One northern man I called upon, whose past and present condition may be similar to many others. I will state it for the edification of those who live on the rocky soil of New-England. While at the north, he lived on a hilly and rocky farm; had a large family, and was obliged to work hard and use the strictest economy, to support them, and meet the current expenses of the year. Tired of severe labor and small gains, he sold his farm and moved to the State of Illinois. He had been here two years; has now one hundred acres under fence; raised the present season fifteen hundred bushels of corn, three hundred of wheat; has seventy head of neat cattle and sixty hogs. He has a fine timber lot near his house, in which is an abundance of the sugar maple. He had killed, the present season, four beef cattle, the last one just before I called upon him; and fatter and better flavored beef I never saw. All the cattle grow exceedingly fat on the prairie grass; so much so that corn will add nothing to it. A saw and grist mill are within seven miles of him. He was getting out timber, and intended to put up a two story house in the spring. I enquired particularly as to the health of his family and neighborhood. He informed me it had been very healthy; his own family had not any of them been sick abed a day, since they came into the country. Two of his daughters are well married, and settled on farms near him. Let every farmer at the north, who has to tug and toil on the sterile and rocky soil of New-England, to support his family, judge for himself, whether it is better to go to the West, or stay where he is. Whether, in fact, it is better to struggle for existence, and feel the cold grasp of poverty, or to roll in plenty and live at ease.
This region was somewhat the theatre of Indian cruelties in the last war with the whites. One northern man became their victim in this settlement. His name was Elijah Philips, of New-Hampshire. When he was at the age of twenty-one, he took his pack on his back, travelled to the West, and located himself in what is called the Yankee Settlement, on the Bureau river. He was a persevering, hardy son of the North. He built a house, fenced in a field, obtained some stock and a few hogs; and was in a fair way to gain a competency and become an independent farmer. Just at this time, the Indian war broke out, with the blood-thirsty Black Hawk as a leader.
Murders having been committed above them, the settlers deemed their situation insecure, and fled to the east side of the Illinois river. After remaining there awhile, the war still raging, and its termination uncertain, seven of the settlers armed themselves with guns and bayonets, took a wagon, and went to the settlement to bring away such articles of household furniture and husbandry as they could; fearing the Indians might destroy them. They spent the day in collecting their articles together. At night, they left them and the wagon where they were, and concluded to go themselves to a house half a mile below, which was deemed more secure. Here they slept quietly all night, opened the door early in the morning, looked all around, but saw no signs of Indians. Philips and another young man said they would go up to the other house and commence loading the wagon. They started off together.
In about twenty rods from the house, the path led along by a point of timber that made out into the prairie; and when they had gone about half way to this point, the other young man stopped, returned back, and Philips passed on alone. He had just got into the house, when he heard a piercing cry of alarm from Philips, and in a moment after, the report of two guns. On running to the door, he saw Philips prostrate on the ground, and twenty or thirty Indians leaping out of the thicket. He rallied his companions, as they had not all yet risen, caught two guns, handed one to a man near him, and by the time they reached the door, the Indians were coming round the corner of the house. On seeing the guns with fixed bayonets, they dodged back. In a moment, they were all at the ends and rear of the house, rending the air with their astounding war cry, flourishing their tomahawks in menace and defiance; but took special care not to come in front of the door. The settlers were all young men—the onset had been so sudden and boisterous, that they were taken entirely by surprise, and hardly knew what they did. On a moment's reflection, they concluded, if they contended manfully, there might be some chance for life. Although the number of Indians might be ten to one of theirs, yet they had the advantage of being within a well built log house, impenetrable by balls.
Spirited and prompt action saved them. While the Indians were hovering round, in doubt what course to take to dislodge them, they dug out a chink between the logs in the rear, and thrust out their guns. The moment this was done, the Indians changed the tone of their yells, leaped for the woods, fell flat on their faces and crawled unperceived away.
They now felt relieved from immediate danger. They knew there was a company of horse at Hennipen, fifteen miles distant; and their only safe course seemed to be, to send for them if they could. They had a horse with them, and he was feeding on the prairie about thirty rods from the house, nearly on the opposite side from the spot where the Indians entered the woods; but as they could not know where they might be, none deemed it prudent to go out to catch him. They called the horse, however, and although he was one generally hard to catch, he now started at once, came to the door, thrust in his head and stood still while the bridle was put on. One of their number mounted, and rode express to Hennipen.
In the afternoon, the troop arrived; reconnoitered the neighborhood; found the Indian trail; followed it a number of miles; but they had gone beyond their reach. On a further examination of the woods, it was apparent, the Indians had been hovering around them all the day before while at work; but were too cowardly to attack them, although they knew the smallness of their number.
The situation of affairs at night they also knew full well. They truly supposed that all would pass the spot where they lay in ambush, in the morning. But accidentally, one passed alone, and discovered them, and was undoubtedly the cause of saving the lives of all the rest. But had the other young man passed on instead of returning, and why he did not, he never could tell, although the question was asked him immediately after the transaction, he also would have been killed; and in that event, probably all the others would have been sacrificed; for it was quite early in the morning, and they had not risen.
On examining Philips, they discovered that two musket balls had entered his body—one in the region of the heart, so that he must have died immediately. His remains were carried to Hennipen for interment; and when I passed that way, I stopped at his grave to show, what I felt, respect to his memory. On a small eminence in the open prairie, half a mile east of the village, repose the remains of Elijah Philips. And although no monumental inscription tells the spot where he so suddenly started for eternity, or "storied urn" adorns his grave; although of humble birth, yet he was a young man of much vigor and enterprise, and bid fair to become a useful member of society. Let his memory live "in story and in song," and be handed down to posterity with that of the other victims of savage cruelty.
No apprehensions are now entertained by the settlers, of attacks by the Indians. Black Hawk and his followers have gone beyond the Mississippi, and only a few remnants of Indian tribes remain in the whole State. Years will not efface the memory of the many deeds of extreme cruelty, committed by the Indians in this short, yet bloody war. Acts of cruelty and outrage were perpetrated, too horrid and indecent to mention; and so perfectly useless as it respected the result of the war, that they could have been committed only to glut a most fiend-like and savage vengeance.