Excerpt from History of Fulton County, published by C. C. Chapman in 1879, pgs 289-306

CHAPTER VIII.

BLACK HAWK WAR.

BLACK HAWK CROSSES THE MISSISSIPPI.

     In 1831 Black Hawk and his band crossed to their old homes on Rock river, but negotiated a treaty and returned to the west side of the Mississippi, promising never to return. But April 6, 1832, he again crossed the Mississippi into Illinois with his entire band. It was not on a war raid that brought him over in 1832; but as there is a diversity of opinions in regard to his motives we will briefly give a few of the most credible. It is claimed that he was invited by the Prophet to a tract of land about forty miles up Rock river. Others say he crossed with no hostile intentions, but to accept an invitation of a friendly chief, Pit-ta-wak, to spend the summer with him. Still others, who agree that he did not come to fight, say that when he retired to the west side of the Mississippi the previous year he received a large quantity of corn and other provisions, but in the spring his provisions were gone, his followers were starving, and he came back expecting to negotiate another treaty and get a new supply of provisions.
     There is still another explanation, that may enable the reader to harmonize the preceding statements and to understand why Black Hawk returned in 1832. It is well known that in nearly all the treaties ever made with the Indians, the Indian traders dictated the terms for their allies and customers, and of course received a large share of the annuities, etc., in payment for debts due to them. Each tribe had certain traders who supplied them. George Davenport had a trading post at Fort Armstrong. His customers were largely the Sacs and Foxes, and he was held in high esteem by them; in fact his word was law. It is said that Black Hawk's band became indebted to him for a large amount and were unable to pay. They did not have good luck hunting during the winter, and he was likely to lose heavily. If Black Hawk, therefore, could be induced to come to this side of the river again and the people so greatly alarmed that a military force would be sent in pursuit of him, another treaty could be made; he might assist in making terms and get his pay out of the payments the Government would make, and all would be well. Mr. Amos Farrar, who was Davenport's partner for some years, and who died in Galena during the war, is said to have declared, while on his death-bed, that the "Indians were not to be blamed; that if they had been let alone there would have been no trouble; that the band was owing Mr. Davenport and he wanted to get his pay, and would if another treaty had been made."
     Although Black Hawk's movement across the Mississippi was at once construed as a hostile demonstration, and Davenport skillfully cultivated the idea, he was accompanied by his old men, women and children. No Indian warrior ever went on the war-path incumbered in that way. More than this, it does not appear, from the 6th of April until the battle of Stillman's Run on the 12th of May, that a single settler was murdered, or suffered any material injury at the hands of Black Hawk or his band. In truth, Hon. H. S. Townsend, of Warren, Jo Daviess county, states that in one instance, at least, when they took corn from a settler they paid him for it. Capt. W. B. Green, of Chicago, writes: "I never heard of Black Hawk's band, while passing up Rock river, committing any depredations whatever, not even petty theft." Frederick Stahl, Esq., of Galena, states that he was informed by the veteran John Dixon that "when Black Hawk's band passed his post, before the arrival of the troops, they were at his house. Ne-o-pope had the young braves well in hand, and informed him that they intended to commit no depredations, and should not fight unless they were attacked."
     We do not wish to uphold Black Hawk in the depredations he committed upon the whites. We do, however, desire to record events impartially. We believe Black Hawk's motives were greatly misunderstood, and it is due to his fame as well as to posterity to record the facts of this war as impartially as it is in our power to do. Whatever his motives might have been, it is the unanimous testimony of the survivors now residing on the old battlefields of that day, that except the violation of treaty stipulations and an arrogance of manner natural to the Indian who wanted to make a new trade with the "Great Father," the Sacs and Foxes at first committed no serious acts of hostility, and intended none, until the alternative of war or extermination was presented to them by the whites.

TROOPS RAISED.

