“It need hardly be observed that, upon installation in office, your actions will be public, so that they need not blush at daylight; besides, as you know, privacy is generally hateful, and is indeed more worthy and characteristic of nocturnal clubs than that of legislative assemblies, and thereby give every facility of watching and judging the whole course of your official career for your own exoneration and the satisfaction of your constituents. You will, in all cases, particularly in the passage of bills, laying off county lines and seats of justice, faithfully obey the people’s instructions and correspond with them timorously; in short, be entirely, as far as consistent, guided by petitions from the people, and by so doing you will, in a great measure, get rid of responsibility which otherwise you might not, and if your acts do not turn out so favorable as have been anticipated, they (your constituents) cannot, and will not, justly charge you with dereliction of duty. Let it not be heard said of you, as of some others, that you legislate for your own and that of your friends’ private interests, but for the general good of the country.
“In conclusion, I beg you to be very guarded how and in what manner you vote, not voting for the cause one day, and the next day jump about from ‘post to pillar,’ like jumping ‘Jim Crow,’ and vote differently. These hints may be of some service to you. Indeed, were it not that I have special interest in your welfare, I should be the last individual in this community to advise you in any shape or form. I have the honor to be, with due respect,
“ONE OF THE PEOPLE.
“Burlington, Dec. 9, 1837.”
Black Hawk’s constant mingling with the whites taught him another familiar characteristic; one more likely than any other to get him into difficulty–that of borrowing money. From Louisiana, Mo., I was furnished with the copy of one of his financial engagements, presented herewith, and for which I am under obligations to Mrs. Fannie Anderson of Louisiana, Mo.
Thus in a tranquil, careless way Black Hawk was passing the remainder of his days, without responsibilities and with the hearty good will and esteem of every person who knew him. An old “plug” hat was his passion; he so dearly loved it that some contend it was placed upon his head when he was buried. In this and similar eccentric adornments he one day rode into Fort Madison, by special invitation, to attend a Fourth of July banquet, and it must be said that it was a sorry day in his declining years in which he allowed the whites to inveigle him into a speech. While his animosity toward Keokuk was as bitter as ever, he had latterly learned to curb it with discretion. Among the toasts for that occasion was one to which he was asked to respond: “Our Illustrious Guest, Black Hawk–May his declining years be as calm and serene as his previous life has been boisterous and full of warlike incidents. His attachment and present friendship to his white brethren fully entitle him to a seat at our festive board.” After the sentiment was explained to him by an interpreter, he responded as follows, his words being taken down by two interpreters:
“It has pleased the Great Spirit that I am here to-day. I have eaten with my white friends. The earth is our mother; we are now on it, with the Great Spirit above us. It is good. I hope we are all friends here. A few summers ago I was fighting against you. I did wrong, perhaps, but that is past. It is buried; let it be forgotten. Rock River was a beautiful country. I loved my towns, 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.