February 16, 2014
Stillman Valley, IL & Sycamore Creek at Byron, IL
Soren Kierkegaard is famous for saying, “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” History, on a grander scale, is the same. It is easy to look backwards in history and find meaning, or identify a crucial moment. That moment is the one where if only one thing had been different, the entire course of history might have changed.
For Black Hawk, the crucial moment – the point of no return – came when, at Sycamore Creek, shots were fired, blood was shed, men attempting to surrender were killed, and honor became the battle cry of the oppressed.
The stories that have been written about the Battle at Sycamore Creek, more commonly known as the Battle of Stillman’s Run, would have the reader believing that at least two very different events had taken place. Before coming to this lonely bend in the river, I made great effort to understand the events, and try to sense the truth in them. Keeping in mind that very few original accounts exist, and most other stories are a combination or enhancement of those stories, I read the works of three people who were directly involved in the confrontation: Major Isaiah Stillman, Elijah Kilbourne, and Black Hawk himself, from his autobiography. These readings are widely available, but here is one location from which to view the texts from all three: http://lincoln.lib.niu.edu/teachers/lesson4.html. Much of that text is reproduced below.
Major Stillman, a military officer who was suspected of acting in cowardice in the face group of Indians, while having the advantage of superior numbers, superior firepower, and while mounted on horseback, wrote his account in reaction to an unflattering article about the event in the local newspaper, the Missouri Republican. Black Hawk’s account, written a year after the event took place, is found in his autobiography. With no honor to defend, Black Hawk’s version seems the more credible. Even so, both men could easily have slanted the truth, or lied outright so as to enhance the appearance of bravery, or place blame on someone else. The third account, however, was written by one of the scouts engaged in Major Stillman’s command, Elijah Kilbourne. Kilbourne’s account parallels the story of Black Hawk fairly closely, the differences between which can easily be explained by the different points of view, access to different information, and a delay in the writing of the two accounts. Truth, if it can be found, seems to lie far closer to the versions told by Black Hawk and Kilbourne.
Initial Encounter
Major Isaiah Stillman’s account:
“On the 12th I received orders from His Excellency, John Reynolds, Commander-in-Chief, etc., to march immediately from Dixon's Ferry to what is commonly known as Old Man's Creek about 30 miles distant, and coerce the said hostile Indians into subjection. We took up our march on the 13th, and on the 14th, at 2 o'clock, one of our spies discovered two Indians on our left. The Indians immediately fired on him, and undertook to make their escape by swimming Rock River; this, however, they did not succeed in; our spy brought his gun to bear on the forward one, who was tumbled into the river--the horse immediately turned his course and swam back, the surviving Indian being, from the unmanageable disposition of his horse, compelled to follow until he shared the fate of his companion.” … “On the approach of Lieutenant Gridley, while rising the bluff, the Indians faced and leveled their guns. When prudence directed a return, the Indians pursued and were met by Captain Covell at nearly the same moment, when the fire was exchanged without effect. The Indians retreated and were pursued. Three were killed and three taken, with a loss of one of our men (as supposed).”
Black Hawk’s Account:
I concluded to tell my people that if White Beaver came after us, we would go back as it was useless to think of stopping or going on without more provisions and ammunition. I discovered that the Winnebagoes and Pottowattomies were not disposed to render us any assistance. The next day the Pottowattomie chiefs arrived in my camp. I had a dog killed, and made a feast. When it was ready, I spread my medicine bags, and the chiefs began to eat. When the ceremony was about ending, I received news that three or four hundred white men on horse-back had been seen about eight miles off. I immediately started three young men with a white flag to meet them and conduct them to our camp, that we might hold a council with them and descend Rock river again. I also directed them, in case the whites had encamped, to return, and I would go and see them. After this party had started I sent five young men to see what might take place. The first party went to the camp of the whites, and were taken prisoners. The last party had not proceeded far before they saw about twenty men coming toward them at full gallop. They stopped, and, finding that the whites were coming toward them in such a warlike attitude, they turned and retreated, but were pursued, and two of them overtaken and killed. The others made their escape. When they came in with the news, I was preparing my flags to meet the war chief. The alarm was given.”
Elijah Kilbourne’s account:
"The movement of the renowned warrior was immediately trumpeted abroad as an invasion of the State, and with more rashness than wisdom, Governor Reynolds ordered the Illinois militia to take the field, and these were joined by the regulars, under General Atkinson, at Rock Island. Major Stillman, having under his command two hundred and seventy-five mounted men, the chief part of whom were volunteers, while a few like myself were regular scouts, obtained leave of General Whitesides, then lying at Dixon's Ferry, to go on a scouting expedition.