No sooner had volunteers been called for than recruiting began in Fulton county. Gen. Stillman began to muster his men at Canton and ere long was off to the seat of war. Capt. D. W. Barnes raised and commanded one company; Captain Asa F. Ball another. Asa Langsford was First Lieutenant of the former company and Thomas Clark Second Lieutenant. These men furnished their own horses and provisions. They moved to Peoria, which was to be a rendezvous for troops. Here they remained for ten days, and one old silver-haired veteran tells us he had as fine a time there as he ever has had in his life. There they found Stephen Stillman, a brother of Major Stillman, who kept a "tavern" and consequently had plenty of "licker." Stephen was a soldier of the war of 1812 and had lost one leg, but had provided himself with a wooden one, which answered this jovial tavern-keeper very well. He was liberal with his whisky to the boys, and all they had to do for ten days was to take care of their horses and have a jolly good time drinking Stillman's whisky, and now and then, merely to break the monotony, have a fight. When the ten days had passed they were joined by companies from McLean, Peoria and Tazewell counties. There was a question now who should have command of these battalions, Col. Bailey or Major Stillman. Col. Bailey claimed it on the ground of seniority, but as they were old friends this contention did not last long. It was agreed that both should command,—take turn about. On reaching Dixon Gen. Gaines found them both jolly good fellows, and the men all liked them; and so they decided to hold equal rank and both command.
     Col. Bailey* lived at Pekin and died several years ago in that city. Gen. Stillman was born in Massachusetts in 1792; came to Sangamon county, Ill., in 1824, and to Canton, Fulton county in 1830. He was a Commissary in the war of 1812, and when residing in New York was Captain of an artillery company. He was a tall, finely-appearing man, and especially did he present an imposing appearance when adorned in military costume. He brought the first goods at Copperas-Creek Landing and engaged in mercantile business at Canton for six years. He located Copperas-Creek Landing, and it was recognized as his although he never really owned it. It was known as the "lost land," and could not be bought. On Jan. 18, 1818, he was married to Hannah Harwood, a daughter of Oliver Harwood, a native of the old Bay State, and who came to New York early in life. He was in the Revolutionary war, was wounded and taken prisoner, and the British were preparing to execute the death penalty upon him when he was captured by the Americans. Mrs. Stillman, who resides at Canton at present, was born in Herkimer county, N. Y., April 25, 1799. They had two children when they came to the State and two born to them afterwards. Of these but one is living, namely, Mrs. Mary Barber, wife of Norris Barber, of Elmwood, Peoria county.
     Gen. Stillman was a brave officer and one who had the esteem of all the men he commanded. The accounts of the famous "Stillman defeat," as generally recorded in history, does this brave commander great injustice. Many attribute the cause of that disaster to his lack of judgment and eagerness to meet the foe when really he was forced to go against his will and better judgment. The soldiers became impatient to rout the Indians, and Gov. Reynolds ordered Major Stillman with his command to move on and meet them. This he objected to doing, saying with his small force of raw militia he could only meet with defeat. The Governor urged him, and then he asked to have Capt. Henry of Springfield accompany him, which he refused to do; and it only remained for Major Stillman to obey the orders of his superior. His men were undisciplined, and many of them had just came from the East and South and had never seen an Indian, and none were familliar with the Indian mode of warfare. The consequence was that as soon as they saw the long line of painted redskins and heard their terrible war-whoop, they were so frightened that they could not shoot their loaded guns. The Major and some of his brave officers tried to restore the panic-stricken ranks to order, but in vain; and it was only the superior generalship of their cool and deliberate commander that prevented the slaughter of half his command. While Gen. Stillman's name will ever be coupled with this disastrous defeat, let no word of reproach be spoken of him for the cause of it. It was a defeat, an ignoble one; but had the commander been less able, less cool, less brave, indeed less a general, many more of those frightened pioneers would have fallen in their own blood on the field of "Stillman's defeat."
     Major Isaiah Stillman, afterward promoted to General, died at Kingston, Peoria county, April 16, 1861.

STILLMAN'S DEFEAT.

