The Story of Old Fort Dearborn

by J. Seymour Currey

The narrative of Mrs. Heald reaches posterity through the story of her son, Darius Heald. A portion was given in John Wentworth's address at the unveiling of the memorial tablet on the site of old Fort Dearborn, delivered May 21, 1881; and another portion is quoted in Joseph Kirkland's book. The Chicago Massacre, published some years later.

Darius Heald was not born until ten years after the massacre, and his testimony, written from his dictation, was derived entirely from the oral account of his mother.

Comparing the account with that given by Mrs. Helm a number of discrepancies in details is observed, though the main events are related in both accounts in practically identical form.

The accounts of both Mrs. Helm and Mrs. Heald were written from dictation. Mrs. Helm's account appeared in print twenty-four years after the event which it describes, while Mrs. Heald's did not appear until seventy-five years thereafter, having in the meantime been preserved only in the form of a family tradition. It can therefore hardly have as much historical value as the older published narrative of Mrs. Helm.

The morning of the fifteenth of August, 1812, dawned clear and the day was oppressively warm. There was scarcely a breath of air stirring and the surface of the lake was unruffled, stretching away, as one expressed it, "like a sheet of burnished gold." The preparations for the departure went actively forward. At nine o'clock Captain Wells took a place at the head of the column on horseback, his face blackened, according to the Indian custom, "in token of his impending fate."

Wells was under no illusions. He knew that at any moment the crisis would be upon them, and he clearly realized how hopeless in the presence of hordes of savages in the neighborhood, bent on blood and plunder, any resistance would be, and how faint a chance there was for escape. But brave and resolute he calmly went forward with the fixed purpose of doing his duty in the face of inevitable destruction.

Following him rode half of his Miami band, and behind them the musicians came, and as the march began they played the Dead March. Then came the soldiers, each carrying twenty-five rounds of ammunition, all that had been reserved from the general destruction, though a totally inadequate supply for such a campaign as they might reasonably look forward to in these threatening circumstances.

Next came a train of wagons in which the camp equipage and provisions were carried, and in the wagons were also placed the women and children. The rear of the column was brought up by the remainder of the Miami escort. The wives of the married officers, Mrs. Heald and Mrs. Helm, accompanied the procession on horseback.

The escort promised by the Potawatamis in council was on hand and moved with the procession, a few hundred yards to the west, keeping a parallel course. There was a lingering hope among the whites that the Indians would be true to their promise and continue with them throughout their journey as a protecting force, and in this hope the movements of the Indians were watched with the greatest interest, though with painful forebodings and suspicions.