"I knew well what would follow; but still, as I was under orders, I was obliged to obey, and together with the rest proceeded some thirty miles up Rock river to where Sycamore creek empties into it. This brought us to within six or eight miles of the camp of Black Hawk, who, on that day May 14th was engaged in preparing a dog feast for the purpose of fitly celebrating a contemplated visit of some Pottawattomie chiefs.
"Soon after preparing to camp we saw three Indians approach us bearing a white flag; and these, upon coming up, were made prisoners. A second deputation of five were pursued by some twenty of our mounted militia, and two of them killed, while the other three escaped. One of the party that bore the white flag was, out of the most cowardly vindictiveness, shot down while standing a prisoner in camp.“
The Battle
Major Isaiah Stillman’s account:
“Our men were all immediately formed and took their march in the direction of Sycamore Creek, five miles above. After marching about three miles an Indian appeared and made signs of peace. I was informed of the fact, and orders were given for a halt. Myself, together with most of the field and staff officers advanced with Captain Eads as interpreter. We were soon informed that the Indians would surrender in case they would be treated as prisoners of war. This was promised them, and they returned with the intelligence, after promising to meet us at a specified point. On arriving at that point, however, no Indians appeared to make the proposed treaty, which convinced us of treachery.”
"Directions were immediately given for our men to advance, while Captain Eads proceeded a few yards alone to make further discoveries. On reaching Sycamore Bluff, the Indians were discovered in martial order; their line extended a distance of nearly two miles, and under rapid march. Their signals were given for battle--war-whoops were heard in almost every direction--their flanks extending from one creek to the other. Orders were given for a line of battle to be formed on the south of the marsh between the two creeks, while the Indians were advancing with the utmost rapidity; their fire was tremendous, but on account of the distance, of little effect. Night was closing upon us in the heart of an Indian country, and the only thing to brighten our prospects, the light of our guns. Both officers and men conducted themselves with prudence and deliberation, until compelled to give ground to the superior foe, when the order for a retrograde movement was given, and our men formed in Old Man's Creek. Here a desperate attempt was made by the Indians to outflank us and cut off our retreat, which proved ineffectual, some clubbing with their fire-locks, others using their tomahawks and spears.”
"A party of our men crossed the creek, and with much difficulty silenced their fire, which made a way for the retreat of our whole party, which was commenced and kept up, with few exceptions, in good order.”
"Many of our officers and men having been in the battles of Tippecanoe, Bridgewater, Chippewa and Ft. Erie, have never faced a more desperate enemy. Having had the advantages of ground, the enemy being on an eminence, operated much in our favor. In passing Old Man's Creek many of them got their guns wet and were deprived of the use of them. Our force consisted of 206 men; that of the Indians not known, but consisting of a whole hostile band. Eleven of our men were killed, 5 wounded, with a loss of 34 to the enemy.”
Black Hawk’s Account:
Nearly all my young men were absent ten miles away. I started with what I had left, about forty, and had proceeded but a short distance, before we saw a part of the army approaching. I raised a yell, saying to my braves, "Some of our people have been killed. Wantonly and cruelly murdered! We must avenge their death!"
“In a little while we discovered the whole army coming towards us at a full gallop. We were now confident that our first party had been killed. I immediately placed my men behind a cluster of bushes, that we might have the first fire when they had approached close enough. They made a halt some distance from us. I gave another yell, and ordered my brave warriors to charge upon them, expecting that they would all be killed. They did charge. Every man rushed towards the enemy and fired, and they retreated in the utmost confusion and consternation before my little but brave band of warriors.
Elijah Kilbourne’s account:
“The whole detachment, after these atrocities, now bore down upon the camp of Black Hawk, whose braves, with the exception of some forty or fifty, were away at a distance.
"As we rode up, a galling and destructive fire was poured in upon us by the savages, who, after discharging their guns, sprung from their coverts on either side, with their usual horrible yells, and continued the attack with their tomahawks and knives. My comrades fell around me like leaves; and happening to cast my eyes behind me, I beheld the whole detachment of militia flying from the field. Some four or five of us were left unsupported in the very midst of the foe, who, renewing their yells, rushed down upon us in a body. Gideon Munson and myself were taken prisoners, while others were instantly tomahawked and scalped. Munson, during the afternoon, seeing, as he supposed, a good opportunity to escape, recklessly attempted to do so, but was immediately shot down by his captor. And I now began to wish that they would serve me in the same manner, for I knew that if recognized by the savages, I should be put to death by the most horrible tortures.”
