[1] Captain Heald, commanding Fort Dearborn, had received despatches by an Indian runner from General Hull, commanding the Americans at Detroit in the war of 1812, directing him to destroy his surplus ammunition, divide his stores among the Indians as a peace-offering, evacuate the post, and, trusting his safety to a savage escort, fall back within the American lines. On the day after the council where he had, in opposition to the remonstrances of his junior officers, announced his purpose of prompt obedience, Black Partridge, a Pottawattamie chief who had always been a friend of the Americans, stalked into his quarters, and threw the medal he had received from Congress on the table with these words: "Father, I come to give you back the medal I wear. It was given me by the Americans in token of our friendship. But our young men are resolved to bathe their hands in the blood of the whites. I cannot hold them back, and I will not wear a token of peace while I am compelled to act as an enemy." "Mr. Kinzie must decide for himself whether he will accompany the troops or not if he is so sure of his Indian friends," said the Captain, stung by the words of the other. "We march at nine to-morrow morning," and he turned on his heel into the parade-ground. As he passed through the groups of settlers who had sought shelter in the fort, and noticed the look of foreboding stamped on every face, he was almost inclined to change his purpose, though the soldiers were even then dismantling the arsenal and knocking in the heads of the spirit-barrels. John Kinzie walked rapidly to the head of a sand knoll which gave him a wide view of the scene. Groups of dark figures were scattered over the shining beach as if they were statues of copper, or they waded in the ripples of the beautiful blue lake, throwing water at one another with loud laughter. One could scarcely have fancied that close to the edge of this sportive mood the spirit of murder hid in ambush with cocked rifle and sharp hatchet. A mile away lay the Indian camp, which had grown five times bigger within as many days, like an assemblage of huge ant-hills, with the ants thickly swarming about. But it must be time for Harold White to return, and he passed to the rear of the palisades, where the men, rolling the casks through the underground sally-port, were emptying the powder and whiskey into the river. Just across the stream opposite the fort, set in the midst of green trees and fields, were his home and warehouses. He had sent his young clerk, a lad of fifteen, with a message to Mrs. Kinzie, for he had preferred to have his family stay in their own house till the last moment. "Did ye ever hear tell of such a 'fool' business as this, Bill?" he heard one soldier say to another, shaking his fist in the direction of the fort. "I guess mighty few of us will hev as much hair on our heads this time to-morrer."