atkinson, was finally going to show those ragtag militia how to properly wage a war against Indians.

Dodge gave the order to attack instantly, and he rapidly moved forward with his troops so as to get into fighting position, with Colonel Zachary Taylor and his regular army troops falling in for support.  They immediately formed ranks and began a fighting march, moving in a generally northwestern direction as the Indians would hold, attack, and fall back, always away from the main body of their band.

When thinking of war, some people have an absurdly stereotypical picture in my mind of armies standing off at a distance, taking cover and firing at one another in the warmth of a sunny afternoon, perhaps after a bit of a meal and careful planning by both sides.  Of course there is loss of life, but it is glorified, somehow, with close-ups of the soldiers firing bravely just before they are hit, and sent careening to the ground.  Real war is not so sterile, or so gallant as all that.

This battle took place at six o’clock in the morning.  The soldiers had barely slept, and if the Indians slept at all it was in shifts.  The soldiers awoke before dawn, formed ranks, and began their day’s march at the earliest hint of first light.  There was no mention of food of any kind taken in preparation for the battle.  The previous day had been unseasonably cold, with an afternoon high of only 60 degrees Fahrenheit.  The temperature had reached 63 by 9 pm when the troops were making camp, and climbed slowly through the night reaching 72 by the time the fighting started.  The effect of this weather pattern was to hang a heavy fog over the Mississippi River, which invaded in lesser degrees into the surrounding valleys.  The battle was fought while moving among the trees, over uneven ground with thickly wooded hillsides, and it was easier to determine where the enemy was by sound, rather than by sight.

The Indians in the outpost group watched as the advance group of Dickson’s spy battalion approached across the hilltop meadow.  They were hidden within the trees, and chose to show themselves to begin the decoy.  A great deal depended on what would happen when first engaging their enemy.  The best possible outcome occurred, with Dickson’s troop stopping to take cover, and waiting for orders.  Leading a mere twenty soldiers away from the trail would not achieve their purpose.  They had to engage the whole of the army, and survive long enough to lead them astray.  Even when Dickson’s group began firing, with deadly outcome, killing eight of their number in the opening exchange, the Indians could not flee at speed, but could only draw back and fire again, retreating as though every yard would cost the life of one more of the women and children who supposedly huddled on the bank of the river behind them.

They kept up the fighting with Dickson’s small group for nearly an hour until the main forces arrived, roughly 550 mounted men and militia, made up of General Atkinson’s troops, and General Dodge’s battalion.  They were joined shortly thereafter by Colonel Posey’s and Alexander’s men, another 250 in total.  Posey’s troops arrived first, and were ordered to cover the right (north) flank of the advancing troops.  Alexander’s men arrived second, and were ordered to the right of Posey’s men, and told to extend their flank all the way to the Mississippi River, so as to cut off any possible escape in that direction.

The entire mass of the army then advanced on the wooded area between themselves and the river, and began a grim march, expecting at any time to come upon the whole of Black Hawk’s forces.  The Indians, seeing finally that they had succeeded in their purpose, began a firing retreat, from hilltop to hilltop, over rough and uneven terrain, in a generally northwestern direction across sections 35, 34, and 33, until they reached the Mississippi River in the low area where the Ho-Chunk Chief Red Bird once had his village, and where now sits the town of Victory.

The written accounts of the soldiers indicate that when they reached the banks of the river, they were met by a waiting group of warriors, perhaps thirty or forty in number, who collectively turned and fought fiercely before escaping to the north, slipping past Alexander’s troops before they could reach the river.

The actual number of Indians who were engaged as a part of this ruse is hard to judge.  The estimates from the soldiers who fought them range from fifteen to ninety, and the marker posted by C.V. Porter indicates that the actual number was twenty.  Regardless, it is certain that there were fourteen Indians killed in this action, and their lives gave precious hours to the people on the edge of the river, just to the south, who were making canoes and rafts and trying to escape.  In their final act, they gave their lives to save others who they loved from unjust persecution.

My dear, loving, generous father:  I have missed you so greatly since you left me, though I know you are not truly gone.  There is a warmth in your love that soothes my pain and takes away my fears.  I still cry, sometimes, because I want so desperately to hug you and tell you how much I love you.

Sometimes I feel your presence giving me strength.  Sometimes I can almost hear you encouraging and guiding me.  When I need you most, you are still here with me.  I felt your presence today, and I thank you for being here with me.  As always, my life has been enriched by the guidance you gave to me today.

I could never thank you enough for the sacrifices you made for me in this life, and I saw how time and time again you would sacrifice yourself for mother, me, and the other children in our family.  You were a generous and loving father, and I’m glad you’re still here with me.

Father, please help me send my message of remembrance and thanks to these brave warriors who sacrificed themselves out of love for their families, out of love for their people.  Tell them I wish them peace and contentment.  Tell them I would be honored to have them walk with me as I complete my work and share their story.  Tell them we will all travel the Great River together and finish their journey home.  Then, for a time, we will sing and dance, have a smoke of peace, and sit together by the fire telling stories and celebrating their bravery.

Thank you, father.  I love you.  Ah-ho.

Return to Table of Contents

(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)