The Aftermath
Stillman tells nothing about the aftermath of the battle, except to say “…it is to be hoped that in a short time the number of troops stationed at (Dixon’s Ferry) and elsewhere will be able to bring them into subjection, and relieve our frontier from a much dreaded foe.”
The two accounts from Black Hawk and Kilbourne, however, tell of a fascinating history between the young soldier and the old warrior. Through a twist of fate worthy of the most creative of Hollywood screen writers, Kilbourne had once been abducted by the Sauk Indians, and in accordance with the customs of the tribe, Kilbourne was adopted as one of Black Hawk’s sons and made a member of the tribe. He lived with the tribe for some years until he took an opportunity to escape and return to his own people. He had been in the camp when the three emissaries arrived under cover of a white flag to discuss a meeting between Stillman and Black Hawk, and he had been able to talk with them using what he remembered of the Sauk language. Fate would also have it that he was one of the soldiers who were captured rather than killed, and that only because he refused to run. His fear of death by torture, was because he was afraid he would be recognized as a former member of the tribe. He feared his punishment would be death, not because he rode with the soldiers and fought in battle, but because he had once run from the tribe.
Yet – clearly he lived to share his story, and the accounts given by both he and Black Hawk tell a story of respect and forgiveness on both parts.
Describing his predicament after being captured, Kilbourne states: “Nothing occurred, however, to give me any real uneasiness upon this point till the following morning, when Black Hawk, passing by me, turned and eyed me keenly for a moment or so. Then, stepping close to me, he said in a low tone: `Does the mole think that Black Hawk forgets?'”
Black hawk describes the scene like this: “This man had once been a member of our tribe, having been adopted by me many years before and treated with the same kindness as was shown to our young men, but like the caged bird of the woods, he yearned for freedom and after a few years residence with us an opportunity for escape came and he left us. On this occasion he would have respected our flag and carried back the message I had sent to his chief, had he not been taken prisoner, with a comrade, by some of my braves who did not recognize him, and brought him into camp. They were securely tied with cords to trees and left to meditate, but were occasionally buffeted by my young men when passing near them. When I passed by him there was a recognition on the part of us both, but on account of former friendship I concluded to let him go, and some little time before the sun went down I released him from his captivity by untying the cords that bound him and accompanied him outside of our lines so that he could escape safely.”
Kilbourne concludes his story, “Although the Indians passed and repassed me many times during the day, often bestowing on me a buffet or a kick, yet not one of them seemed to remember me as having formerly been one of the tribe. At times this infused me with a faint hope, which was always immediately after extinguished, as I recalled to mind my recognition by Black Hawk himself.
"Some two hours before sunset Black Hawk again came to where I was bound, and having loosened the cords with which I was fastened to a tree, my arms still remaining confined, bade me follow him. I immediately obeyed him, not knowing what was to be my doom, though I expected none other than death by torture. In silence we left the encampment, not one of the savages interfering with us or offering me the slightest harm or indignity. For nearly an hour we strode on through the gloomy forest, now and then starting from its retreat some wild animal that fled upon our approach. Arriving at a bend of the river my guide halted, and turning toward the sun, which was rapidly setting, he said, after a short pause:
"'I am going to send you back to your chief, though I ought to kill you for running away a long time ago, after I had adopted you as a son but Black Hawk can forgive as well as fight. When you return to your chief I want you to tell him all my words. Tell him that Black Hawk's eyes have looked upon many suns, but they shall not see many more; and that his back is no longer straight, as in his youth, but is beginning to bend with age. The Great Spirit has whispered among the tree tops in the morning and evening and says that Black Hawk's days are few, and that he is wanted in the spirit land. He is half dead, his arm shakes and is no longer strong, and his feet are slow on the war path. Tell him all this, and tell him, too,' continued the untutored hero of the forest, with trembling emotion and marked emphasis, 'that Black Hawk would have been a friend to the whites, but they would not let him, and that the hatchet was dug up by themselves and not by the Indians. Tell your chief that Black Hawk meant no harm to the pale faces when he came across the Mississippi, but came peaceably to raise corn for his starving women and children, and that even then he would have gone back, but when he sent his white flag the braves who carried it were treated like squaws and one of them inhumanly shot. Tell him too,' he concluded with terrible force, while his eyes fairly flashed fire, `that Black Hawk will have revenge, and that he will never stop until the Great Spirit shall say to him, come away.'”
Black Hawk concludes his own telling of these events as follows:
“I was never so much surprised in my life as I was in this attack. An army of three or four hundred men, after having learned that we were suing for peace, to attempt to kill the flag-bearers that had gone unarmed to ask to a meeting of the war chiefs of the two contending parties to hold a council, that I might return to the west side of the Mississippi, to come forward with a full determination to demolish the few braves I had with me, to retreat when they had ten to one, was unaccountable to me. It proved a different spirit from any I had ever before seen among the pale faces. I expected to see them fight as the Americans did with the British during the last war, but they had no such braves among them.”
