The Romance of Gilbert Holmes: An Historical NovelKirkman, Marshall M. (Marshall Monroe)
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The Romance of Gilbert Holmes: An Historical Novel
Kirkman, Marshall M. (Marshall Monroe)
Black Hawk War, 1832 -- Fiction
Among other things, Mrs. Blake never tired of speaking of the great
chief Black Hawk, and more particularly of his wife, whom she regarded
with tender love. Black Hawk she thought a kingly man, and it was
vastly to his honor, she maintained, woman-like and truly, that he had
taken to himself but one wife, remaining faithful throughout to her whom
he had won in his youth.
"Were you greatly harassed by the war?" I asked her one day.
"No, for at the commencement Black Hawk sent an Indian runner to us to
say we would not be molested; nor were we."
"How did he happen to do that?" I asked, surprised.
"We had been neighbors; but it was quite like him, anyway, though he was
much embittered at the last toward the whites because of their treachery
and the wrongs of his people. Of all the Indian chiefs I ever saw," she
went on, the color mounting to her face at the remembrance, "he was the
most commanding, in amiability the greatest, in argument the most
persuasive, and in anger the most terrible. I sometimes thought him
vain, because on occasions of ceremony, and indeed at other times, it
was his habit to adorn his person, savage-like, with garments of the
most brilliant hue, encircling his head with feathers of glistening
black and placing above them a plume of crimson red. Always, too, I
thought, he was inclined to make much of his hereditary rank of king,
but never in an offensive way."
"You must have seen a good deal of him if you were neighbors?" I asked,
interested, as I always was, in reference to everything that concerned
him.
"Yes, but more of his wife and children. They had a cabin near here, on
the river-bank, hid away in the woods, which they used to visit,
sometimes occupying the place for weeks at a time. It was not generally
known, though, I think; and I have heard they came back there after they
had been driven from the country, but we never saw them if they did."
"Maybe they are there now," I answered, my blood stirred at the thought
of being near the great chief.
"No, I hardly think so; but since the old ferry was abandoned,
communication has been cut off, so that they might be there and we not
know it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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