     Dixon was the point where the regular and volunteer troops were to meet. Major Stillman with his men reached Dixon, May 10th. The steady, careful movements of the regulars made the volunteers very impatient, and the latter were also exceedingly anxious to obtain the laurels to be won. The men under command of Major Stillman were particularly anxious to "ketch" the Indians before they could get away. They said the regulars would come crawling along, stuffing themselves with beef, and the Indians would never be "ketched." The officers yielded to the impatience and jealousv of the men, and requested Governor Reynolds to let them go out and reconnoitre the country and find the Indians. Captain Eads, from Peoria, insisted very strongly that they should be allowed to go. The other captains all volunteered, for they did not wish to be termed cowards. The question with them was not whether the matter was prudent and necessary, but whether they dared to go. Major Stillman consented to go, against his better judgment. He asked Mr. John Dixon's opinion, and the latter told him very decidedlv that the business of "ketching" the Indians would prove very disastrous for a little force of less than three hundred men. Major Stillman then said that as all his officers and men were determined to go, he must lead them if it cost him his life. Stillman's force started, and just before night May 12, 1832, they encamped at White Rock Grove, in the eastern part of Marion township, Ogle county, near what is now called Stillman's creek. He was very near Black Hawk's encampment, but did not know it. Soon after becoming aware of the immediate presence of an armed force Black Hawk sent a small party of his braves to Stillman's camp with a flag of truce. On their approach they were soon discovered by some of the men, who, without reporting to their commander, and without orders, hastily mounted and dashed down upon the approaching Indians.The latter not understanding this sudden and apparently suspicious movement, all, save two who claimed to be Pottawatomies, retreated toward the camp of their chief. The whites killed two as they further pursued the retreating Indians. The two Indians who refused to run were brought into camp. They said: "Me good Pottawatomie," but pointed over the hill and said, "Heap of Sac." When Black Hawk and his war chief, Ne-o-pope, saw the volunteers dashing down upon their camp, their flag of truce disregarded, and believing their overtures for peace had been rejected, they raised the terrible war-whoop and prepared for the fray.
     At this juncture the volunteers formed and moved forward. Before going far an Indian prisoner was brought into the camp and sent to the rear. The men moved on and made a halt near a slough. Here the officers went ahead and some kind of a parley was held with the Indians. The latter swung a red flag in defiance. Orders were then given to march forward, when Capt. Eads of Peoria came riding back, and said he was not easily fooled, and that there was not less than a thousand Indians coming. The men were then marched back in some confusion across the slough to high ground. There they formed, or tried to form, but were in bad order. The Indians then poured out of the timber, to the front, right and left, and both parties commenced firing; but the whites were in such bad order that those in the rear were in danger of shooting those in front. The Indians came on whooping, yelling and firing, and encircled around on both sides. Major Stillman ordered his men to mount and retreat and form a line across the creek, and also ordered them to break the line of the Indians on the left. Here was confusion, and one veteran says they did not go to the right or to the left but right straight for home. When they arrived at the creek great effort was made by the officers to halt their men and fight. The brave Capt. Adams cried out to his men, "Come back, you cowards, and we will whip them." With eight men he made a stand and repulsed a squad of Indians each time, who made eight separate and distinct charges upon them. At last, seeing that with that little force he could do nothing, he told his men they would have to look out for themselves. Two brave soldiers were with him at this time and soon saw him fall; but he sold his life dearly. He had his horse shot from under him when the retreat began. He bore a deadly hatred towards the Indians, as they had killed many of his relations. Major Perkins was overtaken and killed about a mile and half from the creek, and his body terribly mangled. The loss at this disastrous engagement fell most heavily upon this county. Of thirteen sturdy pioneers who fell at this the battle of the Sycamore, Bird Ellis, John Walters, Tyus Childs and Joseph Farris were from Fulton county. There were three of the Farris boys in the company, and Jerry was with his brother Joseph when he was killed; and he was fired at but escaped when the stalwart brave hit him over the head with his gun knocking him down. He crawled to a thicket of bushes and lay three days before he was rescued.

HORRIBLE MASSACRE.

After the fatal engagement which has since been known as "Stillman's defeat" or "Stillman's run," the Indians began to commit great depredations upon the whites. Among other fiendish and murderous raids was one made upon a little settlement on Indian creek. Three families by the names of Davis, Hall and Pettigrew lived there. The Indians appeared in the day-time and massacred them in cold blood, taking a savage delight in their infernal deeds. Some of the inmates were immediately shot down, others were pierced through with spears or dispatched with the tomahawk. The Indians afterwards related with an infernal glee how the women squeaked like geese when they were run through the body with spears, or felt the tomahawk entering their heads. All the victims were carefully scalped, the children were chopped to pieces with axes, and the women were tied up by the heels to the wall of the house. There were two young ladies who tried to conceal themselves by crawling into bed. They were discovered by two young braves who determined to have them for wives. Their names were Rachel and Silvia Hall, aged fifteen and seventeen. They were hurried by forced marches beyond pursuit. After a long and fatiguing journey with their captors through a wilderness country, with but little to eat, and being subjected to a variety of fortune, they were at last rescued, $2,000 being given as a ransom. It is said that the Indians exacted by far the largest ransom for the elder sister, as she was more quiet and gave the Indians less trouble; but they let the younger sister go pretty cheap, as she was so saucy and impudent that she made her captors much trouble. The women are still living in the northern part of the State. We are told by a lady who saw the Misses Hall just after their release, that they related to her all the details of the horrible murder of their father, mother and little sister, and their neighbors. They said they could see the scalp of their little sister everyday in the wigwam. After their rescue from the Indians, each of these young ladies were given a section of land by the United States.
     The account of these atrocities spread rapidly throughout every settlement, creating the greatest panics among the pioneers. Many of them were frightened out of their wits, although no hostile Indians were within fifty miles of them yet; with these facts and rumors afloat, and the limited means of protection they had at hand, and each cabin being almost entirely isolated, we do not wonder at their timidity. The scare the settlers of Fulton county received is most graphically described by Mr. Swan in his History of Canton, under the title of "The Westerfield Defeat," which account we give below in full.

