Captain Hamilton, as they later learned, was one of the younger sons of Alexander Hamilton, the famous American statesman, who was killed in a duel by Aaron Burr in July, 1804. The Captain had spent his boyhood at “The Grange,” country-seat of his father, eight miles up the Hudson River from New York City. After spending two years at West Point, he had quit that institution in 1817; and had come into the Illinois country as a surveyor. Some years later, he had moved north to Wisconsin Territory to his present abode, where he was operating a large lead mine.
“You say you are scouts from General Atkinson’s camp at Dixon’s Ferry,” he went on, after he had learned their identity. “Hm! How goes the war with Black Hawk?”
“The Hawk is pullin’ in his horns,” replied Bill Brown. “He’s retreatin’ north into the big Koshkonong Swamps.”
“Great guns! into Wisconsin Territory?”
“Yep, but the White Beaver is on his trail.”
“What forces has he?”
“A small batch o’ U. S. Reg’lars, an’ nigh onto three thousand Illinois volunteers.”
“If those Illinois militia don’t fight any better than they did at Stillman’s Run,” observed Hamilton drily, “the Hawk is pretty safe.”
“Oh, them Illinois fellers ’ll fight a heap better this time,” Brown assured him. “They’re achin’ fer another crack at the Hawk, so’s they kin redeem ther good name.”
“They’ll have to step lively,” stated Hamilton, “if they aim to keep up with Dodge’s Rangers. There’s a bunch of first-class Indian fighters.”