Next evening a keel-boat, its sides literally filled with leaden balls, arrived from Fort Snelling, bearing the dead bodies of two of its crew and four wounded members, two mortally and two slightly; also the body of a dead Indian, the result of a conflict of unusual fierceness and inequality with Sac and Winnebago Indians at the mouth of the Bad Axe about sunset of the 26th. This boat, the Oliver H. Perry, with its consort, had gone up to Fort Snelling, under the command of Captain Allen Lindsay, some time before, and meeting on the route[[60]] with many exactions and exasperating and suspicious ovations from the Dakotas whose villages were along the river, asked and received at Fort Snelling thirty-two muskets and a quantity of powder and ball.
Arriving on the downward passage[[61]] at the the last of their villages, Wa-ba-sha, now Winona, Minnesota, the Dakotas were found dancing a war dance and making threats, but, offering no resistance (the Winnebagoes and Sacs present having assumed that dangerous function), Captain Lindsay very naturally considered all danger over and allowed the boats, which had been lashed together for protection, to separate. That which sat deeper in the water, having the advantage of the river’s undercurrents, gained several miles’ advantage. This boat, commanded by a Sac half-breed named Beauchamp, was manned by a crew of sixteen, officers and men. The Frenchmen of the party, growing suspicious of the actions of new bands of Indians gathering as the boat approached the Bad Axe, urged the crew to caution, but the usual contempt for Indian prowess and the thought that all danger had been passed caused a foolhardy disregard of the Frenchmen’s warning. Naturally a supine security followed.
The wind had sprung into unusual strength from the east and, in the face of continued admonition, some of the crew were for tying up for the night then and there, river crews in those days being much used to the enjoyment of their own wishes.
A large body of Indians had collected on an island to the west of the channel near to which the boat must pass, and as it reached this point was rapidly drifting toward the bar on the island’s edge. Suddenly the trees and rocks reverberated with blood-curdling war-whoops and a volley of bullets rained upon the deck, wounding a negro named Peter so desperately that he afterward died. The crew instantly sought shelter by lying flat below the water line, because the bullets penetrated the bulwarks. The second volley resulted in the instant death of an American named Stewart, who had risen to return the first fire through a loophole. The exposure causing a target to be made of his head, he fell back dead, his finger still upon the trigger of his undischarged gun. No further attempt was made to return the Indians’ second volley, and they, encouraged by this non-resistance, rushed to their canoes with intent to board. The men who had remained flat recovered in a measure from their panic and the boarders were received with a disastrous fire and repulsed. One canoe in particular was severely received, two of its crew being killed, and in the death struggle overturned, compelling the others to swim for their lives.
Presently a voice in the Sac tongue hailed the boat, demanding to know if the crew were English. Beauchamp, who was a half-breed Sac, answered in the affirmative.
“Then,” replied the querist, “come on shore and we will do you no harm, for we are your brethren, the Sacs.”
“Dog,” retorted Beauchamp, “no Sac would attack us thus cowardly. If you want us on shore, you must come and fetch us.”
Confident that it was impossible to storm the boat with success, the plan was abandoned by all save two daring Indians, who leaped aboard. One seized the steering oar and strove to run the boat aground, while the other discharged some guns found abandoned on the deck, wounding one white. After this exploit, he hastened to the bow of the boat and, lying upon the deck, endeavored to assist his companion in stranding the boat. Succeeding in this, he dropped the pole, and with supreme contempt for danger began loading and firing, passing unscathed through the return volley. In the general fusillade Beauchamp succeeded in shooting the Indian at the steering oar, who dropped dead upon the deck and was carried into Prairie du Chien, but in retaliation the savage in the bow, with his third fire, shot Beauchamp and he fell upon the deck mortally wounded. At this critical loss of the commander, some of the crew were for an immediate surrender, but the suggestion was quickly vetoed by Beauchamp, who cried: “No, friends, you will not save your lives so. Fight to the last, for they will show no mercy. If they get the better of you, for God’s sake throw me overboard. Do not let them get my hair.” In the meantime Jack Mandeville, a powerful member of the crew, with the heart of a lion, jumped into the breach, and as Beauchamp was cheering him with cries of “fight on,” Mandeville shot the Indian through the head and he, with his gun, fell overboard. Bullets from the shore continued to pour into the boat, and one party of the crew favored attempting an escape in the skiff, but Mandeville, who now assumed command, threatened death to the first man who suggested anything but fight.
He routed out the timid and skulkers. Darkness was approaching, which boded evil for the crew. The bullets were falling with painful precision, and if the boat was allowed to remain aground it was clear that every man must die by the most refined torture.
With the judgment and determination of a brave man, Mandeville jumped overboard and began the use of his herculean strength to dislodge the boat from the bar.