THE WESTERFIELD DEFEAT.

     In the spring of 1832 the Black Hawk War was a source of great alarm to the citizens of Canton. Major Isaiah Stillman, of Canton, in command of a battalion of volunteer infantry, was in the field, and had under him most of the young men of the community. On the 13th of May, 1832, the force under his command met with a defeat above Dixon, in Lee county, on what has since been known as "Stillman's run," and the news soon reached Canton, coupled with the fact that Bird Ellis, Tyus Childs and John Walter, from the vicinity of Canton, had been killed, and a number of others from here wounded. This news not only cast a gloom over the community, but created a feeling of insecurity in the bravest of the settlers, and of decided alarm, amounting in many cases to absolute panic. The settlers were certainly liable to attack from the red­skins, who were known to be in force and on the war-path to the north. There was no adequate force in reach to prevent any incursion they might feel disposed to make, when the "Westerfield Defeat," as it was called in derision, occurred. Perhaps never in the history of frontier life has there occurred so broad a farce with so many of the elements of tragedy and melodrama combined. The news of Stillman's defeat had reached Canton, and grief-stricken mothers were in the first anguish of their mourning for slaughtered sons, when rumors reached the settlement of a purpose on the part of Black Hawk and his warriors to move southward for an attack on scattered inhabitants. The excitement was intense. Stories of slaughtered families, of burnt homes, of captive women and children subjected to every fiendish indignity, were the current subjects of conversation at every gathering. Meetings were called in every neighborhood, and preparations for defense or refuge begun. Block­houses and stockade forts were erected, and scouts kept constantly in the prairies to the northward to warn the people of the approach of the Indians. One of these forts was erected around the store and residence of Joel Wright, on the corner of Wood and Illinois streets, where Mrs. Wilson now resides. This fort consisted of two block­houses and a palisade inclosure of split logs. This was built by standing the logs on end in a deep trench, which was then tilled up and the dirt well pounded around the logs.
     In March, 1832, scouts were sent out by the people of Canton to see if any indication of hostile Indians could be discovered. These scouts had been out several days, but had brought in no report of an alarming nature, when one day toward the last of the month Peter Westerfield, an old frontiersman, and Charley Shane, a Frenchman, determined to go on a scouting expedition on their own responsibility. They were both well mounted, and, crossing Big creek north of town in the prairie, rode nearly north until they reached a point nearly in the line between Farmington and Ellisville, on Spoon river. The morning before they started out a number of mounted white men had crossed the prairie from Peoria to Quincy, and their trail, of course, was fresh and showed very plainly in the dried prairie grass. They had ridden in single file (Indian fashion,) and a better scout then even Peter Westerfield might have been deceived by their trail. When Westerfield and Shane reached this trail, they both dismounted, examined it carefully, and both were satisfied that it had been made by a large party of mounted Indians. They cautiously followed the trail until their suspicion crystallized into comparative certainty, when, remounting, they started back toward Canton to alarm the citizens, and take measures for the safety of themselves and families.
     As they neared Big creek—which by the melting of snow had risen until it was out of its banks—they had a new cause for alarm. Jonathan Buffum and Ed. Therman had holed a wolf, and were shooting into the hole. They were in a direct line between where Westerfield and Shane reached Big creek and Col. Barnes' place, where John Lane now lives. These boys were not only shooting, but indulging in all sorts of unearthly yells, imitating Indians, .screaming and hallooing. Another pioneer was squirrel-hunting in the same vicinity, and another party shooting at a mark in the same neighborhood.
     Westerfield and Shane listened to these noises with undisguised fear. That it was Indians there could be no mistake,—Indians at bloody work, shooting, tomahawking and scalping the families of Col. Barnes and Henry Therman. They did not stop long to consider, but plunged headlong into the turbid waters of the raging Big creek, and right gallantly did their noble steeds buffet the mad waves until the angry stream divided them from the dreaded foe. Their saddles were wet and heavy, and would load their beasts too much for the fearful race for life they were entering upon, and, with a coolness never too much to be admired, they dismounted and relieved their gallant steeds of the dripping leathern saddles, which were deposited for safety in a convenient thicket of hazel. This was the work of but a moment, when they remounted their bare­backed animals and were away over the smooth prairie, across the few ravines, and on, on to the fort at Canton. As they passed the cabin of Wheaton Chase they shouted, "Injins are killing Barnes' folks; flee for your lives !'' Soon Coleman's grocery was reached, and the cry of "Injins! Injins!" reiterated. On, on to the fort they rode, and still their cry was "Injins! Injins!" "The Injins have killed everybody at Barnes' and Therman's!"
     And now began a scene of the wildest confusion. Men shouted the dreaded alarm; women screamed; small boys, pale with fright, crept into the dense hazel-thickets and fled for their lives. Some of these boys were thus hiding for days and days, subsisting on roots, berries and elm-bark. "To the fort! To the fort!" was now the cry, and soon the people were gathering, a pale, nervous, affrighted throng, within the little wooden inclosure which was then their only hope of safety. To us, who from the distance of nearly forty years contemplate the scene, it is a broad comedy; but to those affrighted pioneers it was a tragedy, the denouement of which might prove fatal to them and their loved ones. It was known that Keokuk and three thousand warriors were encamped opposite the Yellow Banks, held in check only by his promise of neutrality; and who would believe the word of the treacherous red-skin? Black Hawk's band, too, were on the war-path. They had defeated Major Stillman, and men from Canton were among the victims, while between here and the scene of that disaster there was no sufficient force for the protection of the infant settlement. All these facts were well known, and had been frequently canvassed among the settlers. Peter Westerfield was a man, too, in whose word the most unbounded confidence was placed. He was a Baptist licensed preacher, a man of undoubted courage, and had had a considerable frontier experience. He believed the trail he had seen, and the yells and firing he had heard, to be the work of Indians, and had no doubt that Col. Barnes' family had been massacred. What wonder the defenseless people were frightened!
