The Wabash Indians must have been smarting with the terrible defeat inflicted on them only about one year before, when General Harrison, whose confidential agent poor Wells had been, fought them at Tippecanoe, on the banks of the Wabash River.
Runners had been sent to the villages to apprise them of the intended evacuation of the post, as well as of the plans of the Indians assembled to attack the troops. Thirsting to participate in such a scene, they hurried on, and great was their mortification on arriving at the Aux Plaines [Des Plaines River] to meet with a party of their friends bearing with them Nee-scot-nee-meg badly wounded, and to learn that the battle was over, the spoils divided and the scalps all taken. On arriving at Chicago they blackened their faces and proceeded toward the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie.
From his station on the piazza, Black Partridge had watched their approach, and his fears were particularly awakened for the safety of Mrs. Helm (Mr. Kinzie's step-daughter), who had recently come to the post and was personally unknown to the more remote Indians.[I] By his advice she was made to assume the ordinary dress of a French woman of the country; namely, a short gown and petticoat, with a blue cotton handkerchief wrapped around her head. In this disguise she was conducted by Black Partridge himself to the house of Ouilmette, a Frenchman with a half-breed wife, who formed part of the establishment of Mr. Kinzie, and whose dwelling was close at hand. It so happened that the Indians came first to this house in their search for prisoners. As they approached, the inmates, fearful that the fair complexion and general appearance of Mrs. Helm might betray her for an American, raised a large featherbed and placed her under the edge of it, upon the bedstead, with her face to the wall. Mrs. Bisson, the sister of Ouilmette's wife, then seated herself with her sewing on the edge of the bed. It was a hot day in August, and the feverish excitement of fear and agitation, together with her position, which was nearly suffocating, became so intolerable that at length Mrs. Helm entreated to be released and given up to the Indians.
[I] Although this, as well as the earlier part of the account (where Mrs. Helm speaks in the first person) appears in Wau-Bun in continuous quotation marks, it is manifest that the whole later portion is a separate recital. Several interesting anecdotes are given in detail, but for them the reader must look to the delightful original volume which, though not in the market, can be found in the Chicago Historical Society's collection, and also in many private libraries, especially among those Chicagoans who were not burned out in the great fire of 1871. It is to be hoped that some of Mrs. Kinzie's descendants will cause a new edition to be published for the benefit of later comers, who will look to it for amusement (and also instruction) concerning times and scenes so unlike those now around them as to seem to have happened on another planet, instead of on the very soil they tread. (Munsell's Hist. Chic.)
The words used imply that the step-daughter had not habitually formed part of the family of John Kinzie at Chicago.
"I can but die," said she; "let them put an end to my misery at once."
Mrs. Bisson replied: "Your death would be the destruction of us all, for Black Partridge has resolved that if one drop of the blood of your family is spilled, he will take the lives of all concerned in it, even his nearest friends; and if once the work of murder commences there will be no end of it so long as there remains one white person or half-breed in the country."
This expostulation nerved Mrs. Helm with fresh resolution. The Indians entered, and she could occasionally see them from her hiding-place, gliding about, stealthily inspecting every part of the room, though without making any ostensible search, until, apparently satisfied that there was no one concealed, they left the house.