“It will prolong the war,” observed Clark solemnly.
“I fear so, Lieutenant.”
“Another bad angle to it,” said Bill Brown, “is that the dad-busted militia runnin’ the way they done, it’ll give the Hawk a mighty poor notion o’ the fightin’ qualities of our troops.”
“And on the other hand,” nodded Whiteside sagely, “it’ll give the chief an exaggerated idea of the prowess of his own braves.”
“Well, it’s plain,” summed up Clark, “that the net result of the battle will be to encourage Black Hawk greatly. From now on, it’s war to the death.”
Two days later, Whiteside and his force returned to Dixon’s Ferry, there to await the arrival of additional troops; also to give his raw recruits further drilling, before exposing them to the wiles of the resourceful Sacs; for the wary general wanted no repetition of the rout at Stillman’s Run.
Meantime, there ensued a reign of terror on the border. Stories of Black Hawk and his savage cunning and cruelty spread like wild fire, carried by the fleeing volunteers. The name of the Sac chieftain became a household bugaboo. Nervous horror gripped farm and village across the wide breadth of the frontier. The rustle in the thicket of a prowling beast; the howl of a wolf on the prairie; the fall of a forest bough; the report of a hunter’s gun, were enough in this time of unreasoned panic to blanch the cheeks of the bravest men, and cause families to fly in the agony of fear for scores of miles, leaving all their most cherished possessions behind them.
Black Hawk was using his camp, some ten miles north of Stillman’s Run, as a base of operations. For two or three days, his spirits were much elevated by his smashing triumph over the volunteers; but soon there came events that somewhat dampened his enthusiasm, and gave a darker outlook for the future.
First, Indian runners came in from Mil-wa-ke, bringing tidings that the British had had a change of mind about meddling in Black Hawk’s war adventures. They now sent word, alas too late, advising the Sac chief not to take the war-path against the Americans.
“Ugh!” said Black Hawk, in reproachful tone, to Ne-a-pope and the Prairie Wolf, “your advice was bad. We have driven the Big Knives (whites) headlong in flight and taken many scalps, yet the craven Fox and Winnebago do not come to our side.”