     Preparations for defense, however, were not neglected. The women filled several large kettles with water, and determined to aid all they could in the common defense by using it on the foe! There were incidents of broad comedy intermingled, even then, with the tragedy, that caused grim smiles to illumine even faces white with fear,—incidents that have served to enliven many a fireside description of those frightful days.
     Joel Wright was, by common consent, selected as the commander of the fort, and Isaac Swan as his second in command. Joel was dressed in a light suit, with a linen roundabout. During the excitement he was everywhere,—assuring frightened women, issuing orders for defensive preparations, and distributing powder and lead to the men. Be it understood, the women preserved their courage far better than their lords, as was evidenced by the fact that when no male hand could be found sufficiently steady to pour melted lead into bullet-molds, a woman volunteered to make the bullets, and made them without spilling a drop of the metal. Mrs. Dr. Coykendall was particularly noted for her coolness and courage on this occasion, and did most of the bullet-molding.
     To recount all the varied phases of this scare would itself require a volume. Some were dramatic, most farcical, as viewed through the light of forty years, and by the knowledge that there was absolutely no danger. Among the amusing incidents of the day was the arrival, at the fort, of Jerry Coleman and 'Squire McKim, who were at Coleman's mill, on Big creek, when Westerfield's news was communicated to them. Jerry got the word a few seconds in advance of McKim, and being lame, set out at once. McKim, however, was not long in overtaking him. McKim wore an old-fashioned dress or swallow-tailed coat, and as he ran past the slow-paced Jerry, the coat-tails offered so tempting an aid to the boys's flight that he could not refrain from seizing hold of them with both hands. Mc­Kim was a large, portly man, who weighed nearly two hundred; at the same time McKim was a frightened man, and fright is ever self-ish. He was not willing to be retarded by the weight of Jerry attached, like the weight to the tail of a kite, to his coat-skirts, so he turned on Jerry and tried to disengage his hold ; but Jerry's grip was always good, and fear had turned it into a grip of iron; he would not let go. "For God's sake, Jerry, let me go, or we will both be killed! Please, Jerry, let me save my own life!" But Jerry heeded not his pleadings; like Sindbad's Old Man of the Sea, he could not be shaken off. McKim turned to run, but still the weight of the crippled boy would retard his speed, and he would turn again and plead and fight, and pray for deliverance from the tormenter. Jerry loved life and feared Indians too much to be influenced either by prayer, threats or blows. He hung on, and was still hanging on when McKim dashed into the fort.
     Jerry found his father gone and the store thrown wide open. He took possession and sold out the whole stock of powder and lead in a few moments, not stopping to take an account of sales or settle with customers. It had cost him nothing, and he sold at cost and was satisfied.
     Wm. Hannan, Charles Reeves and William Babbett, boys of perhaps a dozen years old, were so much infected with the contagion of fear that they determined to seek refuge in flight. They accordingly left town and took to the timber. They crossed Big creek north of Jacob Ellis' mill, and struck down the creek through the timber to a point west of Lewistown, where they hid in a dense thicket. Young Reeves had on a pair of buckskin breeches, and during his flight he had got them completely saturated with water. When the party took to cover he pulled them off and hung them up on some brush to dry. This was a serious error on Charles's part, as the sequel showed. He had not taken into his calculation the peculiar idiosyncrasy of buckskin, and found, to his chagrin, that the pants which had fitted exactly before they were wet, and been too large while saturated with the treacherous fluid, were in their dried state infinitely too small,—so much so that by no amount of stretching, coaxing or pulling could they be induced to come over his bare limbs. He had to give it up in despair, and made the rest of his trip through brush and briers in a primitive toilet, more simple and convenient than pleasant. They were out all the day of the Westerfield scare, all the succeeding night, and until the next night, subsisting on berries and elm-bark. How long they would have hidden no one can affirm—perhaps they would have been hiding until this day—had they not been attracted by the sound of an ox-driver's "Wo-haw, Buck," and ventured to "interview" him, thus learning that danger was over and that they could safely return to their homes.
     At Col. Barnes' the news was tardy in coming that Westerfield brought. The colonel was out serving at the head of his companv under Stillman. Stephen Babbett's wife heard the alarm sounded on the east side of Big ceek, and, gathering up one child and calling to her two remaining children to follow, ran at her utmost speed to Barnes'. Henry Andrews, then a boy of perhaps fourteen years, saw her coming and called to know what was the matter. "Oh," she exclaimed, "the Indians are murdering everybody across the creek. The people are running and hallooing 'Indians! Indians!'" Andrews at once sent Col. Barnes' two younger boys over to old Mr. Swegle's to give them them the alarm, and in a short time they returned, bringing with them the old gentleman—who was far advanced in years—and his old lady and daughter. Mrs. Barnes now took the direction of affairs, and directed the party to seek shelter in a thicket at the head of a neighboring ravine. To reach this thicket the party were instructed to strike the ravine at a point considerably below, and then to follow up the bed of the stream, wading in the stream to hide their trail. The two small boys led the way, and the old gentleman and the women and children followed. There were fourteen persons in all, and only one boy, armed with a trusty rifle to protect them, Henry Andrews, brought up the rear; and as he followed he picked his flint and prepared for the struggle for life and for the lives of the women and children who were confided to his guardianship.