- How different would our world be if fear and hatred had not guided the events of Sycamore Creek on that late afternoon and evening of May 14, 1832?
- How different would our world be if three men, following the rules of warfare established by their enemies had been treated as men instead of savages?
- What if, at that moment in time, Elijah Kilbourne had managed to convince his fellow soldiers that their mission could be achieved by not acting with violence, before that very violence erupted?
- What would be Isaiah Stillman’s legacy, if he had met in person with Black Hawk and the Sauk had been allowed to return to Iowa in peace?
- How many lives would have been saved but for the irrational, cowardly, and murderous act of a few militia men?
Certainly twelve soldiers (not eleven, as Stillman reported) and nearly as many Indians would not have been killed that day. Many settlers would not have later been killed in raids as the band fought to escape and survive. Many hundreds of men would not have died from sickness on the way to the battlefront. Many dozens of Sauk Indians would not have starved to death while fleeing the pursuing soldiers. Hundreds more would not have been killed in the relentless pursuit and eventual massacre at Bad Axe.
If not for this fired shot that forestalled Black Hawk's surrender, this history would not be brutal history. The great Sauk leader Black Hawk, after having surrendered to the whites, would not have been paraded around like a carnival exhibit. His autobiography, the first of its kind being that of an Indian leader, would never have been written. There would be no Black Hawk State nature Preserve, no Black Hawk helicopters, no Black Hawk parks, and towns, and rivers, and islands, and bridges, and hills, and roads, and schools, and banks, and lumber companies, and sports teams, and councils of girl scouts. The Sauk people may have drifted into obscurity, just another tribe of Indians forced from their homes by the relentless occupation and invasion of the white settlers, however peaceful may have been the relocation. One man – one gun – started the whole chain of events which brought me, in the midst of a cold winter day in February 2014, over 180 years later, to the town of Stillman Valley, standing at the grave site and war memorial for the twelve soldiers who died while fighting or fleeing from the Indians they had attacked and to the banks of Sycamore Creek to grieve the loss of unarmed Sauk emissaries and pray for the end of the senseless brutality of humankind.
It is not possible to change history. Actress and comedienne Lily Tomlin is quoted as saying, “Forgiveness means giving up all hope of a better past.” Perhaps that is why I went to this place. I was outraged when I learned about the events at Sycamore Creek. I felt personal hatred towards the soldier who fired on an unarmed Indian being held as captive after parlaying for peaceful negotiation. I flashed with anger thinking about the unprovoked attack that left two men dead and floating in the river, their horses taken. Nearly two centuries after the fact, the echoes of anger and hatred were still tainting this land, and those who learned of its past.
It is time to rebury the hatchet which was dug up so long ago.
It is time to give up all hope of a better past.
It is time to forgive.
Stillman Valley
The central square in Stillman Valley bears a memorial to the battle, featuring a towering granite and marble monument with an unnamed soldier at the top. Presumably this could represent Stillman himself, though he is not buried there. Twelve grave markers commemorate the twelve dead. There is little doubt these men felt justified in their actions, and no doubt the families of these militiamen grieved deeply for their losses.
This hilltop is said by some to be the ‘Stillman’s Run Battle Site’, yet by Stillman’s own accounts the battle itself took place miles away, on the banks of the river and nearby hills, and much closer to what is now Byron, IL, rather than here at Stillman Valley. Even so, during the retreat, the Indians, also on horseback, pursued the soldiers for several miles fighting whenever they overtook their enemy. Perhaps some part of the battle did occur on this very site, but it was time to leave behind the graves of the soldiers to go visit the river and speak to the spirits of the fallen Indians.
Sycamore Creek
The water flowing through Stillman’s Creek, formerly known as Sycamore Creek or Old Man's Creek, below the bridge on Kishwaukee Road is swift but calm, it’s banks an untidy mess of alder, dogwood, willow and long grass. Even in the heart of the coldest winter in decades, the water remains open as it rushes to meet a horseshoe bend in the Rock River less than half a mile away. The banks are narrow and flat, barely rising above the water. The thunder of hooves, and the war cries of the Indians cannot be heard on this cold winter day. Once again, snow is falling gently, making visible the swirling air currents around us. There is no marker telling of the historic events that took place there before the territory was even a state.
