Hunter. Very well. Then, for a while, I will be Black Hawk, and what I tell you will be true, only the words will be my own, instead of those of the Indian chief. And I will speak as if I spoke to American white men.
“I am an old man, the changes of many moons and the toils of war have made me old. I have been a conqueror, and I have been conquered: many moons longer I cannot hope to live.
“I have hated the whites, but have been treated well by them when a prisoner. I wish, before I go my long journey, at the command of the Great Spirit, to the hunting grounds of my fathers in another world, to tell my history; it will then be seen why I hated the whites. Bold and proud was I once, in my native forests, but the pale faces deceived me; it was for this that I hated them.
“Would you know where I was born? I will tell you. It was at the Sac village on Rock River. This was, according to white man’s reckoning, in the year 1767, so that I am fifty years old, and ten and seven.
“My father’s name was Py-e-sa; the father of his father was Na-nà-ma-kee, or Thunder. I was a brave, and afterwards a chief, a leading war-chief, carrying the medicine bag. I fought against the Osages. Did I fear them? No. Did I often win the victory? I did.
“The white men of America said to the Sacs and Foxes, to the Sioux, the Chippewas, and Winnebagoes, ‘Go you to the other side of the Mississippi;’ and they said, ‘Yes.’ But I said, ‘No: why should I leave the place where our wigwams stand, where we have hunted for so many moons, and where the bones of our fathers have rested? Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak, or Black Hawk, will not go.’
“My heart told me that my great white father, the chief of America, would not do wrong; would not make me go to the other side of the river. My prophet also told me the same. I felt my arm strong, and I fought. Never did the hand of Black Hawk kill woman or child. They were warriors that Black Hawk fought with.
“Though I came down from the chief Na-nà-ma-kee, yet my people would not let me dress like a chief. I did not paint myself; I did not wear feathers; but I was bold and not afraid to fight, so I became a brave.
“The Osages were our enemies, and I went with my father and many more to fight. I saw my father kill an enemy, and tear away the scalp from his head. I felt determined to do the same. I pleased my father; for, with my tomahawk and spear, I rushed on an enemy. I brought back his scalp in my hand.
“I next led on seven of our people against a hundred Osages, and killed one. After that, I led on two hundred, when we killed a hundred, and took many scalps. In a battle with the Cherokees my father was killed. I painted my face black, and prayed to the Great Spirit, and did not fight any more for five years; all that I did was to hunt and to fish.