     "Oh, Henry," said Mrs. Barnes, "what can you do with so many of us'?" "I will do the best I can and kill as many of them as I can," responded Henry.
     On reaching the cover of the dense hazel-thicket, the party took to cover, except Henry, who stood guard for a couple of hours; and they seemed mortal hours to the boy, who looked each moment to have the red-skins pounce upon him. At last, grown tired of waiting, Henry determined to venture to Canton and see what the real condition of affairs might be. He proceeded very cautiously, keeping in the cover of the hazel-brush as much as possible, until he reached the "Morse quarter" adjoining Canton, when he came upon John Huff, who was out on guard. Huff was frightened, and it was with difficulty Henry succeeding in making himself known: he succeeded finally, and proceeded to the fort. Here he found the wildest confusion existing. All crowded around him, believing him sole survivor from among the settlers on the west side of the creek. Mutual explanations followed, and at once the scare was at an end. This scare was named, in honor of its progenitor, "Westerfield's Defeat," and as such it is still known.
     The Westerfield scare was by no means confined to Canton, but spread through all the surrounding townships. In the Mallory settlement—now Putman township—were many settlers, among whom were the Mallorys, Fellowses, Stricklands and Holcombs. There was an understanding between Isaac Fellows and Joel Coykendall, at Canton, that if any serious alarm was given, Joel should communicate the news to Fellows. No sooner had the word brought by Westerfield reached Canton, of proximity of Indians, than Joel mounted a fleet horse and rode at utmost speed to Fellows's, to warn him of danger, according to his promise. The men in the neighborhood had met that afternoon to drill, the place of muster being near old Mr. Holcomb's. Thither Coykendall was directed by Mrs. Fellows, who, terribly alarmed, gathered up her two children, Penella and Stephen, and calling for her sister-in-law, Mrs. Cyrus Fellows, started for the same place.
     The company at drill were terribly excited when Coykendall communicated his news, and at once, by common consent, separated, with the understanding that they would meet and fort at Holcomb's, whose house was the most roomy in the settlement. Holcomb's house was a cabin with two rooms, and situated on the prairie. He had no stable, but on the ground, ready for raising, had the logs for a small log barn. The men were wonderfully expeditious in collecting their little families at Holcomb's,—so expeditious, indeed, that not a man of them had thought of his arms. When all were asssembled, the scene would have beggared the pencil of Hogarth to paint all its serio-comic and tragic effects. Women with disheveled locks were praying; men palsied with fear, and children screaming with affright. Some one suggested that a fort must be built about the house. The suggestion was grasped at, as drowning men grasp at straws. Old Mr. Holcomb siezed a spade, and rushing out before his door, began to excavate. "What on arth are you a doin', old man ?" shouted his wife. "Diggin a fort," said he, as he frantically exhumed spadeful after spadeful of the rich, black loam.
     It was soon discovered that the supply of barn logs would not be sufficient for a stockade; so it was decided to build a breast-work. This was soon completed, and was only about three feet in height. Then was discovered a dire calamity. Here was a breast-work, and here were brawny defenders, but there was only one gun that was serviceable. Breast-works are a good thing in themselves, but without arms their strong points in defensive warfare could not be brought out to advantage. What was to be done? So much time had been occupied in preparing their fortifications that it was not probable there would be time to return to their homes for arms before the murdering savages would be upon them, and then, the women have since suggested, their lieges were too much—well, say demoralized, to venture so far from the fort. Some one suggested clubs; and as there happened to be a convenient thicket, the suggestion was at once adopted. Clubs, those primitive weapons of warfare, were cut in such abundance that Mrs. Isaac Fellows persists to this day in saying there were fully four wagon-loads,—enough to keep the Holcomb family in wood until long after corn-planting.
     While the young and athletic men were engaged in the club business, old Mr. Strickland, who weighed nearly three hundred pounds and was too fat to venture so far as the thicket, engaged in improvising for himself a weapon more formidable than the club. Procuring a bayonet with about one-third of the point end broken off, he fastened it to a hoe-handle; then stationing himself before a window in an arm-chair, he poised his blunt spear, and with an expectant look, pronounced himself ready to send whoever of the red-skins should present himself at that window to his last account. As Strickland sat expectant, waiting, watching, he prayed,—for he was a religious man,—watched and prayed, determined to die at his post,—and no Indian within fifty miles! While Strickland was preparing his formidable weapon, old Mrs. Stewart, who weighed nearly as much as that old hero, was loading and doubly loading the only serviceable gun.
Still the Indians did not come, and men and women began to breathe easier. Finally one bold pioneer volunteered to go down the road toward Canton and see if he could discern any signs of the enemy. He soon returned with hair erect and eyes dilated, and declaring that the "Injins" were coming, marching in solid column, at least a thousand strong; and now Pandemonium was a quiet place compared with Fort Holcomb. Men, women, children, all were screaming, all were praying, all were—but why attempt to describe what is indescribable ? Had Black Hawk, with any of his braves, been within a mile, the noise then and there would have frightened them out of the country.