We drove slowly along on the roads that passed closest to the river, looking for a place to stop and walk out to the river’s edge. I had another prayer stick, which had been made especially for this place. With windows open, we crept along, until the knocking of the woodpeckers told me I had found the right spot. I asked my husband to back up a little, and find a place to park.
Before the windows were even closed, a woodpecker, this time a Downy Woodpecker, alighted on a tree immediately next to the road and next to our car and began hammering at the leaning, dead tree. My soul was filled with the warm glow of confirmation, and then my husband said, “There’s a deer path under the tree that’s headed down towards the river.” My guides had led me to the right place.
We stepped out onto the road, where I started collecting the things I needed for my ceremony. My husband stood and waited, passing the time as he so often does by observing the surrounding trees and skies for anything that might be moving. In the distance, through the branches of the trees, he watched as a large bird of prey circled and drew closer.
We have played a game many times, trying to identify at a distance the exact bird we were seeing by characteristics as subtle as the length of the neck or tail, the flair of a wingtip, the speed of its flapping wings, or how it holds and maneuvers its body as it steers through the sky, held aloft by updrafts and its own speed. Size is sometimes difficult to judge, as is distance, so these characteristics are often easier to read. We have spent our lives in the Wisconsin area, and are no strangers to eagles, hawks and ospreys, and buzzards, and harriers, and herons and cranes. Even crows and ravens, if taken out of perspective, can have the same faraway outline and flight patterns of their larger counterparts. Immediately he was able to eliminate most birds and reduce the number to a few likely candidates. He watched for a full minute as the bird flew ever closer, and then caught my attention. “Look”, he said, pointing to the bird, knowing now that he was seeing an eagle. As the bird flew overhead, I instantly realized that our friend, the eagle, had come to welcome us to that spot, offering to assist us in carrying our prayers to our Father Creator, confirming that our path was true and affirming the acceptance of our intentions and prayers.
It is almost stereotypical to say that the appearance of an eagle when performing certain ceremonies is a good omen or powerful sign. To believe that this is true, one must first believe that the movements of the animals and birds of this earth can be guided by the spirits of those beyond life, or by some greater presence who exists entirely outside of the confines of what we understand as life or death. I believe this to be true, and I can say that the appearance of this particular eagle, at this particular time, in this particular place left an impression on both me and my husband that we will not ever forget. It was a moment of spiritual significance that brought me closer to my quest. My prayer flag rests low on the ground, near the river, its feathers and yarn blowing my prayers into the wind, into the universe, on to The Great Spirit.
Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak – I am here on the riverbank, where you traveled with your family and your people, preparing your flags to meet with the white men, to tell them you wished to return west across the Mississippi, even though you knew it meant your people would go hungry. I am here where the news reached you of the betrayal of your people, and the death of your braves. I have felt the rage that filled your chest, and shared your fear for your tribe. Though I did not face death in this place, I honor you and your warriors for fighting to secure the safety of your people, even knowing that you would almost certainly die. Your actions were just, and should not have resulted in such hatred and fear, and should not have led to the deaths of so many you cared for and loved. I am sorry this happened. I am sorry you were handed the hatchet you had long-since buried, and forced to fight again. I know that when this great tragedy occurred you spoke with the hot words of a warrior, and you fought as any man who was protecting his land, and his people, and his family should fight.
I am also hear to learn from your path, which went farther and longer than even you expected. I have read your words, and I know that in the end you were able to forgive, if not forget. In the end you made peace, again, with the whites. You lived among them, and were buried among them, on the farm of a friend.
To the spirits of this place, I pray that you are also able to forgive. I pray that the whites who were killed here have come to understand the honorable way in which these acts were committed, and that there is no reason to hate. I pray that the Indians who were killed here have come to understand that these men, too, believed that they were fighting to protect their wives and children and communities, and that there is no reason to hate. I pray that if your souls have come to understanding and forgiveness, that you can help my soul to understand, and to forgive. I pray that all those who hear my words, in this world and in the spirit world, can learn to understand and to forgive, and to remember the past with love in their hearts. Ah-ho.
(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)
On the upper end of Lake Koshkonong there is a low, flat, swampy delta formed by the centuries of sand and clay brought down the Rock River and deposited in an ever-lengthening spit jutting out onto the lake. To the north of the river is an uninhabitable mosquito-infested wetland whose dominant feature is named ‘Mud Lake’. To the south, an equally uninviting bog, unfit for anything other than a designation as a wildlife area. On the edges of the river, however, and on the edge of the lake itself, clings a narrow band of land and trees suitable for passage. Doubtless there is an explanation as to how or why such a strip of land forms, similar to the explanation of how rumble-strip ridges form on remote gravel roads, but the explanation for both phenomena eludes me.