     Still the Indians did not appear. Dark came, lights were extinguished, and in darkness and doubt the frightened people watched and waited. Twelve o'clock, and still no ruthless savage. Dawn, rosy dawn, came, and still the wary savage failed to make morn hideous with his terrible war-cry. And now came a suspicion, faint at first, but gradually growing stronger until it crystallized into conviction, that the scare was without foundation, and then, all at once, men became brave. Messengers were now found willing to go to Canton to learn the extent and cause of the alarm. They soon returned, bringing the good news that there was not an Indian within, perhaps, one hundred miles of the county line!
     The Westerfield scare was communicated to the Moores' Grove settlement by a runner, who crossed below the Lewistown bridge and made his way to Harvey Cross wait's. Crosswait communicated the alarm at once to his neighbors, inviting them all to take refuge at his new log house, which was quite roomy and tolerably well calculated for defense. Between Crosswait's and Joshua Moores' there was a ravine that, on account of the melting snow, had been converted into a raging torrent. Crosswait went as nearly to Moores' as this torrent would permit, and hallooed across to old Mrs. Moores. The old gentleman was now quite old, and Walters, his son-in-law, had just been killed at Stillman's defeat. Old Mr. Moores gathered up his sick wife in his arms and, followed by his daughter Jennie, her sister, and their four children, they started for the expected place of safety. On arriving at the slough, they waded in across the bottom for some distance to a foot-log across the small stream, Mr. Moores carrying his wife, the two daughters wading, each carrying a child and leading one. When the foot-log was reached, Mrs. Moores expressed her belief that the alarm was false, and insisted on being taken back home; but at length, yielding to the entreaties of her children and the expostulation of her husband, consented to go forward. The whole party crossed over, the old folks by crawling on their hands and knees, and the younger women by wading through the swift current, carrying one child and dragging the other. This was not accomplished without danger, as the water was deep and the current swift.
     When the two young women reached the shore, they noticed close behind them a neighbor woman, Mrs. Robinson, with two children, wading through the overflowed bottom toward them, and at once determined to wait for and assist her across. When Mrs. Robinson reached the foot-log, Mrs. Walters called to know where he was. Mrs. Robinson replied, "I don't know. He and his brother were with me until we got to the creek, and then disappeared; I don't know what has become of them." It proved that both men, who were young, stout and hearty, had deserted the poor woman to her fate, and in company had started, as fast as their frightened limbs would carry them, for Springfield. They did not return for more than three weeks. Mrs. Walters and her sister aided Mrs. Robinson to cross the stream, and accompanied her to Cross-wait's where the company, with many of their neighbors, remained until dark, when another runner arrived from Jacob Ellis's, informing them that there had been no danger.
     John Orendorff, Esq., relates the incidents of the Westerfield scare occurring east and south of Canton. Orendorff and Richard Addis had started to Hazael Putman's place—since known as the "Woods Farm,"—to attend the muster of their militia company. On the way across the Canton Prairie, and when near the mound, they met Richard Tompkins, who informed them that Peter Westerfield had just come home, and brought word that the Indians were killing everybody north of Canton; that Barnes' folks had all been killed, and the danger was imminent. "Who has seen Westerfield ?" asked Orendorff. "George Anderson," was the reply. Orendorff expressing doubt of the truth of Anderson's statement, to some extent reassured Tompkins, and he consented to return and go with Orendorff and Addis to Westerfield's house. Westerfield resided on what is now known as the "Capps Farm." On arriving at Westerfield's they found the place deserted, Westerfield having fled to the woods with his family for shelter. They accordingly turned and rode over to Putman's. Here they found the militia company in consultation as to the course to be pursued. . Esquire Orendorff was called upon for his opinion, and, after questioning Anderson, who was the only person present that had seen Westerfield, he expressed himself in favor of sending a messenger at once to Canton to ascertain the facts, and volunteered to go himself on that errand. Addis at once volunteered to accompany him. The companv agreed to remain together at Putman's until their return.
     Orendorff and Addis set out at once on their mission, and had scarcely struck the high prairie before they discovered Peter Westerfield coming from toward his place, and evidently with the intention of joining them. Westerfield was mounted, bare-backed, on a sorrel, raw-boned animal; his head was "enturbaned" with a red bandana handkerchief; he carried his rifle and shot-pouch by his side, and wore a look of grim determination. He was evidently going to war, and his courage would not fail him. Westerfield communicated his news to Orendorff and Addis, said he had hid his family, and was going to the fort at Canton to aid in its defense.
     On arriving at Canton they found the scare had subsided, Henry Andrews having come in from the Barnes farm with news of their safety, and that no Indians were in that vicinity. When Westerfield heard this, he grasped Orendort's arm and exclaimed, "I tell you, Orendorff, it is true, I know. Didn't I hear them and see their trail ?" It was no use telling Westerfield that his senses had betrayed him.
     Orendorff and Addis now rode back to Putman's to notify the company that the danger was imaginary; but on arriving there they found that the valiant militia, taking a new scare, had run to their homes and were hiding out their families.
     Thus ended the most exciting day in Canton's pioneer history.

CLOSE OF THE WAR.

The war went on, resulting in the defeat of the Indians and the capture of their leader. The rangers came home and were dismissed from service. They received therefor the remunerative sum of 86 cents per day for self and horse. Afterwards the general Government was kind enough to give each participant 80 acres of land.

INCIDENTS.

     The following incident was related by one of the few remaining veterans of the war: One day the General (Stillman) and some of the officers started out reconnoitering on a high hill. Some of the boys thought this presented an excellent opportunity to play a good joke on their commander and officers. Accordingly they fixed themselves up in blankets to look like Indians, skirted the hill and appeared to the scouting party from the bushes. The General and party of course thought them Indians, discharged their guns at them and started on a general stampede into the camp, yelling, "Indians! Indians!" and immediately called all the men into line. On discovering their mistake the boys had a merry time over the scare, and it was a standing joke on the officers as long as the campaign lasted.
     Theodore Sergeant was Lieutenant of the Canton militia company during the Black Hawk war, and in that capacity for a considerable period of time had command of the company. After Stillman's defeat, an order came from the Governor to Sergeant for seven men from the Canton company. Sergeant at once mustered his men in front of Child & Stillman's store, and read the requisition, calling upon those who would go to fall in after the music, which was at the same time ordered to march and counter-march. Up and down tramped the musicians before the company, but not a man fell in behind them. Sergeant was equal to the emergency. Ordering the music to cease, he went into the store and bought two gallons of whisky, which he passed down the ranks treating every man. "Now boys," said he,' "I've got to have seven men or I'll draft them. Music! forward, march ! Boys, fall in, you who want to go." Either the whisky or the threat, or patriotism, proved potent, and nine more than the required number at once fell in."

David Haacke, page 297